by S. L. Naeole
I didn’t stop running until I was surrounded by dim light and the familiar scent of varnish and dust. I was panting, my lungs burning from the sudden and unprepared sprint combined with the full belly and the sharp sting of fumes. I was in the catacombs, the multi-roomed hallway where I’d always been the most at peace. It was quiet, everyone still out for lunch. Even the fans were off. The buzzing in my ears was growing faint but my breaths were loud, each one tugging at the nightmare that I’d been so careful to avoid, so diligent in keeping down. It had crawled up my spine and dug its claws into me, straightening my body into a rigid line of panic.
“I’m not a victim,” I whispered to myself as my legs took me to the second to last room, the one that had been mine for the past five years. “I am not a victim. I am a survivor. I am not a victim, I am a survivor.”
My body was trembling, my cast thwacking my side almost violently as I tried desperately to take one calm breath in after another. In the dark, I could see nothing but the faint outlines of my stool, my worktable, and my easel. Their familiar shapes helped to dull my panic a fraction.
“I am not a victim, I am a survivor,” I repeated, reaching out for my bar-height bench. My fingers gripped the edge so tightly I could feel the short tip of my fingernail begin to bend.
“I am not a victim, I am a survivor.”
Needing to calm myself, I began to hum. It started out as tuneless, completely barren of melody and just a jumble of notes birthed deep in the back of my throat. Then a song appeared from my memory, pulling out the refrain in musical vibrations that filled my mouth in wordless tones. I knew the song, every lyric of Dar Williams’ “Blue Light of the Flame” burned in my mind by repetition, but I had to hum. I had to let the feeling of its soothing melody wash over me. So I hummed, rocking my body back and forth even as I held on tightly to my worktable.
“Victoria?”
Like a whip my body turned around, shivering at the silhouette that was outlined in the faint light coming in from the hallway. He was back. My Shadow Man, his features once again hidden in the safety of the darkness.
“It’s Michael,” he said, his voice that same low timbre that had worked magic on me after the accident. The name echoed in my head.
It’s Michael. It’s Michael. Michael. Michael. Michael.
He walked into the room, his body filling up the doorway before blending into the darkness with me. “Ouch. Shit,” he grunted as he walked into the corner of my desk. “Shit, what the fuck!” He’d walked into my stool and sent it clattering to the ground. “Goddamnit, Victoria, where’s the damn light? I’m about to kill myself in this dark.”
I couldn’t help it; I smiled.
My fingers moved beneath the table until I found a switch. Pushing it, the room filled with a soft white glow, illuminating the large wooden table that sat between Michael and me, the easel beside me, the desk behind him, and the stool on the floor. All around us sat empty wooden frames and shelf upon shelf filled with bottles, tubes of paint, cups and bowls filled with brushes, and jars filled with cotton pads, swabs, and wads. This was where I’d always felt safest. This was my sanctuary, my oasis. He was in my oasis and me…
I was breathless for a whole new reason.
He was standing with his hands pressed up against the edge of my workbench, his shoulders hunched forward as if in defeat but in his eyes, I could see nothing but sheer determination. He had followed me, somehow getting around security and through the maze of stairs until he’d found me.
I should have been terrified. Who was this man that followed me into the dark, even in my dreams? Instead of terror, though, I felt something else entirely, something warm and…melty.
“Victoria.” The way he said my name was like a caress, a soft graze of his voice against my skin that sent tremors pulsing through me. I looked away, needing to hide what he was doing to me from being exposed in my eyes.
“I’m not going to ask you why you freaked out, or who it was you pictured in your head when I grabbed you. You don’t owe me any explanations and I’m sorry for scaring you. I promise—I promise—I’ll never hurt you.”
His voice cut through the residual fog of my fear but I had no words. Apprehension and panic had stolen my ability to speak, but even if I could, I couldn’t explain anything to him and the truth was that I didn’t want to. He wasn’t anyone to me and I was certain that after today he never would be. I didn’t owe him an explanation. I didn’t owe him anything.
The sound of the stool being righted stole my attention away from the floor. It was close. Really close. I trailed my eyes up the legs of the stool, even as they disappeared behind the muscular stalks of black slacks-covered legs. The legs gave way to thighs as Michael sat down, and that warmth that moved through me turned into something hotter as I took in the way those slacks stretched tightly over those his thighs and strained at his—
Get a fucking grip, Ria!
Slamming my lids down, I forced my head to lift completely before easing my eyes open and hearing my heart thud like a base drum in my chest as they came pupil to fucking pupil with Michael’s. His face was inches from mine, so close that every time he exhaled I could have breathed in a part of him.
Oh God help me, I did. I breathed in every single time he exhaled, each time drawing in more deeply, and with each breath my body shuddered. It was as intimate as I’d ever been with anyone, as intimate as I’d ever let myself get with anyone, and the power of it had me reeling. I’d just had a panic attack because of a touch, and yet here I was, inches away from a strange man and willingly letting a part of him inside of my body.
This close I could smell him, that bright burst of citrus and something else, something so dark it was, itself, a warning that neither my nose nor my brain would heed. I inhaled deeper, allowing the scent to imprint itself into my mind, wanting it to soak into my skin.
“Victoria,” he said, this time the word nothing but a puff of air across my lips, but even in that I could sense a sort of vulnerability, almost taste it.
“Michael,” I whispered. It was the first time I’d said his name and the minute it left my tongue I wanted to snatch it back, savor it and tuck it away along with the memory of his smell.
He lifted his hand slowly, making sure that I could see every millimeter of its movement until it was a hairsbreadth away from my face. I inhaled sharply and then held it. Never touching my skin, he moved his hand along my jaw, letting the heat of his palm and fingers be the embrace. I sat as still as a stone while he traced the curve of my cheek, the bow of my mouth, the arch of my brows, the dip below my eyes, and the bend of my ear, all without touching me.
And yet he touched me.
My body tingled, energy sparking in the gap between his skin and mine. Each jolt caused me to gasp, and each gasp brought a little more of him into my system. And for as long he allowed his hand to float over me, as long as I allowed him to breathe life into me, our gaze didn’t break. I watched the colors in his eyes shift from mossy green to greedy, glorious gold before darkening suddenly into a dusky tawny as my breath caught in my throat when the tip of a finger lightly flitted over my hair.
“Go out to dinner with me tonight,” he said, breaking the silence between us with hoarse words.
He’s asking me out. Tonight.
Every ounce of sense in me told me to back away from him right now. Every brain cell I possessed screamed at me in warning, because this was a man, a man I didn’t know. A man who did things to me without meaning to, who made me think things I shouldn’t, feel things I shouldn’t, and who had no idea about any of it.
“Okay.” It was a one-word promise, one that from anyone else would have been empty, easily given. But as it left my mouth, it was weighted with a piece of me. And he knew it. He knew it.
Everything shifted at that moment. Immediately, the air pulsed with the confidence that seemed to mist out of his skin, filling the room like a testosterone-laden ozone. He straightened and separated himself from me as if
the electricity that had bound us together had never existed. I blinked rapidly at the sudden change in atmosphere, at the emptiness that I felt from his gaze. Confusion. Fear.
“I’ll call you.”
And then he was gone.
“So he just…left?”
Lara passed me a box of beef broccoli as she accepted one with char siu chicken from Kara, her eyes holding mine as she waited for an answer to her question. I scissored several pieces of broccoli and a single sliver of beef before passing the carton to Vonne, who passed me hers filled with maifun. “Yeah. He stood up and walked out of the room without another word. He said he’d call but…”
“They never call,” Holly muttered as she stared at her plate piled high with shrimp fried rice. “Assholes.”
“Assholes,” Kara agreed.
“Hey!” Roy argued, squeezing Kara with his thighs.
“Hush. You’re not allowed to talk during girlfriend night,” Kara reminded him.
“But I brought the food!”
Kara leaned up and kissed Roy fully on the mouth, grinning at him sheepishly. “And we all appreciate it, but if you want to get lucky tonight you’ll be quiet and let us talk as much shit about guys as we want, baby.” Roy, with his boy-next-door good looks and his sweet, affectionate nature, could only smile at Kara, a fool in love who’d put up with anything for her.
“Anyway, back to assholes,” Vonne grunted as she lifted a piece of sweet and sour pork to her mouth. “What I want to know is, how the hell did he even get into the catacombs in the first place? The gate to the stairs requires a passcode and a security badge, and then you’ve still got to get through three more security doors before you reach the combs. It’s easier to get into the Lincoln Bedroom than the ‘combs. Did you leave them all open?”
I shook my head. “I heard them all slam behind me.”
Hadn’t I?
“Then something’s weird, because even I can’t get to the ‘combs without someone hosting me and I’m the goddamn marketing manager.”
While chewing on my food, tried to think about whether or not I had pulled the doors closed behind me. The catacombs were three stories underground, with one elevator and one stairwell as the only means of entry and exit. The elevator required both a master keycard and a passcode, none of which I had. Every flight of stairs, however, had a security door that had a card reader and keypad for passcodes that changed monthly. Passcodes that I possessed. And I knew with all certainty that no one who didn’t know about Marta’s spinach quiche would have those passcodes.
Which meant only one thing: “I must have left the doors open.”
“Ria,” Vonne hissed, the scolding and lecture all present in those two syllables.
Even Holly felt the need to chastise me. “Do you know what would have happened if one of the directors or even the president of the museum found out? You’d lose your clearance, your credentials, and your job. Plus all the protections it provides.”
Stupid stupid stupid.
Fuck me.
How could I have done something so stupid? And all because of a guy. A guy that I didn’t even know.
I slammed my plate down onto the coffee table and then threw my chopsticks after it. “If I never hear the name or see the face of Michael Lachlan again it’ll be too soon.”
Vonne began to choke on her food and Holly slammed at her back as she stared at me, her mouth hinged open, food laying partially chewed against her tongue.
“Wait, did you say Michael Lachlan? Michael Alan Lachlan?” Roy asked as he rested his plate on his knee.
“Yeah. Why, do you know him?”
Sputtering in disbelief, Roy nodded. “Uh, yeah. Everyone knows him. He’s Michael-Fucking-Lachlan of the Lachlan Group? It’s, like, this massive conglomerate. It owns construction companies and manufacturing plants all across the globe. They own the Lachlan Tower and the Lachlan building in Chicago plus those new skyscrapers they’re building in Seattle. They started Lachlan Technologies two years ago and purchased Dynalock about eight months ago, giving them majority stakes in the online security industry.”
Kara turned from her boyfriend to me. “So you’re saying that Ria was rear-ended by one of the richest guys on the planet?” Hearing that he was rich didn’t move me. In fact, nothing was moving in me at all.
Lara snorted. “He’s also one of the biggest himbos on the planet. The guy’s slept with half of the upper eastside and that’s just this year. Trust me, Ria—you dodged a fucking STD bullet.”
Something moved in me then. Something that hurt.
Vonne was just staring in disbelief, her tone one of complete and utter disaster. “He’s not just one of the richest guys on the planet or the sluttiest. He’s also one of MOAT’s biggest benefactors.”
Suddenly the food in my stomach felt like fire and I leaped up off the couch, hurtling toward the nearest bathroom. My right arm dropped to the floor, a dead weight with the cast on as I clung to the toilet with my left, my entire body heaving forward as I vomited my dinner, each retching motion pulling tears from my eyes as fear replaced the food in my belly.
Oh fuck. I’d fucked up. I’d fucked up big.
A cool rag pressed against my forehead and a comforting hand began to rub circles on my lower back as wet splashes into the toilet turned into dry heaves. My mouth was coated with bile and grease, sweat cooling on my skin and sending shivers running through me. There was no part of me that didn’t know fear now.
“Everything I’ve worked for,” I sobbed. “I fucked it all up.”
In an instant the bathroom filled with my friends, all of them somehow fitting themselves around the toilet and me, their comforting hands and words doing their best to reassure me that everything was going to be alright. But there was no alright. There was no alright when tomorrow I might not even have a job.
“You know what? Fuck it. I’m calling in sick tomorrow and we’re going out tonight,” Kara announced. “We never celebrated your promotion, Ria, so we’re gonna do it tonight. My treat.”
I wiped a trickle of vomit from my lips and then looked at my friend like she had lost her damned mind. “Are you high? I’m probably going to be fired tomorrow for allowing someone to breach security. And not just someone! One of the goddamn benefactors! I might as well have taken the Degas out myself and set it on fire.” I slammed my cast onto the tile floor. “Fuck!” That hurt.
Vonne crooned over me, rubbing her hand over my head in that motherly way she had about her. “It’s going to be okay. Have faith.”
“Besides,” Roy said from the bathroom door. “Until you are fired, you’re still the assistant director of restoration, right? So why not celebrate like it? My girl’s right. Let’s all go out, get fucked up, and then call in sick tomorrow. My treat.”
Kara looked up at Roy and her face just lit up like it was Christmas. “I love you so much right now. You are so not an asshole.”
Roy grinned. “I love you too, baby. And thanks. Now go get ready.”
My hand kept tugging at the hem of my dress, hating the way it kept riding up my thigh even as I sat deep in the booth at the bar that Kara had chosen to celebrate my promotion and impending termination. Missing Link was one of Kara’s favorite places to have a drink and a dance, and though I’d never been there, she and the others practically had a favorite booth and there was even a shot named after them called the KLarapocalypse. The air smelled like spilled beer, smoke, and sweat, but it wasn’t crowded.
We were right on time, Kara said with a grin, and as she and Lara led us to the back toward a u-shaped booth, I tried my best to take in every detail of the place as I could. The bar was one long room separated by a series of sunken floors that went lower with each area we passed. It wasn’t a busy night, which was fine by me. I’d never been able to go clubbing with my friends because of what even the thought of so many bodies brushing up against me did to me. Panic-induced sweats, hyperventilation, cardiac arrest; I was absolutely terrified of the idea of nightcl
ubs.
But this bar? With its wide floors, wide booths, and small crowd, I could see myself coming here again. I honestly don’t know why I hadn’t accepted Kara’s invitation before, honestly. The music from DJ’s booth was loud, but not so much that I couldn’t hear myself speak. And the bouncer who’d greeted us at the door had somehow known to do nothing but simply smile at me whereas he’d given hugs and kisses to my friends and Roy that familiar one-armed bro-hug
Kara and Roy were busy dry humping each other on the dance floor to a somewhat disjointed hip-hop beat while Lara was dishing out another round of shots to Vonne, Holly, herself, and me, her strapless black dress doing nothing to keep her girls contained as she kept one hand pressed to her chest. “Drink up, bitches! We’re single, we’re not going in to work tomorrow, and my sister’s getting dick tonight!”
With little hesitation, I tossed back the layered shot that sat in front of me and coughed at the sweet burn the alcohol pushed down my throat. Next to me, Vonne slammed her glass down and cheered. “To assholes!”
“Assholes!” Holly repeated.
“Assholes!” Lara and I shouted beside each other, giggling.
We weren’t the loudest group in the bar, but we did draw the most attention as with each uttered curse, heads turned our way. I wanted to shy away, bury my head beneath the table to avoid their scrutinizing gazes, but with each shot my ability to care waned. Especially since I wasn’t alone and my friends were far louder than I could ever be. They didn’t mind the attention, didn’t mind drawing the eyes of both the curious and the annoyed.
“Drink!” Lara insisted as another round of shots appeared almost instantly, pulling my attention away from our scattered audience. “I told Penny at the bar to keep them coming until one of us is on the floor.”
“How much is this costing?” I asked, trying to feign concern as I tossed back the second glass of sugary alcohol.
Shrugging her shoulders, Lara repeated the act of downing the shot. “Who the fuck knows or cares? Roy said it’s on his tab, because he wants you to know that he’s totally not an asshole, so let’s make sure he’s the brokest non-asshole in the place.”