Another Brush Stroke (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 1)

by Barefoot, LW

  My voice echoes with fear and determination. I’m almost proud of myself for finally getting those much needed words out. I shiver with a sudden cold gust of wind. I let him take me back in his arms as he pulls us in through the French doors and closes them. His palms run up my arms to warm me. He wraps me in a hug.

  “Stop fighting it and just let it happen,” he whispers against my hair.

  One second I’m indulging in the innocent embrace, and the next his mouth is covering mine. Demanding I open to him. More forcefully than the last time his lips claimed mine. I cave because I’m weak and foolish.

  ‘You are so weak, beautiful girl, let me taste your fear.’ I can’t get a quiet moment without the ugly reminder I shouldn’t be here in the first place.

  I try to pull back because of those words. Those damn words. I push against him, but it fuels Evan further. He pushes me against the wall, his hands feeling me come alive underneath him. My mind fights against the desires of my body. I have no choice in him taking control. Hell, I need him to.

  His mouth demands and seeks. He’s rough with his movements as my back digs in the wall he shoves me against. His hand grips my hair and he pulls my head back to gain access to my neck. It hurts and I love it.

  The pain is taunting the pleasure as his lips and tongue travel up the column of my throat. The grip in my hair tightens while his teeth close over the muscle running into my collarbone. It feels amazing. He captures my hands and pulls them above my head, pinning me in place. His mouth skims over the tops of my breasts, until he takes my hardened nipple in his teeth. He bites me through the thin lace of my bra and shirt. A strangled moan comes from someplace buried deep inside of me.

  I slip up by indulging myself and letting my lower half rub up against him. His huge erection teases the junction of my thighs between our clothes. I couldn’t stop it if I tried. A deep growl rumbles through his chest in approval.

  “I knew you were perfect for me,” he swears.

  His large hand slides down to undo the top button of my jeans. To him it was a small movement. The one that sends everything to a crashing halt.

  For the first time, a hand other than my own touches the jagged scar that ruined me. He rips my shirt apart so quickly I can’t stop him. I cry out and try to pull my hands out of his grip.

  Tears run over my eyes, slow and angry. I can’t look at him. He stares at the marks, finally letting go of my wrists before he sees the brand his fingers touched. He pulls away from me. I yank the fabric back over myself. I slide down the wall and collapse to the ground. Attempting to fold my body in on itself, trying to keep Evan from seeing more than he already has. I ask for him to leave through quiet strangled sobs. Trying to catch my breath and keep the panic attack at bay. Willing the floor to open up and swallow me whole, I freeze back into the numb being I’ve learned to live with.

  Evan has a dumbfounded look on his face, as if he doesn’t know what just took place. One moment we’re in a heated bout of passion and next I’m a crying mess on the floor. I knew this would happen. All my fears of his reaction came true.

  I demand for him to leave again as Jamie comes crashing through the room. He takes in my tear streaked face, my crumpled body on the floor, and the ripped shirt I hold tight together.

  The look he gives Evan is pure murder. Ru’ scrambles in the room and comes straight for me.

  “Get out,” Jamie exclaims.

  Horror and confusion is painted over Evan’s perfect features.

  “I said get the fuck out of here, before I do it for you,” Jamie rages even louder.

  “Jamie, I don’t know what happened, I swear it’s not what it looks like,” Evan tries to explain.

  He stares down at me in the most compassionate, confused way, not at all intimidated by Jamie’s threats.

  “No, it’s my fault. I’m sorry, but you have to leave,” I say, trying to get the words out with sound behind them. Forcing them so they could hear me, but they come out broken and unsure.

  I want to blame this on Evan. I feel like he pushed too hard, too fast. But this could have happened months down the road and I’m sure I would have reacted the same.

  He looks at me, completely ignoring Jamie’s attempts at throwing him out of the room.

  “Harper, if I scared you then I’m sorry, but I can tell it’s more than that,” he says and then he’s gone.

  An edge of frustration hangs in his clipped words and apology. But I don’t know if it’s about how I fell apart or what he saw on my skin that’s making me feel even more like the disappointment I know I am.

  Jamie picks me up, puts me in bed, and kisses my forehead. He moves to the balcony and gathers up the mess we made, and shuts my door behind him when he leaves. Ru’ climbs up on the bed to snuggle with me and I allow myself to give in to the grief of never being whole again.

  No matter how long I wait or how much time has gone by, I still get dragged back to that voice destroying me. Using me like I was a toy for him to fuck with. The things he said and did to me still creep up in the middle of the night and choke me. Demanding recognition night after night. I live it over again in my dreams.

  The Sculptor knew exactly what he was to doing to me and the effect it would have on my life, what little of it there is left.

  Evan

  “What the fuck was that all about?” I demand, before Jamie has a chance to speak when he comes back downstairs.

  I should be the one giving him an explanation, not the other way around. He sets the opened bottle of wine on the kitchen counter with the glasses and tosses the bag from the restaurant in the trash.

  “Do you have any idea how bad I want to punch you right now? You don’t waste any time do you?” he growls.

  “I get what I want, do you really want me to apologize for that?”

  Jamie’s arms lift to run his hands through his hair. He’s nervous and pacing around the kitchen.

  “No, I guess not. I know it sounds fucked up, but I shouldn’t have encouraged you to pursue her. I’m having second thoughts now,” Jamie mumbles.

  Jamie’s opinion no longer matters.

  “I don’t want anyone else. I want Harper.”

  “She isn’t like other women, it goes deeper than you could imagine. Deeper because of her past,” Jamie stumbles over trying to articulate his true meaning.

  He looks up at me. Face full of confusion.

  “I’m not leaving here, until you tell me everything. And I mean everything. You’ve held out enough already,” I insist.

  Jamie points to the opened bottle of wine I should be sharing with Harper right now.

  “You’re gonna need that.”

  “Something tells me it’s going to have to be stronger,” I counter.

  Jamie nods and grabs two glasses from open shelving and a bottle of whiskey. He pours us both a drink and downs his before I can get the tumbler to my lips. He pours himself more and makes mine a double. He motions to French doors that lead out to the patio and he turns off the alarm system. I grab the bottle of liquor and bring it with us. I follow him outside and watch as he tries to gather his thoughts.

  He looks defeated as he slumps down in the oversized cushions. A loud ominous groan of discontent escapes his chest. In the many months we have known each other, I have never seen him anything other than laid back and carefree. His eyes scan the courtyard to make sure we’re alone, before his gaze lands on me.

  “Fuck, man, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m not sure I’m the one who should be telling you this.”

  He looks at me with complete desolation written across his face.

  “Who is she, Jamie?”

  “You figured out she’s not who she claims she is?” he asks.

  “You as well, for that matter. I have to be careful of my associations. It’s crucial I find out what kind of people I surround myself with,” I explain.

  There’s too much at risk if I’m not careful. Fear now shines out of his glassy eyes.

 
“Come on, you didn’t really expect me not to?” I ask.

  “No, I completely understand. So you know who we are?”

  “I couldn’t find anything past a few years ago. There isn’t a single trace on either one of you. And in this day and age, two people who aren’t on at least one social media site is rare,” I reply, wanting Jamie to hurry up and spit it out.

  “I’m assuming Harper’s meltdown upstairs was caused by you either seeing or feeling her scars?” he asks.

  I watch as my friend’s eyes fill with tears. He doesn’t even try to stop them. His strength diminishes with his sorrow.

  “You know of the Sculptor?” he chokes on the title.

  Everyone knew of him. The media created a frenzy when details of his crimes were leaked to the public. Society has a twisted obsession with a serial killer and rapist who is still the most wanted man alive.

  Minutes pass as Jamie tries to collect himself, amping up with another shot of alcohol.

  “Four and a half years ago, Casey, Harper to you, was his last known victim. I was out of town for work and she had no one else to check on her. She has no memory of how long he held her captive, but he had her for fucking days,” he hisses as he slams back a shot.

  He takes a deep breath and wipes his face with his hand. I’m too stunned to speak, while he continues.

  “She won’t talk about it and I try to avoid it as much as I can. He only used the knife on his victims by carving Roman numerals into them. The numbers all varied according to the individual, but with Casey it looks like he lost it.”

  The way he says her real name holds undertones of love and devotion, but also of loss. The sight of someone so utterly perfect, bearing wounds that should have killed her is unfathomable. I only caught a glimpse, but it was enough. In this moment, I’m happy Harper stopped me from seeing the Roman numeral. I don’t know how I would have reacted if I saw the famous brand without warning.

  Jamie stops to wipe away a fresh trail of tears.

  “They were trying to keep her alive and superficial scars were the least of their concerns. We had to go into witness protection with the FBI, they kept her hidden, and that’s why you won’t find anything on us or our pasts.”

  Jamie looks at me as I hold up my hand for him to stop talking. I rush to the corner of the courtyard and lose the contents of my stomach. Troublesome emotions churn deep as my mind races with details I know from the media. Disgusting conclusions and speculations force me to my knees, before I can gather myself.

  Jamie brings out a bottle of water and sets it down on the table when I finally return, trying to prepare myself for the rest of the story. I throw back the whiskey he poured earlier down my raw throat. I need to feel something other than what I currently feel. I motion for him to pour more and he takes it like I want him to continue talking.

  “I’m telling you this because I know you won’t endanger her by revealing her true identity. You are one of the only people who would have nothing to gain by doing so,” he affirms.

  He refers to my name and the ties that come with it. The monetary value on this information would be staggering and I have no need for more money. The mere thought of someone using Harper to gain cash makes me reckless. And I’m a complete bastard because I want her for entirely different needs.

  “I have so many questions,” I stumble.

  My head spins with how many there are. Jamie keeps talking, opening up the flood gates of much needed information.

  “I’m the only person Harper has left. She prefers that name over Casey. She wants to leave her in the past, so I wouldn’t mention you know any different. I wouldn’t mention this conversation ever took place.”

  “Why, would you want me to pursue her?” I ask, perplexed.

  “At the end of the day, I’m still a man. Harper looks at me like a brother, but that doesn’t mean I see her as a sister, if you catch my meaning? I thought I could be the one to bring her through this. I didn’t try anything at first. Every chance I could get close to her without her panicking I tried to touch her, show her affection. Everything I could think of from soft touches down her arm to trying to kiss her. She would have none of it, she cringed away from me. I couldn’t give her what she would ultimately need. By being soft and sweet it took her right back to the time she was with the Sculptor. That’s how he fucked with her mentally. Leaving her mind and sensations wired backwards, she associates affection differently. She hated feeling powerless and broken, because she has fight in her. He drugged her enough she was able to feel everything, but the dose rendered her muscles useless.”

  I don’t buy him taking a back seat in his affection for her.

  “He took so many things away from her and she doesn’t even realize it. There are small windows when I see her old self and it gives me hope she’s not completely lost and broken. The sound of her laughter is a gift and I never fucking hear it anymore.”

  Our silence mingles with the sound of clacking hoofs on pavement and wheels on the carriage the mule pulls down the street.

  “So what is your role now?” I ask after long minutes, in an attempt to find out his true motives.

  “Harper and I share this terrible past. Sometimes I think I’m a cruel reminder of everything she’s endured. I don’t want to lose her because of my selfish desires, that isn’t fair to her. I should have never crossed that line with her. I’m hoping there’s a chance for her to have any semblance of a normal life,” he explains.

  His confession makes me respect him even more than I already do. We sit back in our seats.

  “How about we finish that expensive wine you almost wasted?” Jamie asks.

  I’m thankful he finally changes the subject and it would be a total waste.

  I nod in approval, my thoughts swim with all the information I know Harper would never have told me herself no matter how long we knew each other. Her breakdown earlier showed how much those scars hold her back with shame and regret. But she needs to see the gorgeous woman she is.

  There’s nothing noble about my intentions for Harper. The stakes have been set so much higher. She couldn’t be someone I could use and toss aside once I was through with her. I think I knew this when I first took in her eyes. I saw something in her I had to have. A brokenness only I could fix. Pleasure only I could bring her.

  Those scars I know she hates, make her even more desirable to me. She’s so much stronger than what she knows and I want to be the one to help her see that.

  So many women think they can handle me. So many have tried. All it took for each one of them to crumble was the smallest amount of pain. And my precious Harper not only survived a monster, he twisted her reactions to accept the kind of things I need to inflict.

  I vow to keep her safe through tastes of vintage grapes and all the resources I have at my disposal to ensure that no one ever touches her again. I will protect her, at least from everyone other than myself.

  Harper

  I wake to a pounding headache. My eyes feel puffy and embarrassment floods through me when I remember the reason I cried myself to sleep.

  I owe Evan an explanation, but maybe I scared him off enough that he never wants to see me again. If last night didn’t freeze out any lingering attraction between us then I’m screwed and will have to fabricate a lie about how I acquired the scars.

  I have to work on waking up Ru’. I swear the dog would sleep all day if I let him.

  We walk downstairs to the kitchen. I stop in my tracks when I see a gift wrapped package with a bouquet of the deepest darkest purple roses lying next to it. The arrangement is edgy. Huge thorns are pronounced and protruding off the stems. The card reads, ‘Such a beautiful and complex contradiction.’

  I stare at them and run my finger over the soft petals, imagining the color in one of my future paintings, and wondering about the meaning of Evan’s words when Jamie walks in the room.

  “You okay?” he asks and pulls me into a hug.

  I simply nod in response. We both
shake off the subject that’s too painful to talk about.

  I open the gift box as Jamie moves about.

  A replica of the same blouse Evan tore last night lays folded and wrapped in tissue paper. I can’t figure out how that’s even possible. Less than twelve hours ago he destroyed the original.

  Another wrapped article is in the box underneath the shirt. I pull the paper apart and lift up the stunning Alice + Olivia dress. The one I tried on a few days ago. I didn’t buy it because it’s too short for my art shows and other than that I don’t have anywhere else to go. I shiver, and apprehension races through me in warning. It’s not a lucky guess on Evan’s part and I haven’t known him more than a single twisted day.

  I look up to catch Jamie watching me.

  “After last night, do you think it’s a good idea for me to see Evan?”

  He lets out a deep sigh, his eyes never waver from mine. He looks rough this morning. His brown eyes are bloodshot and I can tell he’s hungover. I feel responsible after my meltdown and I know by the way Jamie was forced to throw his friend out of my room it didn’t end there.

  “I want you to be happy, Harper. So if that means you being with Evan, then I don’t have any issues with it.”

  “Why are you so supportive of me dating and why him of all people?” I ask.

  Jamie walks to the coffee maker and answers with his back turned to me.

  “Because no matter how long I wait for you, it’s never going to be me, is it?”

  The truth is written all over him as he turns around and searches my face.

  “Jamie, it’s not like that.”

  It’s never been like that.

  “No, Harper, it’s not like that for you.”

  He sets his mug down and pulls me into another hug. I caught the way he looked at me at times, before schooling his features.

  “How long have you kept this from me?” I ask.

  A small part of me wants to know. The bigger part wants to never find out.

  His comforting embrace no longer feels as sacred as it did only moments ago. That innocence is tainted by Jamie’s desire.