by Marni Mann
Suddenly, there was a shift in power. I felt more comfortable in this space, being the one making the demands. “Why do you want this so badly?” I asked.
“Because I have the capabilities and the means to help you.” I kept silent. “There’s so much you don’t know. So much I can’t tell you.”
I wanted to shout, to cry. To stomp my heels against the cement floor and beg for the truth like some petulant child pleading with her father. But he wasn’t my father, and I hadn’t been a child in a very, very long time. Even during our sessions, I did all the talking. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to listen. “Why?” I asked, yet again. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because my answer will only hurt you.”
I leaned forward, grabbed the lapels of his jacket and reached my neck up until my lips were close to his ear. If he wouldn’t respond to my insistence, maybe he’d respond to sexual force instead. “Tell me, Marvin,” I said seductively. “Hurt me.”
His hands clasped mine and he pulled away from my face. He stared into my eyes and squeezed my fingers, his lips parting as though there were words fighting to be released. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
I nodded. “I do. I want the truth. Give me the truth.”
His eyes circled the room twice before landing on mine again. “I didn’t want you to find out this way. Not here; not tonight...your night.”
“Tell me,” I begged him.
He held my gaze and cupped my hands in his. “I’m your father, Charlie.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
My hand gripped the doorknob to my apartment, squeezing the cold chrome between my fingers and palm. My other hand held the key and a piece of Lilly’s old, damaged sweater. I had cut off a tiny section and stuck it in my clutch before I had left for the exhibit. I had wanted something to alleviate my nerves, to help me get through the night. I thought the sweater would do that for me. But I had forgotten all about it when I had arrived at the gallery, when Professor Freeman introduced me, as I had made my way around the room meeting all of his guests. I cuddled it now; I felt like I needed it more than ever. Its smoky odor gave me an unlikely steadiness. It was a reminder of something that hadn’t changed while everything else around me—everything I thought I knew—was shifting beneath my feet.
I slid the key in the lock; when the metals touched, I paused. My stomach churned, my whole body froze. During the ride home, I had tried to burn away the Doctor’s words...his face, his expression. The shape his mouth had taken when it formed the word father. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let any of it go. My bones crackled, feeling weighted down and as immovable as the building I stood in. There was a mass forming in my chest, spreading toward my throat, and thumping against my ribcage. The Doctor…my father…had broken something open inside of me.
Father wasn’t the only word I couldn’t get rid of, couldn’t suppress the feeling or the meaning of. You have far greater value in the world than you’ve given yourself credit for, he’d said. You’re better than the mansion; you’re better than Lilly. I couldn’t seem to purge any of that from my head, either. It plagued me now, haunted me, no less than if her ghost itself had appeared in my presence.
Was I really better than Lilly?
Was who I wanted to be truly stronger than who I already was?
My nights at the mansion were a release; the lack of emotion, the all-consuming impulse to fuck and be fucked, the way it drained my mind—all of it kept me in motion, kept me moving. Comforted me. Sex held me at night, kept me from dwelling in the pain, from remembering and regretting. It was the only time I didn’t feel alone...aside from the time I spent with Cameron.
Cameron.
We had kissed. I had told him he was the inspiration for The Kiss. In my own way—a way that made me comfortable and allowed me to retain control—I had shared my feelings with him. And I believed that he had shown me his, in his own way as well.
I have a father?
The thought invaded.
I had told myself I wouldn’t do anything with Cameron while I was still employed at the mansion. But I hadn’t stopped his lips from touching mine, and I hadn’t kept my wanting him from consuming me. What did that make me?
I have a father?
Why was I really at the mansion? For so long, I had focused on the things that I enjoyed about it, but there were so many things that I didn’t: the rawness I felt inside my pussy after each shift, or the bruises on my wrists...or the handprints on my ass. Or the emptiness afterward, how my body felt as though it were entombed in ice whenever I left my wing.
What was I really craving?
It had never been just the sex, or the money.
I have a father...
Love and attention was what I wanted, from a man or woman. I was starving for it, and though it was only temporary, they fulfilled me. They coddled me; appreciated me. Needed me physically, if not emotionally. But they would never be my dawn.
Did that make me worse than Lilly?
She was the last person I wanted to emulate...and yet, I was becoming her shadow. I needed to stop, to change. To move on from the past. I hadn’t been able to make Lilly treat me better...but that wasn’t a reason to seek love through sex. I hadn’t been able to prevent the accident, and I would never be able to bring Emma back...but that wasn’t an excuse for letting men into my home, into my bed.
I have a father.
I tried to inhale, but my throat tightened. I could almost hear the Doctor telling me to relax, to let go and take deep breaths. But the darkness within me was almost too much to bear, too heavy to carry.
I turned the key and heard the falling of the tumblers echo in my head. The lock surrendered too easily. I didn’t want to move. Lilly’s sweater provided modest comfort. It reminded me yet again of what I didn’t want my life to be.
I pushed the door inward; Lilly came in with me. I took a step forward, and so did she. I took another step, and the shadows that lingered behind me threatened to pull me back. They tried to convince me that the mansion and its money were all I would ever need. They showed me the visions of failure and hunger, both of which were likely to happen if I left. They convinced me that my dream of having success like Cameron’s was a fairy tale, a childish fantasy that I had allowed to drag me into its folly.
I moved inside the apartment and pressed my back against the closest wall, sliding down until my ass hit the floor. The shadows were there, too; they kissed my damp cheeks. Lilly’s beaten sweater was still cupped in my hand. My knees pressed into my chest as I swallowed gulps of air infused with Lilly’s scent, trying to loosen the knots that filled me.
I have a father.
My eyes glanced over my new bed. I yearned for the warmth that awaited me under the blanket, for the comfort of being held within those sheets. It wasn’t the only new thing here. The TV was new, too, and most of my clothes. Everything in the kitchen, everything in the bathroom. The smells and the sounds and the sights. I needed new—new places; new things.
More than those, I needed a new direction.
I had no more excuses, no more reason for wanting to be at the mansion. I wanted more now, and I wanted it with Cameron. Tonight had gone so well; paintings had sold, requests had been made. New was waiting for me, welcoming me, just beyond the shadows.
The handle jiggled behind me and the door swung open. ”What are you doing on the floor?” Dallas asked.
My head was swimming through so much, I’d forgotten that I had sent him a text from the taxi, that I’d told him I had met my father.
His hands slipped underneath me, and he lifted me into the air. He said nothing while he carried me to the bed, while he wrapped me in the blanket. I kept silent. I didn’t look in his eyes.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me what happened.” He sat beside me, one leg tucked and the other hanging off the bed, waiting for me to speak.
I stared at his hands, the way they were folded in his lap. My eyes slowly moved up to
his face. His concern was everywhere; his gaze tore through me. “He came to the exhibit,” I told him. “He knew Professor Freeman. He waited until we were alone to introduce himself.” I pulled the blanket tighter and rubbed Lilly’s sweater over my cheek.
“How did he find out?” he asked. “Has he known since you were born or did Lilly tell him before she died?” It made no more sense to him than it did to me.
“I don’t know.”
And by revealing what little information I did have would mean telling Dallas about the mansion. I didn’t want that to happen.
“I just want you to know, Charlie: when Lilly and I spoke, she didn’t tell me anything about your father.” His hands moved to my knees. “I promise. All she told me was exactly what you’ve always said, that she didn’t know who he was, that he could have been any of the men she’d been sleeping with during that time.”
My whole body began to shake.
“I’m so fucked up.”
He inched closer and shook my knees until my eyes moved back to his. “Why would you say that? You met your father tonight, and however that happened or for whatever reason, none of this has been your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I had done so many things wrong, but I didn’t want to get into any of it. I knew the truth now, and that’s what mattered. I knew that I had used Dallas and my clients to fuck the memories out of my head temporarily, to hold me...to love me and give me what I thought I never had. I’d tried to replace one type of ache with another, and that’s exactly what had happened. But knowing this didn’t excuse what Lilly had done, and it didn’t explain why she’d done it.
I tried to stand up from the bed, but Dallas’s hands went to my shoulders and kept me down. “Get it out,” he said. “Whatever is bothering you, just say it.”
“She owed me the explanation, not you,” I told him. “I’m her fucking daughter!”
He nodded. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
“But she didn’t give me an explanation. She slapped me, pushed me away, fucked man after man and allowed me to see it, to hear it. I never had a goodnight kiss, or a home cooked meal...she never whispered I love you or said it out loud. She blamed me for her failures instead, and for her pain.” I could hardly look at him. “And in the end, you got to hear her say she was sorry. You got an apology that should have been mine...and I got her fucking sweater.”
He was quiet as it sank in. “I’m really sorry for that, Charlie.”
I crumbled under his hands. My shoulders slouched into the pillows, my back slid backward onto the bed. I didn’t know if they were tears of anger or pain, but I couldn’t stop them regardless. And I couldn’t distinguish one feeling from the other anymore. I knew this wasn’t just about my father or Lilly or my job at the mansion, or how I was lying to everyone who cared about me. It was about all of that, together. I just didn’t know which among them was worst.
“Everyone leaves me, Dallas,” I whispered. “Everyone does. So, yes, you’re here now...but you’ll leave, too.” I sounded just like Lilly. I didn’t care.
“Haven’t I proven to you yet that I’m not going anywhere?”
“But you will.”
“Charlie…”
It wasn’t only that I’d sold my body. It was that I’d fucked Dallas and a client on the same night, that Cameron’s mouth had touched my lips the evening after Jay’s had been all over me. I could feel how horrid their responses would be when I told them this, how repulsed they would be by who I really was. How they would hate me for what I’d done. They would want to leave my life—both of them. And they weren’t the only ones who would have felt like this; Emma wouldn’t have accepted it, either. She would have been disgusted that I’d resorted to this, that I’d thrown myself into this world. That I’d been so ambivalent about leaving.
That I’d convinced myself it was actually something I needed.
But I was going to do the right thing. After I left the mansion, I was going to tell Cameron and Dallas the truth. And I was going to leave. I just needed to talk to the Doctor—to my father— before I did. I want your commitment first, he’d said. Then we’ll talk about the next steps. I wanted to know what those next steps were, and why they were necessary. Why I couldn’t just quit like Victoria had told me I could.
Dallas reached under the blanket and gripped my hands. “I need you to listen to me.” He paused, waiting for my attention to return to him. “I’m not going to leave you, Charlie.”
I believed him. For now.
I pushed my fingers into his palm and squeezed back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I stepped into Cameron’s elevator and pushed the button to his apartment rather than his studio. My stomach tightened a little more as I rode past each floor. Why was I so nervous? We had been hanging out for several months now. He’d seen Naked, the painting I’d done of my unclothed body, and he’d drawn my portrait while I’d been barely wrapped in a sheet, my hands cupped over my bare breasts to cover my nipples. But this was going to be the first time that we were meeting in the space where he lived, not the one where he created; the atmosphere was bound to be more intimate than his studio, and art wasn’t on our agenda. Before I’d darted out of the gallery at the premiere the night before, he’d said he still wanted to do breakfast. He’d even offered to make it. I knew I probably should have canceled and not allowed myself to spend any more time with him until after I left the mansion and told him the truth. But I couldn’t stay away.
I wanted this.
As the elevator door unsealed, an industrial-style open floor plan filled my vision. It was a mirror image of his studio, which was directly on the other side of the elevator. Silver ventilation pipes ran across the ceiling; contemporary metal fans were woven between them, not only to cool the space but to provide additional light as well. The floors were covered in black hardwood that traveled up the spiraled staircase. The cabinets in the kitchen were surfaced to match. The couch and chairs were ultra-modern, upholstered in cream-colored fabrics; the tables were black shellac. Burnt orange was used in accents scattered throughout, and abstracts done in a similar palette and stainless steel sculptures adorned the walls. It was all so Cameron.
He greeted me and handed me a mug of coffee topped with just a splash of creamer that had been whipped to a froth. It was exactly how I made mine at home. Then he kissed my cheek. “Everyone is talking about you and your work.”
I felt myself blush. “I know I said this last night, but thank you again for being there.”
His hand lingered on my chin, and his eyes hovered over mine. As close as we were to each other, I could smell morning all over him: the soap on his hands, the toothpaste on his breath, the product he rubbed over his buzzed hair. I wanted to kiss him back, but I didn’t. My fingers wanted to reach for his chest and glide over the surface of his muscles. I didn’t do that, either...but I wasn’t sure how long I could keep fighting those urges.
While he moved into the kitchen to grab his coffee, I set my bag on the table by the elevator and stepped in farther. The view was the same as in his studio: windows floor to ceiling spanned the width of the wall, showing the skyline of the Back Bay. He used this backdrop to fuel some of his paintings, and he was able to admire it at night, too. I wondered if he woke up facing it as well.
My stomach wasn’t just tight; deep cramps had started to knead within, like they had the night before. It wasn’t just the urges I was fighting; I didn’t know how much longer I could keep my personal life separate from the shadows. I needed Cameron to know who I was. I needed him to know about all of me.
I felt him behind me, and I turned to face him. “Can we talk?”
He moved to the couch and took a seat. I followed, inhaling more of the scents that were left in his wake: fresh laundry, citrus, and a dash of musk. My mouth began to water; I wanted to taste the smells on his body. There were too many clothes separating us from each other.
“I met my father last ni
ght.” I stopped to gauge his reaction as his mouth opened in shock. He remembered the conversation we’d had about Lilly during one of our sessions, and the childhood I had described to him. He’d never spoken about his own, his scars remaining a secret known only to him. But he had accepted everything I told him about my mother. Never once had I found judgment in his eyes. “I don’t know if he wants to be a part of my life, or if I even want him to. But I have a lot of questions for him, and a lot of issues to work through.”
He jumped right in as I finished. “I don’t want you to be hurt by him, Charlie...or by anyone, for that matter. Make sure you move at your pace, and not his. Feel him out before you take the next step.”
I couldn’t wait any longer.
“I really like you, Cameron.” I stopped myself before the other words came out. They threatened to break free...but I wouldn’t let them. Not yet. I couldn’t reveal the truth before I stopped working at the mansion. I couldn’t risk the damage it would do to what we had.
He rested his arm across the back cushion and turned his body toward me, bridging our gap a little. “I think you already know how I feel, and where I want this to go.”
I knew the way his hands teased my shoulder was foreplay. He was speaking to me through his fingertips; they stroked my skin with a touch that was more gentle, more caressing than I’d ever known. I knew where we were heading by the way his breath hit my face, the way his stare covered all of me in a one-second sweep. Still, I had to be certain.
“Do we want the same thing?” I asked.
His eyes and his smile both gave me the answer I wanted. “Yes.” His tone was so low, so honest. “We want the same thing, Charlie.”
“Then...” I held my breath for a second, “...I hope this doesn’t ruin things, but I need some time.” I dragged my stare away from his chest, from his hands and his lips, and moved it back to his eyes. “Just a little bit, to straighten out some things. With my dad...with my life.”