Beyond Heat

by Ashley Logan

  “Please check her leg is okay before you put her to bed,” I tell the carer who begins to wheel her away. Looking around the room at the mess I have to clean up and the new wall that needs fixing, I sink to the floor.

  Lifting my head at a squeaking sound, I see Jenkins at the door with Scarlett.

  “What the fuck happened here?” he asks, carefully wheeling his way around the puddles of paint to park in front of me. Raising an eyebrow, the side of his mouth twitches. “You look a little blue.”

  “Fuck you,” I reply, wiping more blue paint from my eyes.

  Scarlett joins him in front of me, her face full of questions. I just shake my head.

  “I can’t do this right now, Scarlett,” I say, viewing the mess again and the damaged wall. Shrinking a little further into the dark corners of my mind, I start working out how much it will cost to repair the wall and replace the paint; my head sinking into my hands when I know I can’t afford it.

  The anger builds so immediately, that I don’t even recognize it until I’m yelling at her. Once I’ve started, I can’t seem to turn the faucet off and the rage floods out of me in a targeted blast directly at Scarlett.

  “Why couldn’t you just leave when I asked you to? Are you happy now? Got the answers you were looking for? Look at me! Look at this room! I can’t take it! Any of it! You want to know something Scar? Is that it? My own mother doesn’t know who the fuck I am! The only way I can share her life is if I pretend to be her dead brother. Do you have any idea how fucking painful it is to see a person you love disappear right in front of you? You think, maybe you could have waited for a better time, like I asked, before forcing me to share my huge fucking burden with you?”

  “Ease up, Jackson,” Brad warns, rolling in front of Scarlett a little as I pull myself to my feet, ready to unleash more fury. “If she didn’t know about your mom, how could she know a right time? Take a minute to cool off.”

  I stare at Scarlett, not really seeing her as I battle to calm myself. My vision blurs with the intensity of my emotions and soon she disappears from my sight, followed by the sound of the swinging doors closing. Sinking to my knees in the paint I look at the forest on the wall, wishing I could run into it and hide.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SCARLETT

  I’ve broken Bruno Jackson.

  I shouldn’t have followed him and I definitely should have left when he asked me to. I knew he was in a state when he left home this morning and seeing him at the gym only proved he was under strain. He’d arrived dripping with sweat as if he’d run a marathon before he even started his workout, and he ran through his circuits with such aggression that everyone in the gym gave him a wide berth. He hadn’t even noticed me following him, which in itself tells me he was in his head instead of the real world.

  When I saw him painting that amazing wall and talking so nicely and calmly with the woman I now know to be his mother, I thought he must have gotten over what was bothering him (me, no doubt) and that approaching him would be okay.

  Now I’ve gone and pushed him too far. I’ve outed his mom, causing both of them a great deal of distress. He’s already been extra moody and stressed with all of the Jenkins business, and the not dancing, and the extra work to get money.

  I’m the last straw, except this one didn’t break the camel’s back, it lit a fuse and blew the camel up.

  I have never seen Bruno explode like that. Always calm and collected under even the worst of circumstances, Bruno would never yell at anyone. He’d told me once he was too big and intimidating to ever have to yell, and I can definitely say from experience, that yelling sends his intimidation factor through the roof.

  When I left the rest home, I was shaking. Holding my hand out as I wait for the kettle to boil, I realize I’m still shaking. Taking a deep breath, I ready a cup for tea. Tea will fix the shakes.

  With trembling hands, I take the cup to my bedroom to calm down.

  Sitting on my bed, I sip my tea and notice the box on the floor at the end of my bed. Wrapped in newspaper, it is topped with a huge bow, also made of newspaper. My hands begin to shake more. He left me a present and all I’ve done is make his day horrible, right from the start.

  Putting my tea aside, I kneel on the floor next to the present. Taking off the lid, I notice he’s created the perfect gift box out of an empty carton that once housed packets of Oreo cookies at the supermarket. Folded inside is a shaggy cream version of his plush blanket, with a thick paper scroll on top and a small card next to it.

  Touching the soft, fur I read the small card.

  Scarlett,

  Have a wonderful day

  Love, Bruno.

  Even the basic message is enough to bring more tears to my eyes. I wouldn’t have thought I had any left, after I cried for half an hour in the bushes outside the rest home and then cried all the way home. Wiping at my eyes, I sniff and set the card aside, to take up the scroll.

  Untying the simple twine that keeps it from unrolling, I stretch the thick artist’s parchment open and cry even harder.

  The image Bruno has created is of a beautiful woman painted in reds and oranges. Her pose is much like one I’ve held on the pole, legs bent, head back and arms outstretched like a bird’s wings, and Bruno has painted actual wings.

  The woman in the painting is me.

  All of the intense color swirls from my side and twists around my body, creating all the bird-like details in the wings and the tail that swishes behind my legs, its longest feathers tapering off into flames. The only other color, is the green of my eyes. Heavy lidded, they take on a sensual quality and coupled with the position of my body with its arched back and head thrown back with hair wild around it, I appear sinfully desirous and downright beautiful.

  Closing the scroll, I take several calming breaths before opening it back up. Again, I see every painfully, lovingly created brush stroke; the attention to detail, the sense of an overwhelming knowledge of my form, my curves, and my expression. In the bottom corner, in pencil, the piece is titled Phoenix and signed B. Jackson.

  It’s perfect.

  He’s perfect.

  And I keep forcing him away.

  I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it, even though I know, deep down in my bones, that he would never hurt me like Kenny and Debbie did. I could have been living an entirely different life if I hadn’t trusted them both only to have that trust literally burn and scar me for life. But if I hadn’t lived the life I have, I might never have met Bruno. I look at the painting again, knowing I would hate a life where there was no Bruno.

  I need to make it up to him. No matter what.

  What about the secrets? The voice in my head chimes. Still two more. How bad can they be? Worse than today?

  Frowning, I think about his actual secret. A mother who is unwell mentally, with some sort of memory problem that requires full time care in a home. The circumstances when uncovering that secret were clearly not ideal, but the secret itself is nothing of consequence to me.

  Although I feel for him, his depth of devotion to his mom only makes me like him more, so I don’t know why he felt the need to hide it. Unless just saying the words aloud were too hurtful for him. Which they undoubtedly are.

  Sighing, I take out the blanket and hold it against my cheek. So soft; like a whisper against my skin. Setting the scroll back in the box, I put the lid on to hide it from view, because I’m finding it hard to live with the guilt of hurting someone who loves me so much.

  Standing, I put the blanket on my bed and take my cup to the kitchen for a new cup of tea.

  I’m waiting for the water to boil when the intercom squeals, followed by a run of expletives in a man’s voice.

  “Hello? Dance people? This is Damon Shermansky, I’m a friend of Bruno. Is Scarlett, or anyone else home? I have Bruno with me, but he’s a bit broken, so can someone open the door, or come get him, please?”

  Hitting the return button, I clear my throat. “I’ll buzz you in,” I
say, hitting the unlock button. Nothing happens. The intercom squeals again, followed by more swearing. “Sorry! You’re going to have to come down, I can’t turn the knob.”

  Frowning, I shake my head at Teeny as she starts to rise from where she and her school friend Boomer are sitting on the couch, eating candy and cramming for some test. “I’ve got this, Teeny. It’s my doing.” I head downstairs, wondering what state Bruno is in if his friend has his hands too full to open the door.

  I open the door to a tall, bearded man with chestnut hair, friendly olive green eyes and raindrops running down his face even though he’s under the canopy. There’s no Bruno.

  “Hey,” he says softly, his eyes studying my face, which must be splotchy and puffy from crying. “You must be Scarlett?”

  I nod, looking behind him again. “Where is he?”

  “In the car. I didn’t want him standing in the rain in case I lost him altogether. Sorry about the intercom noise,” he says, nodding at the small box on the wall. “I’m not very good with small buttons, or round knobs unless I have the right equipment,” he adds, holding up his arms. No hands poke out the top of his long sleeves and I nod.

  “I see.” I look behind him to the car parked down the street a bit. “Can we get him in now? Can he walk? What kind of broken is he?”

  Damon gives me a small smile and gestures for me to follow him. “He can walk, but he’s a bit checked out mentally, I think. Nothing a hot shower and a good night’s sleep won’t help. He’s burned himself too low is all.”

  “The rain is no help either,” I add, wiping the tickling drips from my chin as Damon opens the car door. After calling his name several times, Damon finally gets through to Bruno, who turns to him and blinks.

  “You’re home. Get out of the car and go upstairs,” Damon says, linking his arm under Bruno’s and pulling him up and out of the car.

  Bruno looks at me, his eyes scanning my face as Damon had. His eyes become even more deeply wounded and my chest aches as he looks to the ground and the rain runs off him in streams, leaving strange colors on the pavement as it washes some of the paint from his hair and clothes.

  “Thanks for bringing him home guys,” I say, acknowledging Jenkins still sitting in the car. “I’ll take it from here.”

  Grabbing his hand, I drag Bruno back to our door. He doesn’t resist, nor does he come willingly, but I keep hold of him, escorting him from the rain, upstairs, through the now empty living room, down the hall and into the bathroom.

  Turning the shower on, I turn back to find him staring blankly at the mirror.

  “Take your wet clothes off.”

  Nothing.

  “Bruno. Look at me.”

  He turns, but doesn’t lower his eyes to mine and doesn’t take off his clothes.

  After a few more moments, I remove his jacket and shirt as the steam start to billow around us. Switching on the fan, I turn back to him. His arms are still streaked with paint too.

  Dropping to undo his laces, I loosen them as much as possible. Standing again, I take his hands. “Shoes.”

  Blinking at me, he looks down. After a moment he slides his feet out of his shoes.

  “Pants.”

  Again he looks down, but then his eyes return to my face. Sighing, I turn around. “Pants.”

  Another pause and then I hear an unzipping sound and his belt buckle hits the tiles. “Shower,” I say, turning side on so he can pass behind me to the shower unseen. I hear the door open and close and breathe a sigh of relief.

  Sneaking a peek, I find the shower door too steamy to see through, only Bruno’s dark silhouette is visible and he’s sinking to the ground.

  “You need to wash the paint off,” I say over the sound of the water, but he makes no move. “Are you talking at all?”

  Silence.

  “It doesn’t look like you’re washing.”

  Nothing.

  Biting my lip, I consider my options. Stripping down to my underwear, I open the door and climb in. Bruno doesn’t even notice. Staring at the white walls, he’s somewhere far away. Soaping a facecloth, I clean the paint from his arms, scrubbing when it stubbornly refuses to leave.

  It’s a tight space with Bruno being the size he is, but I work my way around the paint trail, wiping away the evidence of the awful incident. Rinsing the cloth out again and again, I wash away the strange rainbow that adorns his neck and runs somewhat down his chest. Rubbing the blue from around his ears, I move to his face.

  “Bruno.”

  Blinking at me, his eyes seem to focus a little.

  “Close your eyes.”

  He does so, and I carefully wipe the build-up of paint from his long lashes and the fine creases of his eyelids. Even up close he is a remarkably beautiful man.

  “Keep them closed.” Pouring a little shampoo in my hand, I work it over his short, thick hair, rubbing out the paint and massaging his scalp. His shoulders begin to relax and I breathe another internal sigh of relief, knowing he might return, as Damon said, after a shower and a good sleep. I rinse away the shampoo, but use its slipperiness to massage his neck and shoulders while I scan him for more paint. He’s clean.

  Leaving him under the water, I get out, dry off and dress myself again before getting some towels ready for him. Opening the door again, I turn off the water.

  Bruno still kneels on the floor of the shower with his eyes closed. Rolling up my yoga pants, I climb in again, crouching in front of him to dry his hair and face.

  “You can open your eyes now,” I say, once I’ve wiped them dry and thrown the towel around his shoulders like a cape. His eyes open, locking on mine. They’re full of pain, and confusion, and they’re too much for me to take. Climbing out, I get another towel ready.

  “Stand up and step out onto the bathmat.”

  He does so, covering his privates with his huge hands.

  “Turn around and move your hands.”

  He does so and I wrap the second towel around his waist and secure it before gathering all the other wet towels and clothes into the laundry hamper. Opening the door, I stand in the hall and point to his room.

  “Bed.”

  He starts moving and I head to the laundry, fishing my phone from my pocket.

  When I get back to check on him, I find Bruno sitting on his bed in shorts. His arms are threaded through the sleeves of a soft t-shirt that still rests on his lap, and he wears the same blank stare he had before.

  “Come on, Bruno. Snap out of it long enough to get into bed.” Helping him put his shirt over his head, I pull back his covers and push him over so he’s lying down. The change in position is enough to rouse him from his retreat and he looks around, spotting me as I pull his covers and his snuggly brown blanket over him. Adjusting his position, he frowns at me.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I say, not able to look at his face now that he seems to really see me. “I know you hate me right now, but you need to rest. I’ll put some food and drink on your bedside. You should try and eat something. Nina knows you’ll be off work tonight. You’ll be paid sick leave, so don’t stress about money. I called Smith and he’s calling in a favor with his friend downtown to borrow a few bouncers to cover the door in your place. Damon has Brad sorted and your mom is resting peacefully. Time for you to do the same.”

  Pulling his drapes closed, I turn off the light and shut the door behind me as I leave.

  When I return with a glass of water and a peanut butter sandwich, Bruno is still awake, staring at his bedside as I set down his snack.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he says quietly, before turning over with his back to me. It seems a pretty clear statement of his ongoing anger toward me, so I back away and close the door again.

  I DANCE EARLY, FINISHING up as quickly as possible so I can check on Bruno. Finding him fast asleep, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and rub my face, feeling suddenly exhausted. Taking one of my sleepers, I watch him a while longer, until I’m struggling to keep my
eyes open and know if I don’t drag my ass to bed, he’ll find me on his floor.

  Too tired to get into pajamas, I just throw my robe on the floor and crawl into bed in my boy shorts and tank. Pulling my new blanket up from the end of the bed, I bundle it, hugging it to me instead of draping it over me with the others. With the soft fuzz against me cheek, I fall asleep.

  Shivering, I awaken to find myself bare of blankets altogether. I can see them along the side of the bed all pushed up against the wall, kicked as far away as possible as I tend to do after a nightmare, but I feel fine. My heart isn’t pounding and I feel sure it was the cold that woke me. Wasn’t it?

  This time maybe.

  I don’t normally remember the nightmares I have under sedation, because I don’t think I’m really, properly awake. Rolling over, I find Bruno on my floor, staring at the ceiling. Definitely a sign that I was screaming.

  “Another nightmare?”

  His head rolls to the side to look up at me. He blinks in confirmation and returns his eyes to the ceiling. Feeling him instantly under my skin, I glare at him.

  “If you’re still mad at me, why are you on my floor?”

  “Just because I’m mad at you, doesn’t mean I’d leave you to be tortured!” Sitting up, he sighs. “You’re fine now, so I’ll go.”

  “Sorry for waking you,” I whisper as he moves to the door. He pauses momentarily in the doorway, and then is gone.

  Wrapping myself in my new blanket, I too stare at the ceiling for a while, thinking about how I can fix things between us, and if I do, what secrets does he have left that could blow us apart again. Gathering the blanket around me, I take a few strengthening breaths and march next door.

  He’s asleep again.

  Deflated, I sit beside his bed and wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  BRUNO

  The need to take a piss pulls me from sleep. Throwing my covers back, I swing me legs over the side of the bed and they hit something soft that isn’t carpet.