Dirty Shots

by Marissa Farrar

  “I know this isn’t a joke. I’ve given up everything because I love you, Eric, and I believe in you. But I’m also worried about you. You know it’s Wednesday and you haven’t been to the gym. You always go to the gym on those days.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said, I’m a bit busy to do anything else right now. I have to get this right, Anya, can’t you see that? They have to be perfect.”

  “They are Eric. They already are.”

  “No, not yet. There’s always something more that can be done to improve them, and there isn’t enough god-damned time!”

  “So let’s just cancel the exhibition. It isn’t worth it. It’s too much pressure on you.”

  He slammed his hands down on his desk, the bang making her jump. “No. There is no way I’m canceling now. I will not let them all win. I won’t let the Jonathan Turners and Gavin Hollises and Trent Bergmans of the world think they were right, and that we’re ashamed of what we’ve created. I won’t do it!”

  She placed her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “Eric, I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t be. Just let me get on with my work in peace.”

  She stared at him, but he’d already turned back to the computer.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Anya

  Anya didn’t have Logan Blanc’s phone number, or know where he lived. All she knew was the address of his art gallery.

  When she arrived, she found the place open, with just a few people browsing the latest artist to be featured. The atmosphere was tranquil, reserved, like that of a museum or library. Pushing down her nerves, she looked around for Logan. This was the first time they’d seen each other since the photo shoot, and she felt weird coming here without Eric.

  She spotted him, standing beside a massive floor to ceiling painting. He wore a light gray suit, his blond hair pulled back from his face and tied in a short ponytail. He was already talking to someone—a woman, also smartly dressed—but something must have caught his attention because his gaze lifted over the woman’s shoulder and locked with hers. Surprise registered in his green eyes and he gave his chin a slight jerk to acknowledge he’d seen her.

  He leaned in and said something to the woman. She nodded, they shook hands, and the woman walked away.

  Logan approached Anya with a smile, but also concern in his expression. “Anya, hi. Everything okay?”

  Unexpected tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Logan. I shouldn’t have come to the gallery, but I didn’t know where else to find you.”

  It suddenly occurred to her that she could have just called the gallery, rather than coming down here. She hadn’t been thinking straight.

  He frowned at her tears. “Is it your parents?”

  She shook her head. “No, I haven’t even heard from them.”

  “It’s Eric, then.” It wasn’t a question.

  She nodded. “I’m worried about him. He’s not eating. He’s sitting working for hours on end. He even missed his gym session.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal...”

  “No,” he interrupted. “I know what he’s like. It is a big deal.”

  She bit her lower lip, but she was thankful to have Logan to confide in, even if a tiny part of her felt like she was betraying Eric by speaking to his friend behind his back.

  “He keeps talking about perfection, and how he’s going to show everyone. He got really angry with me when I tried to... distract him.” Her cheeks heated with shame at the memory.

  Logan reached out and gently touched her arm. “It’s okay. It’s not about you, not really. He has an illness—a mental one. He’ll need to adjust his meds for a short time.” Logan sighed. “The difficulty will be making him see he’s ill again. When he gets like this, he convinces himself he’s just feeling inspired or working hard, and he doesn’t acknowledge it.”

  Anya tried not to feel shocked at the idea of the man she loved having a mental illness. She knew a lot of people suffered, and that it wasn’t Eric’s fault. It might even be a part of what made him brilliant.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” she said.

  “I guess he was worried he’d scare you off.”

  “It would take more than that to scare me off.”

  The faintest hint of a smile tweaked the corners of Logan’s lips. “Good.”

  “So,” she started, not wanting to say the wrong thing, “what sort of mental illness does he have? I mean, I know he’s suffered from bouts of depression.”

  “It’s bipolar disorder. He has periods of highs and lows—highs where he feels like he can take on the world and he won’t sleep, and he’ll go through these obsessive, creative phases—”

  “Like he is right now?”

  Logan nodded. “And then when he reaches the end of that phase, when he’s so completely exhausted and he can’t cope mentally or physically, he’ll drop into a pit of depression, and not even be able to speak to anyone.”

  She put her hand to her mouth. The idea of Eric like that broke her heart. “Oh, my God. Poor Eric.”

  “He’s managed to keep it under control for a while now—the meds help, as does the exercise and making sure he gets enough sleep—but the extra pressure of this exhibition must have put him into another spiral.”

  She thought of the times they’d been making love all night and working all day. “It’s my fault. I should have given him more space.”

  “No, not at all, Anya. You didn’t know. I’m more to blame for making him think running this exhibition so soon was a good idea. I should have known better, but I thought I’d just keep an eye on him and watch out for any signs. I didn’t expect it to hit him so quickly.”

  She thought back to the times he hadn’t eaten or slept. She’d assumed it was all to do with her, and their relationship, and the exhibition, but actually it had been a sign he was going into another manic episode.

  “So what do we do?” she asked.

  “We’ll go and see him. He just needs to increase his medication. He’s been in this place before, and we can level him out again.”

  “Thanks so much, Logan. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now. Eric is very lucky to have you, too.”

  “Eric’s my best friend,” he said. “I wouldn’t be without him. I’m glad he’s got you, too.”

  “When can you come and see him?”

  “We’ll go now.”

  “Don’t you have work to do?” she asked.

  “I have an assistant. She can handle things for a few hours. This is more important than the gallery. Just give me ten minutes.”

  Anya nodded. “Sure.”

  He left her for the moment, and she wandered slowly around the gallery, her mind only half admiring the latest collection, the other half focused on Eric. It seemed crazy that, after tonight, all of these paintings would be removed, and photographs of her would be replacing them. Nerves churned inside her. Would there even be an exhibition if Eric was ill? They might have to cancel the whole thing.

  Strangely, the thought of canceling filled her with disappointment. After all their hard work, and going through such emotional turmoil, to not see this through to the end felt like failure. For the first time, she truly wanted to experience the night of the exhibition. She wanted to be here, at Eric’s side, as people walked around, admiring their photographs. She wanted to learn what people would make of the images—though she knew it wouldn’t all be good. Perhaps some would be shocked, like her father, but she was also certain some people would see the beauty in the photographs.

  Eric was a genius at what he did. Even if it wasn’t to everyone’s taste—and truthfully, what art was?—no one could deny he was good at what he did.

  A hand touched her elbow, making her jump.

  Anya turned to find Logan smiling at her. “Ready to go?”

  She nodded.

  They left the cool interior of the art gallery and stepped out onto the New York street. Someone was walking in as
they headed out, and the person stopped abruptly.

  “Anya?”

  She blinked in surprise as she took in the sight of the familiar figure. “Dad! What are you doing here?”

  Her father’s gaze moved to Logan. “I came to see Mr. Blanc, actually. I hear this farce of an exhibition is still going ahead.”

  Logan lifted his chin. “Of course it is, Mr. Bergman. I’m expecting a full house.”

  “Not if I’ve got anything to do with it,” her father snapped. “If this gallery shows photographs of my daughter in a couple of day’s time, I will make sure you go out of business.”

  Logan laughed. “I’d like to see you try. You’re simply one art critic—one voice among what will be hundreds on Saturday night. I’ve seen the photographs of your daughter, Mr. Bergman, and they are exquisite. People will be talking about Eric Rutherford’s new collection for months to come, and having you complaining about them will be like a whisper in a storm. It won’t surprise me if the collection ends up on tour, and I expect Anya will be fighting off invitations from magazines to be photographed and interviewed.”

  “For every article my daughter does, I’ll make sure there’s another explaining how Eric Rutherford coerced and manipulated her into doing those shoots.”

  Anya’s heart lurched, her mind swimming at the idea. “Dad! Please, stop...”

  Her cheeks burned, humiliation washing over her that they were having this conversation standing out on the street, random strangers catching snippets as they passed by. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes at the realization her dad still clearly hadn’t come around to her way of thinking.

  “I believe that will be slander, Mr. Bergman,” Logan continued. “Anya is an adult and more than capable of making her own decisions.”

  They both looked to her. “You know Eric didn’t force me, Dad. We’re in love. He’s as protective of me as you are.”

  Trent Bergman snorted. “I highly doubt that. He’s almost ten years older than you, Anya!”

  She bristled, her back straightening, shoulders back. “He’s eight years older than me, which, I believe, is about the age difference between you and Mom?”

  “That’s completely different!”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Is it? How?”

  “It just is.”

  Anya frowned slightly. “And how is Mom? I haven’t heard anything from her, and she’s not responded to any of the texts I’ve sent her.”

  “I’ve instructed her not to speak to you,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “She’s softer than I am, and I won’t have her making you think that we’re okay with you doing this.”

  “You won’t let her speak to me? Does that mean she wants to?”

  “She’s been brainwashed by that man as much as you have. But I won’t have it. I will not allow her to have a relationship with a child who behaves in such a way.”

  Tears blurred Anya’s vision. “You can’t stop her.”

  “Just watch me. I expect the women in my life to do as they’re told, and it seems you got your impertinence from her.”

  Anya didn’t even know what to say, so she just stood, gaping at him. She’d always known he’d been strict, but this was something else. Was he really trying to control her mother, too? She never thought her mom would stand for such a thing.

  Logan’s hand touched her waist, making her jump. She’d forgotten he was there.

  “Come on, Anya. We’ve got more important things to do than stand on the sidewalk arguing with someone who clearly will never see sense.”

  Feeling numb, she allowed Logan to guide her away from her father.

  Who was this man? He’d never exactly been warm and loving, but this felt like an extreme. Was she only seeing the real man now, her love for him blinding her all these years?

  Or had her own actions created the monster she’d found before her?

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Eric

  Eric had no idea how long he’d been working for when he finally looked up and realized Anya was no longer in the apartment.

  He jumped to his feet, his hand locked in his hair. “Shit!”

  Unable to contain the restless energy coursing through him, he began to pace, reaching one side of his apartment before turning and storming back again.

  What had he said to her? He could barely remember. He recalled pushing her away, feeling frustrated and irritated that she wasn’t able to see or understand the importance of his work. He’d thought she, of all people, got what it meant for him to work as he did, but then she’d repeatedly interrupted him, and he’d started to lose his concentration, which only made him more angry and frustrated, and ...

  He stopped, breathing heavily.

  His train of thought had run on and on, never taking a moment’s break.

  On the floor lay a broken plate, and an uneaten pastrami on rye scattered across the hardwood floor. Had he thrown the plate or dropped it? He couldn’t even remember how the crockery had gotten broken.

  When was the last time he’d eaten? When was the last time he’d slept?

  He had no idea. He wasn’t even sure what day it was.

  Panic suddenly shot through him, his adrenaline causing his heart to race, his breath coming fast. When was the exhibition? Had he missed it already? Had he lost days to sitting at his work, trying to find perfection for something that had already passed him by?

  And what about Anya? Where was she now?

  Eric dropped to a crouch, both hands locked in his hair, and let out a roar of anger at himself. When was the last time he’d taken his medication? He was on a low dose now, being able to manage it mostly himself—or so he’d thought—but somewhere along the line he’d started to lose control again, and he hadn’t even noticed it happening.

  Had he pushed her too far? Had he lost her?

  Suddenly, all the work meant nothing if she wasn’t in his life. It was empty and soulless.

  He was empty and soulless.

  The front door clicked and he twisted his head in the direction of the sound. The door swung open, and Anya entered, Logan close behind.

  Eric slowly got to his feet to face them.

  He experienced mixed emotions about seeing the two of them together. He was thankful she’d come back, and that Logan had obviously been looking out for her, but he also worried he’d messed up so badly, he’d sent her into his friend’s arms. Logan was probably a much better match for Anya—his best friend didn’t have any of his own fucked-up-ness—but Eric knew it would kill him if Anya left him for Logan.

  Not that he would blame her, of course. She’d dealt with more than any woman should have had to since meeting him.

  “Eric ...” she said, his name hanging in the air between them.

  He pressed his lips together. “You came back.”

  “Of course I did.”

  His heart stuttered, his gut filling with dread. “Did you come to tell me something?”

  She nodded. “Well, yes, I guess so.”

  He took a breath and threw it out there. “You and Logan are a far better match than you and I.”

  Anya and Logan shared a glance, both with matching expressions, lines between their brows, heads shaking.

  Logan spoke first. “Eric, no. You’re wrong. There’s nothing between Anya and me. She came to me because she was worried about you. You’re my best friend. I would never do that to you.”

  “And neither would I,” said Anya. “I love you more than anything. I thought you knew that.”

  He hung his head in shame. “Then what do you need to tell me?”

  Logan stepped forward. “That you’re sick again, Eric. Anya told me about your recent behavior. You know you’re cycling with your moods again. You need to up your meds before you end up hitting the wall, and you find you can’t get out of bed for a month.”

  He closed his eyes briefly before answering. “I already know. I realized when I looked around and noticed Anya gone, and saw the mess I’d made. I’
m so sorry, Anya.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, softly. “I just wish you had told me.”

  “I didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

  “I would never have thought badly of you. You must think more of me than that.”

  He frowned slightly and shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It wasn’t about you, or your reaction. I just didn’t want you to see me as anything less than the photographer you’d looked up to, or the man you’d gotten to know.”

  She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and reached out and took his hands in hers. Her eyes met his. “I wouldn’t have, but if we’re to have a life together, I need to know about things like that. If you’d told me sooner, I could have spotted what was happening before it got too far. I would have made sure you got your sleep, and not tried to tempt you away from your gym sessions.”

  “I don’t want you to mother me, Anya. That’s exactly what I was frightened of.”

  “It’s not mothering. It’s taking care of someone I love.”

  Logan joined in. “Same goes for me. We love you and we want to see you well. Your health is far more important than anything else.” He paused and then added, “We can always cancel the exhibition.”

  But Eric shook his head. “The work is done. I want people to see it.” He caught Anya’s eye again. “As long as that’s okay with both of you.”

  Anya smiled and his heart lifted. “Of course it’s okay with me. But you must promise to get help.”

  “I’ll book an appointment with my doctor for first thing tomorrow.”

  Her arms wrapped around his waist and he pulled her in, hugging her hard and kissing the top of her head. The adrenaline from his mania still caused his muscles to tense, his blood racing through his veins, but he felt better just by having Anya in his arms.

  “I’ll leave you guys to it,” said Logan. He pointed a finger at Eric. “Take your meds.”

  Eric nodded. “I will.”

  Anya peeled herself from him. “Thanks, Logan.”

  “Anytime.”

  Logan left the apartment and closed the door behind him.