“I’m whatever you want me to be,” he licked his lips suggestively.
I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Just turn the music down.”
I turned sharply on my heel and went back to my apartment. I stopped short of closing the door when I noticed that Caelan’s door wasn’t quite latched.
I bit my lip, wondering if I should close it or leave it open.
I warred with myself for a moment, but finally curiosity won out. I couldn’t help but wonder what his apartment looked like.
I tiptoed across the hall, noticing that Cyrus had picked himself up and his door was now closed—the music was still blasting, but it wasn’t as loud as before. Still, I doubted I’d get any more sleep. That was normal for me though.
I placed my fingertips lightly against the door and gently pushed it open.
“Hello?” I called out softly. Normally I didn’t care about making Caelan angry, but Cyrus had clearly pushed him past his limit and I didn’t want to be next. I kinda liked my face and wanted to keep it bruise free.
“Caelan?” I ventured further into the apartment.
I silently cursed myself for still being mostly naked. Why hadn’t I had the brains to put clothes on before I came over here? Oh, right, because I was a nosy bitch and wanted to know what kept him busy.
The place was surprisingly stark. No pictures, no mementos—making it appear as if he was the one that had just moved in, not me.
There was a couch with a coffee table in front of it, but nothing else, not even a TV.
Most of the space was occupied by an easel and canvases—some with paintings, others waiting to be used. There had to be hundreds of them occupying the space. I was surprised by how good he was. Crazy good, actually. I didn’t even know Caelan, but he pushed my buttons, so it pained me to admit he was actually talented.
Every painting was done in watercolors, the color
s of the portraits dripping down the canvases…almost like each person he painted was crying.
There was one that caught my eye…one person, actually, since there was more several paintings of her. My curiosity had definitely been piqued.
She was beautiful with light blonde hair and blue eyes. In every picture her eyes seemed…dead…haunted. I wondered who she was and what she meant to him. I mean, obviously she meant a lot to him if he kept painting her. I’d never carried on an actual civil conversation with Caelan, but I got the impression that he didn’t let people in.
Unfortunately, being closed off was something I understood all too well. I didn’t like talking about my feelings and I wasn’t the lovey-dovey type. Apparently, those were the two very reasons why my ex-boyfriend cheated on me with my ex best friend. I hoped they were happy. Okay, that was a lie. I wanted both of them to fall off a cliff.
The fiasco with my ex-boyfriend was another reason I’d needed to get away from Texas. I was angry about what he’d done, that was for sure, but I wasn’t hurt like I should’ve been. I guess that showed that I really hadn’t cared all that much for him. I think there was something wrong with me. It was like I unconsciously held myself back from people—never letting them get too close.
So, why was I currently sneaking around Caelan Gregory’s apartment in search of some clue to who he really was?
I was seriously screwed up in the head.
After studying the paintings—their swirls and colors almost hypnotizing—I couldn’t help but notice white flecks dusting the coffee table.
I wasn’t dumb.
I knew what that was.
Empty bottles of liquor were scattered along the floor. Some still had small amounts of liquid inside, but most were empty shells.
A syringe lay abandoned under the coffee table.
He clearly didn’t care about cleaning up.
When I looked up I saw Caelan passed out in his bed.
His shirt had been ripped off, exposing his thin but muscular chest. The jeans he wore hung low, exposing the top band of his boxer briefs. I found myself inexplicably drawn closer to him like a moth to a flame.
My heart hammered in my throat, threatening to claw its way out.