She placed a new canvas on the easel and prepared her brushes and paints before she began to paint. Then she let her inspiration take her on her roller coaster ride. The reds and oranges mixed together in a fiery scene of passion and rage, her innermost sensations as she thought of the pain and hurt of her current situation. She knew while painting the picture, she wouldn’t sell it. These paintings were for her to keep or to destroy.
Not long after the car accident which left her with the scars, she’d begun to paint. Her therapist at the time had said it would be a way to see inside to her thoughts and feelings, to see the true depth of her character. The moment she began to paint, the therapy visits were out the window. She refused to sit and talk to someone who didn’t get her.
This was the one room that Brad didn’t enter. He would knock on the door and wait for her to allow him into the room. She heard him moving around outside. Checking her watch, she saw it was past seven. He would be getting ready for work. The energy she had felt at the beginning zapped out of her. Staring at the canvas filled with colour, she nodded her head at her progress before leaving the room.
Brad sat at the kitchen counter eating out of a bowl.
“You don’t want pancakes today?” she asked. Part of their agreement had been she would do all of the cooking.
“Not today. I’ve got stuff to do. What do you have planned?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing much. I think I’ll spend most of my day painting.”
He nodded his head. Smiling at him, she sipped the coffee she poured for herself.
“Will you be home on time tonight?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping to see Ben before I came home.”
Ben was the guy he’d hurt during the years he was using narcotics.
“Is he talking to you yet?” she asked.
“We’ve gotten past the slamming door in face stage. I was a wanker to him, but the problem is I can’t remember everything I did when I was in one of those states. I’m scared in case I did something I don’t want to know about.”
The conversation had taken a dark turn, and she saw the pain he was in.
“He’ll come round. You’ve just got to show him the guy you were has nothing to do with who you are now.”
He nodded his head, the bowl with his cereal in it forgotten. This is why they got on so well. Their pains were quite similar because of their damaged pasts. “I’m going to head for work. I’ll call you later.”
Noelle saw him out of the apartment, careful to make sure no one saw her.
The moment she closed the door, loneliness consumed her. She went and stood on the threshold into her studio, and the paints and canvases called to her. Only as quickly as the inspiration hit, the desperation to run away from her painting gripped her. The hold this world had on her was killing her little by little. Before the accident she used to love going outdoors. She would run or walk. Gazing around at the scenery was once a passion to her. But no more. There were only so many incidents of children pointing or adults gasping that she could cope with.
Moving back to the kitchen she pulled out the ingredients to make her lemon loaf cake, the one cake which felt like a treat but was wonderful to make.
She grabbed her mixer, set up the paddle blade and spooned in the butter and sugar. Measuring out her flour, baking powder, and bicarbonate of soda she put them in a bowl. When the butter and sugar were mixed she added two eggs in, gradually followed by spoonfuls of floor.
It was the same cake she’d made many times before, and she still felt the calming effect it had on her. The phone rang in the background. She ignored the siren call of the outside and continued to work.
While the cake baked, she cleaned her mess. For twenty minutes, she hadn’t had the time to think about her lonely existence. The morning no longer looked promising.
****
Across the city, Isaac sat in his office looking over reports, which were giving him a headache. His friend Clark was telling him how much hot ass he’d missed the night before. He didn’t care. He loved the time he had spent with Brad.
Tapping his pen on the work surface, he glanced at the time. Lunchtime was approaching, and he hoped Clark would leave. He wanted to take his lunch break. Work was no longer satisfying him. When his secretary phoned through to say a man claiming to be his brother was waiting to see him, Isaac dismissed Clark and waited for the other man to enter.
He didn’t know why he felt so attached to the other man. Maybe it was only that he liked the thought of having a brother, even if it was a younger one, out there. Being an only child had made life quite difficult growing up. Having his mother’s undivided attention had felt smothering at times. Thinking about his mother reminded him not to tell her about his recent friendship. Over the years, his mother had managed to get over what his father did, but he still couldn’t bring himself to forgive the man.
“I didn’t think you were in contact with your brother,” Clark said.
“I wasn’t until yesterday.”
“What would your mum say?”
“She’s not finding out. Leave, Clark.”
Clark got up and left his office. Seconds later, Brad walked in.
“Wow. This is where you work?” he asked.
“I own the place.”
“Yeah. I know. Dad’s place is nothing like this.”
Isaac knew. He’d spent a great deal of time making sure his dad didn’t amount to anything more than what he was.
“I wasn’t expecting you today,” he said as he signed off a few more contracts.
Brad sat down in the seat opposite the desk.
“I’ve got a favour to ask,” Brad said.
Isaac sat back in his office chair, intrigued by the rapidly changing events unfolding before him. “What could I possibly help you with?”
“You’re my brother—”
“Half-brother.”
“But you’re still my brother. My friend is looking for some companionship. Male company, to feel close to someone. Her circumstances have left her feeling as if she can’t be with anyone without consequences.”
“Are you talking about Noelle?” Isaac asked. The woman intrigued him from the description Brad had given him. The women in his social circles rarely bought anything but annoyance to him. Most were gold-diggers hoping to catch a rich husband.
“Yes.”
“Why doesn’t she have any male companionship?” Isaac asked.
“There was an accident ten or so years ago, and most men can’t seem to get past that. Or she won’t let them anyway. She has some scars which keep her at a distance. She rarely leaves our apartment. I deal with the selling of her paintings.”