Relish: A Vicious Feast Book 2 (4 page)

“You’re cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” he asked when Silvia and I reached the counter.

“Call it artist’s block.” I pulled off my gloves and stuffed them into my bag. “Can you get the frames done before Friday next week?”

“It’ll be a rush job.” Eddy scratched the back of his neck.

“I’ll double your regular fee if you get it done and discretely. Nobody can know about these pictures.” I leveled my most serious I-mean-business stare at him. My heart attempted to carve a hole out of my chest. “I’m trusting you on this, Eddy.”

The Rastafarian store owner crossed his heart. Good enough for me.

“Will you hand me a dozen pieces of the mat photo paper?” I pointed at the glass case and Eddy retrieved what I’d asked for.

“What kind of frames will you need?” he asked as he handed me the paper.

“I was thinking black with two inch cream matting on all sides.” I knew what I wanted even before I started preparing the pictures for the Showcase. But it didn’t mean my chest didn’t tighten at the doubts creeping back into my head. “Use none glare glass as well.”

“Pricey.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“Call it an investment on my future.”

He nodded. “Go print them out. I’ll have everything you need by Friday.”

Without waiting for him to say anything more, I hurried to the developing kiosk and plugged in the USB.

“Well, look at you, big spender,” Silvia finally said, sidling closer until her shoulder bumped mine.

I loaded the photo paper and clicked print. “I earned quite a bit for the promo shots I took of the band. I actually think Yana was overpaying me.” I shrugged as the first picture slid onto the holding tray of the kiosk. “I can’t complain.”

“And this sudden shopping spree?”

“Christmas gift from Phoenix and Yana. They think I need a wardrobe update.”

From my periphery, I saw Silvia’s eyes grow to the size of large pizzas, reminding me how hungry I was. My stomach growled to prove it.

“Shut the fuck up!”

That got my full attention. “You cussed.”

“The lead singer of Vicious and the band’s manager actually gave you something for Christmas?” She couldn’t contain her excitement, so she bounced in place like a lottery winner.

“They all did.” I realized my mistake the second Silvia’s next question left her glossed lips.

“What did Luka give you?” she whispered as if we were about to commit a crime.

Answers.

My heart stuttered and my lower lip actually quivered. Ugh! I wasn’t quite myself just yet when all the memories of New Year’s Eve came flooding back. I staggered a bit. Silvia noticed my mounting distress and dropped the matter. She took me into her arms. Who knew a hug could feel so good? I returned the comfort she gave me with a squeeze and a wobbly smile.

The kiosk dinged, announcing to the world that it had completed the printing process. I swiped at the stray tear that dared to fall then took a deep breath before stepping out of Silvia’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she said as I gathered up the photos.

“I’m fine.” I sniffed. “Really.”

Even if I couldn’t talk about what happened, it seemed anyone who knew about my stay with Vicious drew the same conclusions. Something happened that caused me to become a blubbering mess.

Unwilling to ruin my afternoon with thoughts of Luka breaking my heart, I shuffled to the counter and handed over my future to Eddy. He scrutinized the pictures for the longest minute of my life. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until my lungs burned. I forced myself to exhale. 

“Your best yet,” he said after seeing the final picture—the composite of all the pictures that created Luka’s face. “When you get famous you have to promise me that I get to put a sign in front that says this is the place you have your pictures framed.”

Tears welled for a whole different reason. I could barely speak when I said, “You’ve got a deal.”

Eddy gave me a proud smile, like a father seeing his daughter all grown up. Come to think of it, Eddy was the closest to a father figure in my life. I had no memories of mine, and Mom never talked about him. I never asked. Anyway, all photographers considered framers their family. A good frame made the picture. I certainly thought so.

I rounded the counter and gave Eddy a hug. He returned the gesture, engulfing me in the scent of sandalwood and something else. Something sweeter. No matter how focused I’d been at getting my degree, I still managed to surround myself with good people. I considered myself lucky as I stepped back. The shimmer of unshed tears in Eddy’s eyes sealed the deal for me. He’d take good care of my photos.

“Well, come on then.” Silvia tugged at my arm. “You owe me a cup of cocoa and a shopping trip.”

Stealing myself for the torture to come, I waved at Eddy while he laughed at Silvia dragging me out of the store.  

C
HAPTER
F
OUR
P
ROJECT

Arms crossed, brow furrowed, and lower lip jutting out, I studied the ten photos that marked a cornerstone in my photography career. They hung side by side along the back wall of the exhibition hall for the Spring Showcase. I’d asked for the last slot to set up. The dean of photography, having heard about the subject matter of my introspective, graciously gave me access to the hall from ten in the evening onwards. Hell, he made it seem like I could camp out here if I wanted to. Who knew an old codger like him was a fan of Vicious? I suspected he hung around as long as he could to sneak a peek at the photos, but I refused to free them from the bubble wrap Eddy had encased them in until only Larry and Silvia remained in the hall with me.

The entire week it took to write my paper calmed my nerves significantly. The soft clanking of the laptop keys helped. Such a mundane chore; writing a paper. I definitely felt more like myself. Not having to stare at pictures of Vicious also added to my sense of peace. Leaving the pictures in the care of Eddy felt like a breaking away, a letting go of sorts.

I  breathed easier as I made sure the progression of the photos was to my satisfaction. Larry and Silvia had given up on me by the tenth time I decided to rearrange the frames. The only sure placement had to be the tenth photo. One to nine, on the other hand, went up for debate several times. I felt like I was playing the street hustler shell game where I had to guess which shell concealed the ball.

Finally, at two in the morning, I stepped away from my introspective. I’d settled on alternating the solo photos with the group shots. The progression began with Luka’s mask—this way his photos bookended the entire piece. A tight band constricted my lungs when I stared at him too long. I may be at the beginnings of letting go, but it didn’t mean an image of him no longer dug up memories of what we’d shared, no matter how twisted the experience. I’d given him a piece of my heart. He was careless with it. What could I do? I bet on the wrong horse and lost the race.

Exhausted, I crawled into my apartment an hour later. Expecting an empty bed, the sight of Larry sleeping on his side stripped away my stress like an itchy dress I couldn’t wait to get out of. Not bothering to change, I let my jacket fall to the floor. Snow still clung to its shoulders. Toeing off my boots, I pushed aside the sheets and fell into bed. The dip of the mattress didn’t even wake Larry. Thank God for small miracles. I wasn’t up for questions this late.

I shut my eye and fell asleep almost immediately.

The twisting in my belly gets worse the louder the women chant. The way they stomp on the ground reverberates into my chest. Their kicked up dust causes me to cough in my fetal position. The elder with the knife grabs my shoulder, trying to force me to straighten out. But the ripping pain keeps my body curled. It feels like a bad case of the monthly cramps times a hundred. I scream. I can’t keep it in anymore.

My arms and legs shake. I cry out again, my back bowing off the ground. The old woman mumbles something and draws a cross using oil with her thumb on my sweaty forehead. No matter how cold my insides feel, I sweat through my white dress.

Over the intense chanting and stomping, I beg the knife-wielding woman to make it stop. To end it. She doesn’t break from her chanting but gives me a subtle nod anyway. I reach out for her with one hand while the other clutches at my midsection. A spasm ripples through my body, curling my toes. I breathe through my mouth in the same way pregnant women do when in the throes of labor.

I find myself on the brink of giving up. How long do I have to keep waiting? I shout for them to get it over with, but my cries are swallowed up by the frenzy surrounding me. No one should go through such torture. Please!

Please!

I gasped awake to the brightness of morning light. Squinting, I blocked out the rays of sunlight with my hand until I could twist my head away from the window. Beside me, the bed lay empty. Larry must have gotten up early. But the lack of breakfast smells coming from the kitchen, even the tempting scent of coffee, told me he wasn’t in the apartment anymore. Maybe he went out to fetch breakfast instead.

Already half-awake anyway, and with the opening of the Showcase ahead of me, I pushed off the bed. The lack of winter chill in the air didn’t hit me until I stumbled out of the bathroom after washing away the rest of my sleep haze. I moved to the window and blinked.

The view of the street below lacked one key element: snow. On the ground or falling from the sky—nothing. What the hell? It would have been virtually impossible for more than fifteen inches to have melted the second I closed my eyes up to now. An electric charge similar to the one in my dream lingered in the air.

Scratching the back of my head, I padded out of my room in search of coffee only to stop dead in my tracks by the door. There on my ratty couch sat the one guy I thought I would never see in person ever again. The soft sunlight lifted golden strands from his messy tumble of curls. At the end of one perfectly arched eyebrow stabbed the bolt I’d always wanted to take into my mouth. He had the sleeves of his black button down rolled up, exposing the cuts of muscle along his forearms. A simple silver ring circled each of his fingers, all of them tapping along to a beat inside his head. Leather covered his long legs, ending at steel-toed boots.

I reached up and rubbed my eye, sure the second I opened it again he would disappear. Yet, when I did, he remained on my couch, resting his arms on his knees. My sharp inhalation got his attention. If this was a hallucination, I desperately didn’t want it to end.

Slowly, he turned his head toward me. The weight of that blue gaze as it traveled my body stole what little breath I managed to get into my already laboring lungs. I tried everything I could to keep calm. I counted to ten. I thought of blue skies. The second didn’t help at all because the image reminded me of his eyes. They were on me now, exploring my body the way his talented hands had done when I’d bargained one night away from him. If I closed my eye, I could still smell the jasmine-scented bath salts in the tub.

“Hello,” he whispered as if to speak any louder would scare me off. A part of me did want to run away. The other part, the addict, wanted more.

The way he almost sang the word sent a powerful shiver to roll through me. “What are you doing here?” I whispered back, not wanting to break the spell—or whatever the hell this was.

He straightened and reached for me. I shook my head. My knees trembled so badly that if I moved, I feared I would fall flat on my face. I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Especially in front of him. Getting that I wouldn’t move, he let his hand fall and sighed.

“I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?” I asked back. I searched for the anger I felt at what he’d done, but my happiness at seeing him again overpowered all other emotions.

He nodded, maintaining eye contact. “You look thinner than last I saw you. Haven’t you been eating well?”

I combed shaking fingers through my bed-mussed hair. “I’ve been busy.” I refused to admit I’d gotten so used to Deidra feeding me that I often forgot to eat. If not for Larry and Silvia, I might have starved long ago.

“Yes, the Spring Showcase.” He smiled warmly. “The pictures must be spectacular.”

No matter how much I wanted to ignore the warm feeling spreading across my chest, I couldn’t. Seeing him sitting on my couch after what seemed like years when really it had only been months cracked my defenses. It was all I could do not to run into his arms and inhale the spicy sweet scent of his.

“The Showcase opens today,” I forced myself to say around the lump in my throat growing larger the longer I looked at him. “I don’t suggest you go because you’ll cause a riot.”

He threw his head back and laughed. But it wasn’t the carefree sound I’d gotten used to hearing from him. This laugh seemed sadder somehow, like he held something back. Still, the smooth, deep notes danced around me, almost touching me physically.

“Shouldn’t you be on tour?” I moved forward with the conversation. Getting stuck meant losing what little self-control I had left. How could I delude myself into thinking I’d begun to let go last night while at the exhibition hall? The mere sight of him broke me all over again. I hated how weak I felt in that moment. The walls of my apartment seemed to be closing in, trapping me. I couldn’t allow this to continue. He’d already taken more than I was willing to give.

“I needed to see you. I needed to know that you are alright.”

“Well,” I sucked in a sobering breath, “you’ve seen me. And it might not look like it right now with me shaking like a spooked terrier, but I’m fine.”

“I told myself I’d stay away. Leave you alone,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “I hurt you that night. My being drunk isn’t an excuse.”

“How’d you manage to down three bottles of gin anyway? Most people would have died from alcohol poisoning.” Okay, I sounded like an idiot, acting all normal and curious. I blamed it on the shellshock of seeing Luka again.

He barked another one of those sad laughs. “I have a high tolerance for many things.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you. You have every right to hate me.”