Title:
The Weight Of Rain
Author:
Mariah Dietz
Genre:
New Adult
Release
Date: October 27, 2015
One night changed my life—one that I barely
remember.
When I close my eyes, my mind paints a picture of
his smile and shades the contours of his hands, the deep scar around his
bicep.
I'm an artist, yet my hands are unsteady. With his
presence, he has unknowingly broken that something inside of me that makes me
who I am.
Being around him is like standing in a rainstorm.
First the drops tickle my skin, and then they coat me, refusing to be ignored. Finally,
they soak into me, reaching parts of me I don’t think anyone has ever
touched.
When dreams turn into reality, will the picture in
my mind transfer to paper?
“Why do you pretend that I don’t mean anything to
you when clearly I do?”
My charcoal presses hard against the paper as my
neck snaps up. He’s fully dressed, his usual baseball hat still on, flipped backward,
and wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Flannel is growing
on me, but I won’t tell him that. His face shows no signs of humor or teasing. If
anything, he looks almost pained.
“Did you just get home?”
“Why did you pretend you wanted to know me?
Why not just call it what it was?” His eyes narrow as his chin drops.
“Have you been drinking?” I know the answer
before I ask the question. I can smell it.
“I liked you, Lo.”
My heart races with too many possibilities and
hopes, and not enough validation.
“You spend so much time trying to convince
yourself that what happened that night wasn’t real.”
“I was drunk.”
“You weren’t drunk. I wouldn’t have slept with you
if you were drunk! I don’t do shit like that. It’s disgusting!”
“I don’t remember large parts of that night.”
“You remember more of that night than you’re
willing to admit.” His eyes land on my drawing where he studies the image for
several long seconds. I should have covered it as soon as I realized he was here, but
it was too late from the beginning. It’s of him—of course it’s of him. And to make
matters worse, he’s shirtless. The scars he mentioned me knowing about are there,
as well as the few tattoos most of the world is deprived of seeing. “Obviously you
remember.”
His words make my cheeks burn with
embarrassment. He’s right, but hearing that he’s aware of this fact is both strangely
relieving and move-to-Australia-tomorrow worthy. “You left an impression,” I admit
before moving my attention so I don’t have to see his reaction.
“Lo, I haven’t been able to forget that night either. I
think about it all. The. Damn. Time.” His words are punctuated, driving his message
much further than just my thoughts. “I spent weeks trying to figure out who you
were.” I feel slightly guilty that his admission makes me so happy. For so long I have
thought he avoided me, lied about his name and identity so that I wouldn’t find out
who he truly was.
“Why did we wait so long to be honest with each
other?”
His breath is a snicker. “We’re only admitting a
fraction of anything.”
His words run through my head, lacing into several
variations of what he actually means, still, I nod. “This conversation needs to
happen. We need to figure shit out because I’m tired of trying to avoid you, and I’m
really tired of you ignoring me.”
“Aren’t we kind of doing that now?”
He shakes his head as he closes the distance
between us, then grips the table with his left hand and bends so his face is level with
mine. “If I stay in here any longer I’m going to do something that would probably
make me deserve getting slapped, so I am going to say this and then leave.” He
pauses. I can smell the scent of beer and peppermint on his breath, along with the
warmth of his skin as his shoulders roll forward. His eyes are wide and bright,
demanding me to pay close attention to his words. “I know you’re tough. I know you
can draw better than any damn person I’ve ever met in my life and most likely ever
will. I know you love Mercedes and would never risk changing that relationship. But
we like each other, and I don’t know what in the hell that means exactly, but I know I
want to find out. The question you need to ask yourself is, do you?”
His throat moves, swallowing words we both know
he’s fighting with. Ones that would make things both better and worse. He reaches
forward, his chest grazing my shoulder. I hate that I don’t want to move. That I want
to absorb the feel of his warmth and convince him to admit truths we both know
and bury on a daily basis in a sea of general politeness and attempts to avoid one
another. But the truths are laid open with the innuendos, silent stares, and
capitalized when we go out of the way to cross the other’s path. He has become an
exhausting and thrilling addiction that I don’t know how to consider stopping or
even changing at this point.
A long breath runs through my nose as his dark eyes
meet mine, exposing he’s fighting his own battle: silently pleading with me to bring
things up by making a cutting remark or joke about our night. I know he wants it
because it’s the only way we can both talk about it and relive it. It’s apparent by the
way his jaw locks and his eyes waver from mine that he also doesn’t want me to
respond. He’s waiting for me to consider his words and come back. His arm flexes as
he holds the table even tighter. Then he stands and stalks out of the room, leaving
my heart racing.
Holy shit.
Mariah Dietz lives in Eastern Washington with her
husband and two sons that are the axis of her crazy and wonderful world.
Mariah grew up in a tiny town outside of Portland,
Oregon where she spent the majority of her time immersed in the pages of books
that she both read and created.
She has a love for all things that include her sons,
good coffee, books, travel, and dark chocolate. She also has a deep passion for the
stories she writes, and hopes readers enjoy the journeys she takes them on, as much
as she loves creating them.
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