by Mann, Marni
“Cameron,” I moaned, and I squeezed him inside of me.
“Come for me.” His words trickled over me at the same time one of his fingers touched down on my clit. My body was already at that place, the foundation, and I didn’t need either to break through the barrier…but they did anyway. He met me halfway, pumping with the same intensity as my thrusts.
His hands quickly gripped my arms and he pulled me to him. I wrapped my fingers around his shoulders, cradling his head against my chest; his then went around my back, and we clung to each other, our bodies shuddered in sync.
CHAPTER FOUR
I WENT TO THE POST OFFICE EVERY TWO WEEKS to pick up my father’s most recent letter. I’d opened the post office box shortly after coming out of hiding. My father had suggested I do it, just before he left. Since I hadn’t had his contact information at the time, I gave the number to his attorney. Less than a week later, his first letter arrived. Below his signature, he had given me his address in Switzerland. I knew that wasn’t where he lived; the letters I received from him always had a different country in Europe stamped on each envelope. But mail was the only way I could reach him and our only method of communication.
The post office I used wasn’t the one near our apartment; it was on the other side of the city. It wasn’t because I believed I would be followed, or that I was a target for anything. It just felt better to keep this part of my life out of my neighborhood. I had to take two different trains to get there and walk several blocks from the station. It was a smaller mailing center, with only one attendant. He was helping a customer and didn’t notice when I slipped in. There was a single envelope waiting inside the box. I tucked it into my pocket and didn’t open it until I had taken a seat on the bench that was right outside the train station. It was where I always stopped to read his notes.
Like all the others he had sent, there was no salutation at the top of the notebook paper; just black ink scripted over the light blue lines, like his thoughts were picking up where they’d left off last.
***
The sky never changes, regardless of how far away you are from home. It’s always the same blue, and the sun is the same flavor of warmth. Their consistency is something you can rely on, unlike the stars. For some reason those aren’t as bright on this side of the world. Some might disagree, or dismiss it altogether; they would give anything to be here, to experience these tastes and culture and dip their bodies into this water. But not me.
I feel like a part of me is still there, in Boston.
I’ve been following the news, and it sounds like the trial is going to take longer than I thought. I know we both want an end, for very different reasons. I can’t make those memories go away for either of us, as much as I wish I could. The best that can happen now is that the nightmares are put to rest. For you at least, I hope.
Promise me he’s treating you well. Promise me you’re treating yourself well, too. Promise me you haven’t taken a pausethat you’re throwing yourself into your classes, that you’re creating. That you’re believing.
Mostly, that you’re forgiving.
That’s what I want for you. That’s what I’ve wanted since you came into my life. I’ll never stop trying for that, for you and for me.
Be good to yourself. The account is there if you need it. I know you haven’t, and you likely won’t, but don’t be afraid to use it to spoil yourself.
-D
***
I folded the letter into fourths and placed in my purse, crossing my arms over my stomach and taking deep breaths of the cold air. I was never sure how I was supposed to feel after reading one of his notes. He was the only family I had left; everyone else was dead. And even he had left, just as soon as he’d come into my life.
Everyone leaves, Charlie. You know that. My life proved that to you.
Lilly’s voice once again repeated her favorite statement and faded. Her words were true, if only for her. In her life, everyone had left…and that was what had kept me from getting close to the men in my life. I’d left them before they had a chance to leave me; I’d hurt them before they could wreck me. But that wasn’t what had happened with my father. He didn’t leave because he had wanted to; he left because I made him turn over all the evidence he had about the mansion to the authorities. He did it for me, not for him. And it wasn’t the only proof I had that he cared for me, or that he truly considered me his family. Once I’d learned the truth of who he really was, he never referred to himself as the Doctor again, or as Marvin, his real name. I believed the D he signed his letters with was a stand-in for Dad.
I didn’t think he was ready to say it, or refer to himself in that way. But I knew he was feeling it on some level.
And he was really starting to sound like one, too. In every message he sent me, he asked about school and art and Cameron—never getting too specific, but always showing enough concern that I knew what he was insinuating. I never had the feeling he was making small talk on the page; I felt as if he really wanted to know those answers. Most importantly among them, he wanted to know if I had found forgiveness. That was something we had often discussed while I’d worked at the mansion. He wanted me to forgive Lilly after she died, which I did… eventually. But this time I believed his plea referred to the mansion. He wanted me to forgive myself for my decision to work there, for what I had done with all those men. He wondered if I’d been able to find peace and move to a place of sincere happiness.
I thought about his other request: Be good to yourself. The account is there if you need it.
He had set up a private bank account, in my name. It wasn’t easily accessed. One of his attorneys had given me the information after he’d left the country. When I saw the size of the account balance, I closed the screen on my computer. I’d never checked it again. The amount made me uncomfortable; it made me feel like I was still attached to the mansion…wasn’t that where his money had really been earned? He’d been a successful doctor prior to his employment at that house, but his kind of wealth didn’t come from any private practice. It came from the evil that took place behind those shadowy walls. We’d never discussed it, but I knew it was the reason he’d hidden the funds overseas. All of the money he’d kept in his domestic accounts had been seized during the take-down. The investigation was ongoing; those funds wouldn’t be released until a conclusion had been reached. The money he’d given me had been deposited in an offshore account. I didn’t know how many of those he had…and I was sure I didn’t want to.
When I told the attorney that I was worried my father was trying to buy me off, he assured me that wasn’t the case. He said he was sincerely trying to make my life easier, to make up for the years he hadn’t known he was my father. Had he known about me then, he would have made sure I hadn’t been raised in poverty. He was trying to spoil me the only way he was able to, but from afar.
I appreciated his intentions. But it didn’t make the handout any easier to accept.
I told Cameron about the account. I didn’t think there was a need to hide it from him, and I confided in him that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to touch it. His reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. Rather than telling me what I should do with the money, he agreed with my reasoning and reminded me that it would be there should I ever need it. He never asked how much money there was, and he certainly didn’t want any of it.
It made me trust him even more.
The cold air finally started seeping through my jacket and my nose began to run. I removed the notebook from my bag and took out a pen. From the bench next to the train station I glanced down the street, using the life of the city to inspire my words. It didn’t take long before the ink flowed effortlessly onto the page.
***
It’s supposed to be springisn’t that what April is? The start of freshness, the rising of small, green buds, the endless pouring of rain, and the crisp flow of flowered air throughout the city? Not this year. It snowed yesterday, and the day before. As I write this, my skin is red
dening from the frigid wind, and my hands are shaking from the chill shuddering through me.
I hope that wherever you are, it’s warm and beautiful. I hope the sun is stronger there than it is here, and that you’re feeling its soothing rays on your face.
I hope you’re smiling.
Though they may not be the brightest, I hope the stars still sparkle and shine around you. It’s been a while since I looked at the night sky. I used to steal a glimpse of it during my run from the limo to the entryway of the mansion. It seems that was the last time I really paid attention to their stunning light.
Maybe I should change that.
Maybe I should gaze at the sky more often. Maybe I should enjoy the night air instead of sheltering myself from it. Rather than letting the never-ending blackness overwhelm me, maybe I should appreciate it for what it is: a background for the brilliance of stars. After all, without darkness, there cannot be light.
Cameron makes me laugh.
School gives me a sense of normalcy.
Art allows me to breathe.
And these letters…they remind me that there’s someone out there who shares something with me.
Something greater than the shadows I’ve let myself live in.
-C
CHAPTER FIVE
I WAS ADDING THE FINISHING STROKES to the piece I’d created for Gareth. I stood in front of my easel with globs of lamp black, titanium white and several different mixtures of silvers and grays filling my palette, carefully considering the subject I was painting. The Sub was unique, unlike anything I’d ever designed before. It was as though I had painted directly from a model, the image as sharp and focused as a photograph. Despite the last few pieces bearing a resemblance to me, this one looked nothing like me whatsoever. She was edgy and mischievous, with a black leather corset that covered her breasts and cinched her tiny waist; her matching thigh-high boots started in spiked heels and crawled all the way up her legs. The makeup she wore was thick and dark, like ebony. It lined her lids, coated her long lashes and glossed her plump lips.
Gareth wanted submissive, so I’d taken away her eye contact. Her stare was directed off the side of the canvas. I imagined her breathing being restricted from the leather that so tightly cuffed her waist. I tried to portray that in her face. She wouldn’t open her mouth unless she was ordered to do so, but her body and her posture made a loud enough statement. She was too raw to take to one of his business dinners, too naughty to meet his parents. She was the type who licked her lips after she swallowed.
She was exactly what Gareth had asked for.
Cameron caught my attention as he was painting on the other side of the room. The intensity of his gaze bore into me and caused a warmth to flicker in me and spread throughout my body.
He hadn’t always been a presence in the room while I was creating.
When we had first been partnered up in class, I refused to work in front of him; he was too talented. I had a love for painting, an obsession with it, but I was too much of a novice and lacked the confidence to allow him to observe. As I started to get more comfortable with him, I shed the fear and eventually found the experience to be somewhat erotic. Knowing how eager The Sub was and how she wanted to please, I couldn’t help but feel the same want build inside me now. As she looked at her master standing beyond, his eyes reflected in hers. It gave me an idea.
I walked to the back of the room where the acrylics were stored and squirted a small stream of calypso blue onto my palette, mixing it with white as I returned to my easel. I had intended on keeping the entire piece black, white and silver, allowing Gareth’s designer to choose the accent color that would make his apartment pop. It was the centerpiece of his decor and would set the tone of the whole place. But I was too inspired by the man who dominated my body to leave it at that.
Loading my brush with baby blue, I touched my bristles to the canvas again. I stayed within the fine lines of her eyes, giving her irises a color that demanded attention. Every few seconds, my vision drifted from the canvas and met Cameron’s stare. Then I floated right back to my work. I wanted the same thing as The Sub; my desires were equally pressing. The difference was that I looked mine in the face. She had to satisfy her master in order to get pleasure.
I didn’t even call mine master. I didn’t have to.
Cameron got pleasure hearing his name come from my lips, and in pleasing me.
Halfway through finishing her eyes, my hand stopped moving, and my fingers squeezed the brush against my palm. Something felt…wrong. The Sub didn’t deserve Cameron’s eye color. She hadn’t earned it; she hadn’t sacrificed enough. She needed to lose her vision completely and feel the pain that came with finding out the truth, the truth of her decisions.
The truth of fucking her best friend’s father.
She needed to suffer for all of this before she could ever hope to receive such an honor.
I dropped the brush and picked up the one I had used previously, one that was already filled with ebony, and I drew a mask over her face. It had scalloped edges that covered her forehead, rounding the bridge of her nose. The straps were tucked into her hair. There weren’t slits for her eyes; this one was a total blackout.
She was blinded by sex.
Visiting the table of acrylics one final time, I poured a small amount of cherry red onto my palette. When I mixed it with the black that was still damp on her mouth, her lips turned to burgundy. Not quite the pop of the icy blue that her eyes would have held, but still…they drew the viewer in. I finished up and placed my tools on the table nearby, then backed up several feet from the picture to take in its entire meaning.
I heard Cameron walking toward me, and saw him from the corner of my eye. I felt the air move, and the spot between my legs dampened. But I didn’t glance at him as he got closer or turn around when he came up behind me. I was unable to pull myself away from the painting. I crossed my arms over his where they had landed on my navel and leaned my back into his chest.
“Gareth’s piece?” he asked.
I nodded.
He’d never met Gareth. But we talked about our clients enough and their pieces that we were able to call them by name. They became synonymous with the pieces we created for them.
“Crimson was a good choice. It’s masculine…and it’s sexy as hell.” I had told him about Gareth’s request, how the hue I chose was going to serve as the accent color for his entire apartment. “Dominating, even.” He brushed his lip over the tip of my ear, sending sparks through it.
“And the piece itself?” My hands dropped from his arms as he began to gently caress the width of my stomach with his fingertips. I knew it was just a tender embrace, a spot on my body that he enjoyed tracing. Still, I couldn’t stop the tingles that pulsed in my lower half. He produced them; his touch demanded them. He was just that powerful.
“It’s erotic.” He had skipped my lobe before, but now his lips found it and enveloped it with his hot mouth. “It’s arousing. I’m just…”
I tilted my head a little to the side, waiting for what he would say next. After several seconds, it still hadn’t come. “You’re just what?”
His lips moved to my neck; his breath trickled over my skin and down the front of my shirt. Every time he opened his mouth, I expected words to come out, but that wasn’t what I was getting. He was giving me kisses instead, and my body was starting to respond…even more than what was happening just between my legs. I slowly ground my ass against him, letting him know what else I wanted.
“I’m just surprised you gave her a mask.”
My hips stopped, my back straightened and I turned around to face him. The fierce, enticing blue that I had almost painted earlier was now tinged with what appeared to be sadness. “Why are you surprised?”
“I thought you enjoyed being unveiled…the idea that you no longer have to hide.”
“I do.” Or I thought I did, at least.
“Then I don’t know why you would want to do that to her.”
“My work has always been dark,” I said. I knew that wasn’t the answer he was looking for, but it was all I could muster at the moment.
“There’s always been a certain level of darkness in your pieces, yes. But this is completely different.” His head dipped, and he looked up at me from under his heavy brow. “And you know exactly what I mean.”
I did know, and he was right. Gareth’s piece wasn’t the only one that I had added a mask to; I had also included a shadow on Olivia’s that could easily resemble one. But my work had changed since the mansion—as much as I had. Regardless, there was a constant gnawing that I felt inside, knowing what had happened to everyone who’d been killed there. I couldn’t seem to separate my sexuality from what I’d done in that house. He was right. The women in my paintings weren’t just dark.
They were hiding.
Cameron’s hands moved to my cheeks, holding my face steady so I couldn’t look away. “So much good has happened in the last several monthsfor you, for the names of those girls, for the sacrifices your father madeand you seem mired in that past somehow. What’s it going to take, Charlie?”
I wanted to answer him. The information my father handed over had made a difference. The girls who had died from the mansion were being commemorated with a ceremony, and ultimately a memorial would be created in their honor. If they had immediate family, those individuals would be given restitution. It was everything the city could think of to do, an attempt to make things right…and still, I knew it would never be enough, that it would never be right.
And something inside me still wasn’t right, either.
I didn’t know how to fix it, and I didn’t know how to forget it. I didn’t know which of it was worse: the uninhibited, meaningless sex with insignificant men who I’d never be able to name? The masks they’d worn, or the ones I had? The overwhelming knowledge that I’d almost lost my life in that place? All of it haunted me. All of it confused me.