Alone (7 page)

“
I always thought that cutting was something that would give you an adrenaline rush, not something that would numb you.”

“
Oh, the adrenaline rush is definitely there at first. I think the rush is what brings me back to reality though. It allows me to truly feel something real for just a moment and then I'm content after that as I drift back into the range of emotion I am comfortable with.”

“
Do you think you'll ever stop?”

“
I hope so. I'd like to trust myself enough to just ride through the emotions I feel.” Yes, that would be a relief. “Why are you homeless?” If she was going to dig deep into my mind, I was going to do just the same.

“
I'm not wanted enough to have a home yet.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Do you think I could get another cup of coffee?” She asked obviously avoiding the question.

“
Yeah, help yourself.”

“
Thanks.” She went into the kitchen and fixed her third cup and returned slowly to the couch again. “If you weren't an artist what do you think you'd be doing instead?” she asked before sitting next to me again.

“
I have thought about that many times. I think I would have gotten into social work. I would have done my part to make the world a better place.”

“
You don't think you're doing that now,” a statement, not a question. How did she understand me so well? Maybe I wasn't as complex as I had thought. Maybe I was quite shallow.

“
No, I don't. What do you want to do with your life?”

“
I want to be loved again. Welcomed home again. I think if that were to happen, the rest would just fall into place.”

“
You are very vague with your answers,” I commented bluntly.

“
I suppose that's unfair to you, but I don't know how to be any other way.”

“
It's okay. I'm just glad that you aren't running away from me anymore.”

“
Sorry about that. I ran away that day because I wasn't sure about coming out of hiding just yet.”

“
I understand.” Or at least I thought I did. She yawned widely despite the amount of caffeine she had in her system. I glanced at the clock on the wall and it was almost 2am. “I should let you sleep. Let me get you a blanket. I'll be right back.”

I grabbed a thick blanket from my bedroom closet. I knew it could get a bit chilly in the living room and the blanket I chose would shield her from that. I thought about offering her my bed and I would take the couch but when I returned to the living room, she was already asleep. Curled up on her part of the couch with her hair flowing over the edge. She looked so peaceful I wasn't about to wake her. I laid the blanket over her and put the pillow next to her on the floor in case she woke up and needed one.

I sat on the couch and watched her sleep for a bit. She was mumbling incoherently for a minute and I wondered what she was dreaming about. Then I saw an involuntary smile on her face and with that, I was smiling too.

CHAPTER 5: JACE PATTERSON

When I got up in the morning, I stretched lazily. Remembering the strange dream I had in the night. Something about the girl being here in my apartment, and I painted her? It felt so impossibly real. As I stretched some more thinking about the conversation we had, how I had told her my secret, and how she, no matter how vaguely told me hers. Then, literally like a light bulb going off in my head, I realized that it wasn't a dream at all.

I flew out of bed and nearly ran to the couch where I left Sara the night before. She wasn't there, but the blanket was still spread out over the couch and the pillow I left for her, on the floor. Further proof that it wasn't a dream, but where had she disappeared to?

“
Sara?” I called into the silence. No answer.

I threw on some clothes and ran out the door. I was going to find her, of course I didn't know where, but I wasn't going to stop until I found her.

The first place I would search was
City Woods
. That's where I first spoke to her, maybe she went back. I ran through the building and up the stairs to room 27. There was no one there. I didn't even stop to look at my painting, I was on a mission. I ran back out of the building and stood in the street thinking.

Where to next? Search every abandoned building in the city? That would take hours, but I was determined. Each condemned building I entered had other homeless people in it. They all looked at me when I came in, obviously looking for someone, but otherwise ignored me.

The fifth building I went into was an old factory. There were some people huddled around a burn barrel inside the building.

“
Hey!” a guy yelled to me. “Hey you!”

“
I'm just looking for someone. I won't bother you,” I said still looking around at the different faces. The man approached me.

“
Maybe I can help. I know pretty much everyone out here. What's her name?”

“
Sara.”

“
Is that her real name or a street name?” I looked at him confused. “A lot of us don't use our real name when we meet someone, because most of us don't want to be associated with our real name for some reason. So if you met her recently, Sara is probably a street name she uses.”

“
I met her yesterday,” I said.

“
okay. What does she look like?”

I described every detail of her to the man. He listened along with a few others.

“
I don't think I've seen her. The way you described her, I don't think I would forget the eyes.”

I nodded and turned to walk away but he appeared next to me walking me to the exit of the building. “Hey, uh, just a heads up. Maybe she doesn't want to be found. That's usually the case you know. If she wants to see you, I'm sure she knows how to find you. Also, if you took her back to your place and she just disappeared overnight, you may want to take inventory of your stuff. Not everyone out here is as civilized as I am,” he said with a wink.

“
Thanks,” I said disappointed.

I walked slowly back to my apartment. The guy was right, Sara knew how to find me if she wanted to see me. When I got inside I put my keys on the kitchen island and went to sit on the couch. I probably should have taken inventory of my stuff, just as a precaution, but there wasn't much I had that couldn't be easily replaced. Except, I thought, over $2000 in my backpack from Jace Patterson.

I grabbed my bag and looked inside the front pocket. I felt guilty almost, for mistrusting Sara for even a second. The envelope was there still overflowing with cash and a letter I had yet to read. I pulled out the piece of paper and read the handwritten note.

Miss Russo-

I am sure by now, Miss Morgan has told you that I am asking for a meeting with you. Please, come to The Italian Bistro Thursday at 6pm. I will have a table for us. There is much I would like to discuss with you.

Sincerely,

Jace Patterson

I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I could go and talk to this guy, but why should I? I would definitely hear it from Miss Morgan if I didn't. That would send her into a fury I've yet to see for sure. I knew this guy had a lot of influence, but who cares? I had my life set the way I liked it, or rather the way I was comfortable.

I put the letter away and while still sitting on the couch, I stared at the black and white rendition of Sara. I decided I should get the color version done so I could put this monstrosity away in storage.

I spent a couple hours on the painting, paying special attention to every detail. Her eyes were exactly right, which definitely pleased me. Other than that, this painting didn't feel any better than the black and white.

As I made myself some coffee in the kitchen, I looked at the two paintings that were destined for storage. Interesting, I thought, definitely a first. I couldn't create what I wanted to say in a single painting of Sara, but somehow, the two together held the entire story I wanted to say. I was finally pleased with what I had created. It finally felt complete, nothing was missing here.

I still had two more paintings to do for the gallery. I wasn't going to submit the ones of Sara, I would need her permission first. I spent the rest of the afternoon creating two paintings to be submitted to the gallery. I could bring them to the gallery in the morning, and tell Miss Morgan how the meeting went. I hadn't made the decision to go until that thought crossed my mind.

Suddenly, I was distracted by the phone ringing. I thought about letting the machine get it but chose to answer it. Possibly, it was Miss Morgan letting me know that Mr. Patterson was canceling the meeting. I picked up the ringing phone and took a hopeful breath in.

“
Hello?”

“
Willow. You answered,” my mother said surprised.

“
Hi mom. I'm getting ready to leave, can I give you a call later?”

“
No, you can't. I only need a minute okay?”

“
Alright. What then?” I asked irritated.

“
Thanksgiving,” she started to say.

“
I already told you I can't come. I have too much stuff going on.”

“
I know. That's why I am coming to New Jollie. I'll be staying with you for three days, Willow. I won't disrupt your plans and we can still have Thanksgiving together.”

“
Mom, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“
No arguments. I'll see you in a few weeks.” Then the sound of the dial tone.

Total disregard for what I wanted, as usual. She wouldn't disrupt my plans? Hardly. Just her presence was enough of a disruption. What if I wanted Sara to come for Thanksgiving? Okay, so that wasn't even a thought until now, but still. Then again I would have to find Sara first, or she would have to find me. Maybe she wouldn't want to see me again.

I made my way to my room searching for the box. Frustrated by not being able to find Sara in the morning, knowing it could only be on her terms that we saw each other again. Anger that my mother so rudely invited herself to my place for three unbearable days. I sliced my arm three determined times. Not deep, just enough so I could feel it and see the bubbles of red seeping along the cut. I watched as the blood pooled itself on my arm creating parallel lines equal distance from each other. Organized chaos forming along my arm.

This was a different type of cutting than the other day. Over the past few years, I started putting my cutting into three different categories. The first I called, ‘illusion,’ which was what I had just created. Cut barely enough to break the skin and have the blood make its appearance. This was the cutting I usually did just to take the edge off of the emotions I was feeling. It wasn't in a downward spiral like that of my ‘reality’ category.

‘
Reality’ was what I had done the day my mom left that message on my machine. Cutting to the point of needing medical attention, usually invoked by a quick wave of emotions too strong for me to handle. I called it ‘Reality’ because, at the moment of cutting, that was exactly what I was searching for.

The third category was what I called, ‘insanity.’ This was a series of cuts deeper than that of ‘illusion’ but caused by happiness rather than some negative emotion. That was why I called it ‘insanity,’ even to me, it was strange that I would cut at a high point in my life, rather than allowing myself to enjoy the happiness. In some ways I didn't feel as though I deserved any good that came my way.

I looked at the clock and saw I only had about an hour before my meeting with Mr. Patterson. I took my shower, cleaned my cuts and got dressed in something comfortable, but dressy. I decided I would go to the meeting, for one simple reason. To give Mr. Patterson his money back. I didn't care how important he was, Mr. Patterson was still insane. I counted the money, taking out $1000 for the actual cost of the paintings and left the rest of the money in the envelope to return to him.

I walked to the restaurant thinking of what Mr. Patterson could possibly want. It was obviously something good, but I didn't want to think too much about it. I honestly intended on making a quick exit. When I arrived at The Italian Bistro, I glanced around the room to see if I could find Mr. Patterson. Of course, I had no idea what he looked like, so I was just searching for someone who didn't look like he quite belonged here.

“
May I help you?” the young hostess asked me cheerfully.

“
Yes, um, I'm supposed to be meting someone here. A Mr. Patterson. Do you happen to know if he's here yet?”

“
Oh yes, you must be Miss Russo.”

I nodded and she started to lead me to the table where Mr. Patterson sat. I could see where she was headed. He was younger than I imagined, probably in his early thirties. He had dark brown hair and strong features and he was dressed pretty casual but the quality let you know that it was designer clothing. When we reached the table, Mr. Patterson stood up and reached out to shake my hand.

“
You must be Miss Russo,” he said smiling as he shook my hand. He was quite handsome, but not in an obvious movie star kind of way. I couldn't help but notice what beautiful green eyes he had.

“
Willow,” I corrected, “Very nice to meet you Mr. Patterson.”

“
Please, call me Jace. Have a seat,” he said gesturing to the chair across from him.