by Ashley Logan
“Am I alright?”
Scarlett nods once and I exhale slowly.
“Not really,” I answer frankly. “But it’s not your fault I’m fucked up. Please go to bed Scarlett. I know how important your sleep routine is.”
A range of expressions cross her face, alluding to the many thoughts that must be whizzing through her head. Her expression eventually fixes on what appears to be confusion.
“Should I have -” Pausing to rephrase, she studies my face. “On stage...” Looking at me sideways, she shakes her head slowly. “Did you not -” Again she stops to consider her words as I stand motionless for fear of doing the wrong thing. Closing her eyes, she groans in frustration. “Do you like me?”
“I like you very much,” I reply before I even think.
Her eyes snap open and meet mine. Squinting a little, her eyebrows soon rise. “But?”
“But I can’t.”
Sidestepping her, I rush to my room to hide behind a closed door.
Yanking off my shirt, I throw it to the floor. My hands fist and unfurl as I pace the small space. The shirt snags my foot and I take it with me as I march back and forth until I can’t stand it. Dropping to remove my best shoes, I set them in the closet, where they’ll have a long wait until the next formal event I have to attend. Peeling off my socks, I collect the shirt and toss them all in my hamper. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my mind.
There is a knock on my door, but before I can respond, Scarlett throws it open and storms in.
Shocked into silence, I use my hands to try and cover my bare chest, then my face, then my crotch. I drop them to my sides when I realize I’m being weird. I display a lot more to strangers every week.
Standing tall and proud, I glare at her.
“Get out of my room Scarlett.”
She glares right back. “Not until you tell me why you can’t like me. Is it my scars?” Her forceful tone trembles around the edge with what I’m sure is fear that I might say yes.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. You have nothing to do with my problem.”
Taking a step back, she stares at me uncomprehendingly as color spreads across her cheeks. I’ve never before spoken to her about how I feel.
Frowning in concentration, she shakes her head. “I must have something to do with it, or you wouldn’t be acting like this.”
I consider flat denial, but she’s too smart not to see through it. Sighing, I concede.
“Fine. You have everything to do with it, just not in the blaming way you’re thinking. Please leave it.”
She stares at me with those ever-curious eyes and I know she won’t leave it.
“Is it because you’re too busy trying a different woman after every show?”
My temper flares and I grit my teeth.
“I don’t do that anymore and I don’t think you can judge me for it. You’re no saint yourself, Scar.”
Her fading blush deepens again and she shifts her weight from one leg to the other, but she doesn’t argue.
“Is it because we live together and work together, and the rule is don’t screw the crew?”
I consider telling her the truth. I really do, but I can’t even say the words out loud for fear it might make the issue permanent. I know it’s illogical, but I can’t jinx myself by telling her I might never be able to give her what she wants. Confessing my inadequacy and having her slip further from me, or having her straight out laughing at me is not something I’m currently strong enough to endure, so I clutch at the straws she has so helpfully delivered.
“Yup. That’s it. Nina’s been far too good to us. We can’t betray her trust by breaking her rules.”
Again her perceptive eyes search mine with stark appraisal.
“That’s not it at all,” she says quietly. “If it were, you’d just move out, or ask if I would, but we’re neither of us going anywhere, are we? I guess I was... reading things wrong. Sorry to have bothered you, Bruno.” Her head lowers as her thoughts turn inward and she backs away, going next door to her room. I hear the gentle ‘click’ of her door as it shuts behind her, but it is louder than I can bear.
Struck by the fear that I’ve ruined everything and that I might never get to tell her how I feel, I follow her, forcing myself to knock gently in my panicked state.
The door opens a crack and fierce green eyes stare up at mine in challenge.
“You didn’t bother me,” I say in a rush. “Not at all. I just need... time.”
“Time?” The way she says it isn’t a question, but I nod anyway.
For a moment she looks thoughtful again. “How much time?”
Until I’m brave enough to tell you the truth, or until my dick starts working again. Hopefully before I lose you altogether?
“I don’t know.”
Again, she considers my response carefully. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask, not knowing what that means.
“What else can I say?”
Nothing. This is the best possible outcome from tonight’s bizarre happenings without venturing into more detail, but I’m not entirely sure of where I stand.
“Say you’ll still go to the gym with me. Tomorrow.”
Scarlett ceases to grip the door and it swings open to show her hands now firmly planted on her hips.
“What?” she snarls in disbelief. “After tonight’s conversation, all you’re worried about is whether or not you get to keep your gym buddy?”
My hands go up immediately. “No! I don’t even want to go to the gym tomorrow. I’m exhausted. I just want a confirmed excuse to be with you. I need to know I haven’t fucked up the relationship we already have.”
Her eyes grow even rounder.
“How can you say heartfelt shit like that to me and not be able to tell me what has you all twisted up inside?” she asks, exasperated. “I have no idea where your boundaries for emotional sharing are. Do you even hear yourself?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. Will you go to the gym with me?”
Her brows pull down and she huffs through her nose at me. “Yes. But not tomorrow. I’m tired too. Goodnight Bruno.”
“Goodnight -” The door shuts in my face. “Scarlett.”
Releasing a huge breath, I trudge back to my own room, strip off my trousers and flop into bed. My body aches all over and begs me to sleep, but my mind relives the evening over and over again. Still tossing and turning an hour later, I throw back the covers and perch on the edge of my bed, formulating a plan to quiet my thoughts. My gaze falls on the footlocker at the end of my bed.
Crouching in front of it, I open the chest. Moving aside my sports equipment, military gear and pornos, I reach for my art supplies. That’s right; I hide my art supplies under the porn, as if it’s my dirty little secret - because it is.
Flicking through my pictures, I appreciate each mindful pencil smudge or brush-stroke I’ve used to create them. During my recovery, I painted several nudes in an art therapy group, but not once did I pay such attention to the models’ details as I have in the production of this collection crafted entirely from memory. Returning them to their hiding place, I retrieve a sketch pad and pencil, lacking the energy to clean up the mess that comes with painting.
Settling into a comfortable position, I close my eyes and imagine the one model I’d never dare ask to pose for me, though I’ve seen her close to naked more times than I’ve thought to count. Sometimes I feel as if I know her body better than I know my own.
Opening my eyes, I slowly begin to re-create her lines with my pencil, imagining each touch to the paper is a gentle caress to her skin. Each shadow draws my deepest concentration, as I attend to every curve with tender purpose, trying to draw perfection.
As my thumb brushes over her nipple to enhance the shading, my long-dead dick takes a waking breath. Stunned, I drop the sketch pad and stare at my crotch. Expecting a rising tent, I’m sorely disappointed when nothing comes of what I swear is the first spontaneous twitch my dick has made
in six long years.
My heart jumps into my throat. I do my best not to get too excited, but any sign of function is positive! Even if it might only be coincidence, the awakening of some long dormant nerve has me envisioning new growth after a long, cruel winter.
Praying to every god I’ve ever heard of, I slip my hand inside my boxers. Taking my fallen soldier in hand, I try to stroke some life into the poor bastard, but his limp ambivalence leaves me crestfallen. Sighing for the millionth time today, I tuck him safely back into my shorts and rest my head against the wall behind me.
Picking up my sketch, I let my fingers trace the lines of her scars; not because I think they will induce another joyous signal from my formerly fantastic penis, but because the pencil gray rendition of her lacks all of the brightness Scarlett actually exudes.
Opening the footlocker again, I take out my paints and brushes, and set them up. Using all of my brightest colors, I make up a palette worthy of her personality.
Fully focused as I mix the exact green of her eyes, I jump about a foot off the floor when the screaming starts.
CHAPTER TWO
SCARLETT
The pain is unbelievable. It rips me from my sleep and I fight to orientate myself, but the searing heat clings to me, molding to my skin to form an inescapable cloak. Running away is pointless, but still I try. Flames follow me, greedy for more as they bite into my flesh. Falling, I land with a splash and could not be more grateful as the flickering light sizzles to darkness. As I try to stand, the hold that had gripped my side so tightly loosens and falls away, taking my skin with it. I howl into the night, a wolf who’s been skinned alive.
“Scarlett!”
I scream again and collapse into the water.
“Scarlett!”
Strong hands pull me to the surface and shake me. “Scar! Wake up!”
The next scream catches in my throat as I force my eyes open and look around. No woods, no campfire, no burning blanket melting into my flesh.
My bedding has constricted around me and I attack it, struggling to breathe. Panicking when it only seems to tighten, I claw at it. Firm hands still mine and begin to unravel the twisted mess I’ve got myself into.
Once free, I crouch in the middle of the bed panting and running my hands over my body, taking stock. I look up to find Bruno watching me with concern.
“You’re safe. You were dreaming.”
Nodding, I turn away, embarrassed. Hurried footsteps thud down the hall toward us and Alexa arrives in my doorway.
“Shit. Scar. You okay?”
Nodding, I hide my face in my hands. “I’m fine. Sorry I woke you guys. I’ll be okay now.”
She and Bruno exchange a glance.
“You sure?” Lex asks, glancing across the hall to Vi’s empty room.
Normally she would be the one to stay with me after a cursed nightmare. It’s been so long since I’ve had one that I think we’re all a bit shaken and would appreciate Violet’s sound reassurance. I push off the bed and start folding some of the clothes lying about my floor.
“I’m awake now, and I’d much rather Vi be keeping Serge company tonight than me - she deserves to enjoy the love she’s found. I’ll be fine, so just go back to bed, okay? Sorry again for waking you and anyone else.”
Again Alexa’s eyes travel to Bruno’s, but this time she nods. “Promise you’ll call if you need anything.”
Answering without looking up from my folding, I keep a calm facade. “I promise. Thanks, Lex.”
With the sound of feet slowly retreating back down the hall, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“You’re not okay.”
I jump at the sound of Bruno’s voice. I’d assumed he’d faded away too.
“I’m fine,” I say in the strongest voice I can muster.
“You’re not,” he challenges.
Pausing halfway through folding a set of leggings, I turn to confront him with a frown. “How would you know?”
Taking the leggings from my hands, he holds them in front of my face and then throws them on the floor. Reaching for the small pile of freshly folded clothes now sitting on my bed, he holds them up and then tosses them back on the floor too.
“You never tidy anything unless you’re upset,” he says, pinning me with knowing eyes; their gray depths threatening to drown me if I dare to deny his words.
Saying nothing, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the mess.
Crouching, Bruno shifts into my line of sight. “What do you need, Scar? What does Vi normally do when this happens? I know she doesn’t leave you alone. Do you need a hug or something?”
“No!” Whipping my legs up, I get to the other side of the bed as fast as possible, looking back to make sure he’s not following.
He’s not. His expression of concern deepens and is edged with something akin to pain. I take a breath and remind myself I’m strong.
“She just stays with me,” I say, leaning away from one of my blankets. “I don’t like anything touching me for a bit.”
The pain eases from his eyes and I wonder if he thought I was recoiling from him specifically. Nodding slowly, he clears a space and makes himself more comfortable on the floor as if settling in.
“Do you talk?” he asks, pulling a sneaker out from under him. Eying it with contempt, he looks around and tosses it next to its partner across the room.
“Sometimes,” I reply dismissively, not feeling like sharing right now, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on it.
“You haven’t had a nightmare in months.”
Watching my fingers twisting the bottom of my t-shirt, I shrug and try to keep them still.
“Is it my fault?” he asks, making my head lift in surprise. “Did I stress you out?”
Frowning, I shake my head. “I didn’t take my meds. They’ve been keeping my sleep straight and my dreams at bay.”
“Can you take them now?”
Looking at my clock, I shake my head again. “They’ll make me sleep all day and I won’t sleep tonight. Last thing I need is day/night reversal.”
Bruno nods as if he knows exactly what it’s like to have sleep problems. “I didn’t know you were on medication,” he says plainly.
Shrugging again, I suppose it’s pointless to keep hiding the fact now. “Every night at 1:30am. Not the time my doctor would like, but it works for my lifestyle. I go to bed at the same time every night. Did you think it was coincidence?”
One side of his mouth twitches into a half smile. “Now that I know it’s not, I don’t know how I didn’t guess. You sleep like a log.”
I smile a little at his comfortable response and wonder if I was worried he’d think less of me for needing the help of pills. The thought bothers me a little. I should be used to the acceptance of my roommates by now. It’s not as if I’m the only one with scars, mine are just more obvious than most. I think about Bruno’s scars, wondering how he got them, but he distracts me when he continues speaking.
“Sometimes I’ve tripped on your mess and nearly dropped you, but you never wake up.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I itch my elbow nervously as I view my disorderly room. “Sorry.” Another thought strikes me and I feel myself stiffen a little. “How often do you carry me to bed?”
“Every night that you try to stay up with the rest of us, so... pretty much every night,” he says, beginning to look puzzled.
“Every night?” I ask in disbelief.
“You didn’t know?” he asks, his voice equally incredulous. “How did you think you got to bed?”
Shrugging, I wrack my brain for answers as I process what he’s saying. “Auto-pilot? I thought I just sort of sleep-walked my way to bed when the pills started to kick in. Every night?!” I ask again.
“Like clockwork. We know you like the company at night, so we don’t bother telling you to go to bed. Truth is, debrief wouldn’t be the same without you passed out in the living room. I only carry you to bed when your snoring gets too loud.”
“I don’t snore!”
Bruno shrugs his eyebrows, smiles and says nothing, making me doubt myself considerably. How would I know if I snore or not? I didn’t even know how I got to my bed at night. Every night! Rubbing my forehead, I close my eyes.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says with a smile in his voice that makes my eyes whip open. His warm smile fades as a troubled frown takes its place. “Why didn’t you take your medication?”
“Because it puts me to sleep,” I reply as if he’s stupid. “I was trying to stay awake to...” My voice fades as I realize what I was about to say.
“Wait up for me,” he says, finishing my thought. “So it is my fault.” His dejected tone gnaws at me and I wonder when I began feeling bad about Bruno’s all-to-frequent mood swings.
Shaking my head, I catch his eye. “My pills, my responsibility. I could’ve taken them when you got home, but I figured I was tired enough not to need them. I didn’t think the dreams would attack if I missed one dose. Guess I was wrong about that though, huh?” Giving him a weak smile, I sigh. “I’ll be taking them again tonight.”
Nodding slightly, he gives me a sad smile, then rubs his weary face and yawns.
“Sorry I woke you,” I say again, knowing how exhausted he was before my screams must have ripped him from sleep.
“You didn’t. I haven’t slept yet.”
Curious, I shuffle forward. “Why not?”
He sighs. “Tried. Couldn’t.”
Studying him more closely, I try to make sense of what I see. “Maybe you need pills too.”
“I have pills for when I need them,” he says, surprising me with his easy dismissal. “I just figured I needed to do some thinking,” he says quietly, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand.
His hand lowers again for me to see his face and I smile. “Do you often paint when you think?”
Staring at me with eyes about to burst from their sockets, Bruno begins to look around as if caught red-handed for some crime and is hell-bent on finding out what gave him away.