Behind His Lens

by R.S. Grey

  “Clarissa, darling!” Her voice screeches through the air, like nails on a chalkboard. I haven’t seen her in four years, and this is how she decides to greet me— as if we do lunch three times a week.

  I don’t turn toward her. My eyes stay glued on Jude as he pulls my bags out of the taxi and rests them on the sidewalk. But the moment she says my name, my old name, Jude’s head pops up and he looks past me. I know he connects the dots. Unless she’s stopped getting plastic surgery since I’ve been gone, we probably only look ten years apart in age.

  “Darling, aren’t you going to greet your mother?” She pronounces every word slowly with her upper-west side hoity-toity accent.

  Jude’s gaze volleys from her to me and then back again, trying to keep up.

  Fuck.

  With a disgruntled sigh, I swipe a hand over my face and turn toward her. This situation is happening whether I want it to or not.

  “Hello,” I clip out, taking in her entire appearance. There isn’t a single strand of hair out of place on her beautiful blonde head. She has on tailored silk slacks, kitten heels, and a printed shirt that looks straight off the Fashion Week runway. Her makeup is flawless, concealing all of her inner ugliness from the rest of the world.

  “Did you just get back from a trip?” she asks as her eyes scan down to my luggage— probably disgusted that I’m not using the monogrammed Louis Vuitton set she bought me when I turned sixteen. Sorry, I sold that a long time ago, mother dearest.

  “We were in Hawaii for a shoot,” Jude answers simply. Can he feel the tension pulsing around us?

  For the first time since we’ve arrived, her eyes fall on Jude. Her expression never falters. She doesn’t smile or frown; she simply stares toward him with a look of disinterest. “Oh, excuse Clarissa’s manners. I’m Mrs. Temple, and you are?”

  “Jude,” he says, extending his hand to empty air. She doesn’t even look down at it, and she definitely doesn’t step forward to grasp it. I step closer to him, instinctively wanting to shield him from the vile woman that created me.

  “How are you associated with this photo shoot, Jude?” she asks as his hand falls back down to his side.

  “I’m a photographer,” he answers confidently with his head held high, not intimidated by her coldness in the least.

  She glares toward me with an expression as if she’s just had a hefty whiff of sour milk. “Oh sweetie, a photographer, really? What has gotten into you lately? This isn’t how we raised you. When will you put this silly modeling behind you? How do you think I look when the ladies at the club ask about you posing for smut magazines in a bikini! Really, Clarissa, I expected better…”

  “Mom!” I yell, before taking a deep breath. Don’t let her affect you, I remind myself.

  “What are you doing here?” I bite out as calmly as I can, which is to say not calm at all.

  A slow, wicked smile spreads across her lips and the expression sends a chill through me. “Oh, I’ve come over to help with the wedding planning, dear.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “You’re insane! What do…”

  “I’m going to go…” Jude murmurs, interrupting my question and taking a step back toward the taxi.

  “No!” I exclaim. This entire fucking situation is wrong, but he’s the only part of this that I want, that I need, right now.

  My mother clears her throat behind us before offering me advice in her prim tone, “It’s best not to lead on the poor boy. Does he know about your engagement?”

  The entire world slows as her words filter through the air. I turn toward Jude just as his eyebrows push together in disbelief. Then, like rolling thunder, the expression takes over each of his features. His blue eyes glaze over in shock, his jaw clenches, and his hands tug through his beautifully dark hair, tousling it even further. Then suddenly, he’s turning on his heels, clenching his hands into tight fists, and walking off.

  “Jude! Stop!” I run after him, but he climbs into the taxi without a single glance back. He slams the door closed, blocking me out. I don’t know what to do, so I bang on the window, trying to get him to stop. I bang so hard that my palm starts to sting, but he shakes his head, keeps his focus out through the front window, and tells the driver to leave.

  “Jude!” I scream through the night air as I watch his taxi drive away. How did this happen? How the hell did he just steal my heart? I thought I was protecting it, so why do I feel like my entire fucking soul just ground into the pavement underneath the weight of that cab’s tires?

  “Mom! You’re delusional!” I scream, turning to face her and pacing forward with determined strides. “I broke off that ‘engagement’ four years ago. Why would you say something like that?! Are you actually insane or are you just trying to ruin what little of my life I have left?”

  My hands hang in the air for a moment before I drag them down the sides of my face, trying to make sense of this woman in front of me. She glances down at her manicured fingers, not a hint of emotion marring her gorgeously evil features. “I guess one gets behind on the current events of their daughter’s life when they refuse to speak with them.”

  Are her words meant to affect me? I don’t even know how it’s possible to hate her even more than I already do, but seeing Jude drive away adds one more notch to her growing list of vile deeds.

  I force a slow inhale and exhale, and when I finally speak, my voice is eerily calm. “Mom, I need you to leave me alone. I’m not ready to be around you, and I don’t know if I ever will be. I’d rather not have a family at all than deal with a mother like you.”

  I start to turn to collect my luggage, mistakenly thinking that the whole exchange had hit its peak, but then my mother glances up and I gaze at her icy blue eyes reflected back into mine. I don’t know what I expected to see, but cold, annoyance wasn’t it. “You always had a flare for the dramatic, Clarissa. It was embarrassing when you were growing up, but now it’s just pathetic. No one likes a depressed girl, not even that photographer.”

  And with that bomb, she turns on her nude kitten heels and slides back into her limousine, leaving me like she has my entire life: ten times worse than the way she found me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jude

  It’s been four years since I’ve felt like my life was out of control. Four years since I worked for the magazine. The moment I came back from my assignment overseas, I molded my life so that I could exist and be happy. I worked, I played soccer, and I picked up fast women. I never once felt like I was lacking anything, so why the hell does it feel that way now?

  I pick up my pace, practically sprinting down the blistery city streets. The wind is working against me, pushing my body and adding extra resistance. I use it to work through my anger. I press on harder, whipping around the sidewalk and into Central Park. It’s too early for anyone to be here. Even in New York not many people want to get up and run at five AM, especially in fall. Cold air whips through my black fleece jacket, reminding me of the changing seasons. Does Charley like fall? If I had to guess, she would probably prefer fall and winter to springtime. She just seems like she’d rather curl up by a fire with her paintings instead of dancing in a flowery meadow. Although who would even do that anyway?

  She’s called me a dozen times in the past few days, but I haven’t answered. She’s even left a few voicemails, and although I should, I couldn’t force myself to delete those. It seems too final. Not to mention, I know I’ll be desperate in a few days. I’ll need those voicemails for proof that she really did care… on some level.

  …

  As I round the corner back to my apartment, her little blonde head comes into view. It almost looks like a mirage at first because a perfect angel waiting for me at my doorstep seems too good to be true. But there she is with her hands propping up her chin and her knitted sweater pulled up over her knuckles. She looks like a scared animal, but I can’t pretend she’s that innocent. I can’t pretend that she hasn’t been lying to me, or hell, maybe jus
t lying to herself.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as I approach the weathered stoop that leads into my apartment building. The entire warehouse was refurbished a few years back. Each condo has a wide, open layout and floor to ceiling glass-paneled windows.

  When she hears my voice her eyes widen and her head snaps to look in my direction.

  “We need to talk.” Her blue eyes plead for me to listen.

  “Do we?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  She bites her bottom lip and glances away for a moment, down toward the bottom of the stoop. I’d be blind if I didn’t notice her lip quivering or her blue eyes starting to cloud with sadness.

  “Yes, Jude. Please,” she finally begs.

  “How’d you find out where I live?” I ask in a clipped tone.

  “Bennett gave me your address.”

  “Huh.” I raise my eyebrows sardonically, “good to know where his loyalties lie…”

  “Jude…” she protests, not wanting to drag Bennett down with her.

  “Can I just speak to you for a few minutes? If you’re still upset with me after, I’ll understand completely. But I can’t let you assume anything my mother said was true.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, taking a deep inhale, and then I sigh and brush past her. The industrial door to our complex slides open after I tap out the combination key, and without looking back, I start heading to my apartment. If she’s that desperate to talk, then she’ll follow me.

  Our footsteps echo across the smooth concrete floor and I almost turn around and cave. It’s torture trying to fight the connection we have but caving now won’t do either of us any good.

  The second my apartment door closes and we have privacy, Charley starts speaking so quickly that I can barely make out each syllable. Does she think I’m going to kick her out mid sentence?

  “My mother was lying when she said I’m engaged. Well, I was engaged or technically “betrothed” to Hudson when we were in school, but that was just our parents trying to control everything. We never took it seriously, but my mom really thought I’d go through with it. She thought we’d go off to the same college, he would officially propose, and then we’d live happily ever after. I have no clue why she brought that up today. It’s a blatant lie, Jude!”

  “Charley, stop!”

  My stomach is twisted into a tight knot and I can’t listen to another word she says. Everything she spouts seems to complicate things even more.

  “Obviously I know your mom is full of shit, but that’s not what made me leave. It’s the overwhelming secrecy that weighs you down. You won’t let me in. I would’ve known that your mother was lying right away if you had told me anything about her at all.”

  I take a deep breath, but I still have so much left to say.

  “What happened to your family? Why do you avoid speaking about them?” I pause, glancing up to see if she’ll answer, but when she doesn’t—I keep asking just to prove how much she’s been hiding from me. “How did your father die?”

  I grip the side of my black granite counter top. “Is your real name Clarissa? You told me Charley wasn’t a nickname, so is it your middle name? At times I feel like I know nothing about you and it scares the shit out of me. I’ve shown you every demon in my closet, and yet you keep yourself hidden away from the world like a porcelain doll.”

  “Jude…” she murmurs, but my name hangs in the air. She still doesn’t answer my questions.

  Silence fills my apartment and my heart starts to sink all over again.

  “I don’t want to be with someone who can’t be honest with themselves, Charley. I don’t expect you to trust me with everything right away, but I walk on eggshells around you. That’s not what relationships should be like.”

  There. I said it.

  My hands relax enough for blood to start flowing back into my white knuckles once again, but it takes a few minutes before I can look up at her. When I finally lift my head, her eyes are distant and focused a few feet above me. Her features are relaxed: soft eyes, tan poreless skin, rosy cheeks— but I know there’s a war raging behind that facade.

  She doesn’t protest or even offer a rebuttal. She doesn’t have a sudden epiphany and tell me every sad memory from her past. Charley nods her head slowly. Just once. Then she turns and walks out of my apartment and out of my life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Charley

  I couldn’t run fast enough. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn’t stop. I should have stayed away from the very beginning, but I didn’t because I’m selfish and depressed and I wanted someone to heal me.

  I wanted him to be enough to take away the blackness, but he’s wasn’t, and so for his sake, I walked away.

  My mother said it best. “No one wants a depressed girl”. I’m flawed at best and Jude needs someone strong and happy. He’s already had too much sadness in his life.

  I have to fix myself, not in hopes of getting Jude back, but in hopes of living a life worthy of his love.

  So, it’s time to finally face the past.

  Jude

  I almost fool myself into thinking that the last few weeks didn’t even take place. After all, it’s not like I have to avoid our favorite restaurant or that one park bench where we’d sip our coffee on Sunday mornings.

  Nope. Charley and I never got to find our favorite places; she made clean work of that.

  So I go about my life as normal, returning to the routine and pretending that the status quo is good enough. It’s strange how the brain works, though. Charley shouldn’t weave her way into my mind since our lives were never completely intertwined. Yet, I find myself constantly wondering what the answers would be to questions I would have known if we had actually worked out.

  What does she look like when she loses herself in a painting?

  Does she listen to music while she works?

  What recipe would she have made for me at my apartment if we had never been interrupted by her mom?

  …

  Charley

  I scroll through the search results, rereading archived articles again and again. When it happened, I clipped every newspaper and printed out every online publication I could find on the subject. I kept everything in a neat folder with no label and no description of what lay hidden inside. But it’s been four years since I ripped everything up.

  When I read about him back then, the wounds were fresh and I could hardly process the written words in my mind without sliding back into the dark void. Now, the articles seem less severe and I can process them with a hardened perspective. Certain words still jump out at me — criminal, father, life imprisonment. But I hold my breath as I read each one and push forward, past the pain.

  A hard knock on my apartment door jars me away from the middle of an article.

  “Charley!” Naomi yells from the other side. She’s been by every day this week, but I can’t talk to her right now. She’s my best friend, and I hate ignoring her, but if I let her in, she’ll do what she always does— make me forget. Right now, I need to keep up my momentum or I’ll never dig up my demons.

  “Charley! Please, let me in. This is ridiculous.” Her anguished tone pierces through the oak door, but I can’t let her in.

  It would be too easy to fall back into old habits if I did. My nails run across my bottom lip anxiously as I try to decide what the best option is. I know I’m doing the right thing, but I shouldn’t ignore her either. I don’t want her to have to worry. With a resolved sigh, I shove my computer off my lap and pad across my apartment toward the door. My socked feet thump softly across the wood floor and I know she’s probably relieved to hear movement; to know that I’m alive.

  With both of my palms pressed against the oak surface, I lean in and console her. “Naomi. I’m fine; I just need some privacy for a few days. Don’t worry about me. I love you, and I’ll text you when I can.”

  “Charley, that’s not good enough.”

  “Please,” my voice cracks with the plea, and I
pray she doesn’t keep fighting me. There’s so much weighing me down; I just need her to understand.

  “I’ll give you a week, but not a day more.”

  In spite of everything, the edges of my lips curl at her loyal persistence. One day, I know I’ll be just as good of a friend as she’s been to me these past few years.

  …

  Jude

  Bennett stalks into the living room and slams a six pack of beer onto the coffee table. I barely flinch. I’ve had the TV on for the past few hours even if the noise hasn’t actually been registering. Bennett raises his eyebrows as he steps over an empty pizza box that’s a few days old.

  “I see you’ve been taking good care of the place,” he mocks, taking a seat in the overstuffed arm chair adjacent to the couch.

  “Fuck off,” I snap back, although most of my words are lost in the cushions pressed against my mouth.

  “That bad, huh?” he asks, popping the top of his beer.

  “You don’t want to know.” I push my upper body up off the leather couch cushions and reach for one of the beers.

  “How are things with Naomi?” I ask, not because I want to hear it, but because Bennett should be able to talk to me even if I’m a mess.

  “Pretty good. We made it official while you guys were in Hawaii.”

  “Wow. That was fast.”

  “Not really. We aren’t twenty-one anymore. It’s pretty easy to tell if things can work.”

  He leaves out the other part where it’s also easy to tell if things won’t work.

  “I like her,” I offer, finally meeting his eye.

  “Thanks,” he mutters with a skeptical glance.

  We sit in silence for a while after that, letting the football game on my flat screen take over our conversation. My mind’s not really focused on anything. The game filters through my ears, but I don’t listen. The beer slides down my throat, but I don’t taste it.