Beautiful Addictions

by Season Vining

  The blue neon light from the bar’s sign reflected down the alley and across his face. His embellished skin glowed sapphire every other second, the blinking rhythm casting him as a saint, then a sinner. He was a beautiful stranger, fucking up her world.

  “I can’t do this,” she said firmly, stepping back so that Tristan’s hand fell away. “My past is not even mine. I don’t want it.”

  “That’s not true,” he challenged. “You sought me out, Josie. You found me. You followed me and watched me. You’re drawn to me just like I am to you. That’s why you’re here.”

  She winced, feeling his words cut her with truth.

  “No, I’m here because I want to fuck you.”

  Tristan felt the weight of her audacious statement sitting heavy on his chest. If he had been a lesser man, she would have crushed him with those words. He recognized a defensive maneuver when he saw one.

  He remained silent as she left him in the alley, alone with his thoughts, a littering of cigarette butts, and the fading click of her heels.

  * * *

  Josie capped the marker and leaned over to blow on the drawing. She watched closely as the ink soaked into the wood wall and dried to a matte finish. These things always gave her a sense of worth. They were the opposite of her, permanent and immortal.

  She finished the last of her drink, waiting for the alcohol to deliver what she needed. It had been a mistake staying sober tonight. She had wanted to do it for Tristan, and to prove to herself that she could. But now she needed the pain washed away.

  “Hey, there, can I buy you a drink?” a man asked from the table next to hers.

  Josie smiled and looked him over. He was moderately attractive, middle-aged, and married. The distinct tan line on his left hand was a dead giveaway. She didn’t care, though. He was the lucky guy tonight, his win concreted by the absence of tattoos and all-knowing green eyes.

  “Hell, yeah, you can,” Josie answered, waving him over.

  “You here alone?” he asked, taking a seat next to her.

  She almost rolled her eyes at his clichéd pickup lines. This guy had been out of the game a very long time.

  “Not anymore.”

  Josie’s drink arrived and she downed it in one long swallow. The burn of the alcohol stoked her furious need to erase Tristan for good.

  “So, what do you do for a living?” he asked.

  “Look, this is not an interview. My name is Josie and I’m a sure thing. You want to see me naked or not?”

  A few minutes later, the waitress returned, only to find two empty chairs.

  * * *

  “Whaddya mean you’re not gonna to see him again?” Alex yelled, his voice three octaves higher than usual.

  He tossed the bag of burgers and fries to her and sat on the edge of the sofa.

  “Jo, he knew you back in New Orleans. Which means he knew your family, mami. You don’t gotta be best friends, but you gotta get some info. Then kick him to the curb.”

  Alex knew he’d have to approach this carefully. He just didn’t understand her willingness to let go of this person who held so many answers.

  “My past is better left in the past, Alex.”

  Josie pulled the greasy food from the paper bag and threw a few fries into her mouth. She wanted to avoid this conversation altogether, but Alex had this inexplicable ability to pull information from her.

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  “Do you remember everything in your past?” she asked.

  “Shit, yes.”

  “How much of it do you wish you didn’t?”

  He shrugged, not wanting to further prove her point.

  “Still, I’d wanna know what he knows,” Alex said.

  “You know what they say about curiosity?”

  Josie smirked, knowing she’d gained the upper hand. He shook his head and headed for the door.

  “You’re not a cat, more like a stubborn burro,” he said, the r’s rolling off his tongue in annoyance.

  She felt relieved when Alex was gone, not having to keep her façade in place any longer. Josie wanted to believe her own lies. She wanted to own them and plant them firmly into her resolve. In all honesty, she wasn’t sure how long determination alone could keep her from seeking out Tristan again

  6. Gravity

  The attractive force that governs the motion of celestial bodies.

  Ever since Josie walked away from him, Tristan had felt that aching pain return to his chest. Although reminiscent of the first time he lost her, it felt deeper and more excruciating, knowing that this time it had been her choice. Having never been convinced of God’s existence, he didn’t have a higher power to plead to, though most nights he found himself begging an empty room to return her. He wasn’t eating enough, and as much as he knew it would numb his pain, he ignored the alcohol leering at him from the behind the bar. For sixteen days Tristan had survived on gas-station dinners and Marlboro cigarettes.

  Now he stood behind the familiar bar and filled drink orders with no attention to anything else. Erin was still training the new hire, Brandie, so she was not hanging around for her usual chitchats. Tristan was thankful.

  For the past two days, Brandie had been flirting with him, and it was starting to wear on his nerves. Lee had told him that the girl gave great head, and just to feel some kind of release, Tristan considered finding out for himself. She was attractive, though her beauty was marred by her shallow personality. None of that mattered since his mind and body craved no one but Josie.

  When Brandie’s shift ended, she sat at the bar wearing her practiced smile.

  “I’d like a margarita, no salt,” she requested, placing her hand over his on the bar.

  Her eyes visually violated Tristan as he moved behind the bar, mixing and shaking, before pouring the concoction over ice. She seemed mesmerized as she watched the colorful images twist and stretch over the muscles of his forearms. Tristan set the drink in front of her dismissively. Upon tasting the drink, she licked her lips and purred with approval.

  Throughout the evening, he continued making her drinks, and she continued to brazenly flirt. It took every last bit of bred-in manners to not lose his cool. Each flutter of her eyelashes, every overenthusiastic laugh infuriated Tristan further. He tried to control his anger; it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t Josie. Finally freed on his smoke break, Tristan hurried outside into the shadow of the alley. He sucked on a cigarette and kicked at a loose brick in the base of the wall.

  “I wondered where you went,” Brandie said, appearing out of nowhere.

  Two more buttons on her shirt had come undone and there was an exaggerated sway to her hips as she wobbled toward him. Within seconds she had her tight little body pressed up against his with her hands on his waist.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Tristan tried to make his voice light, but it came out strained. She mistook that for mutual lust.

  “I want this,” she said, grinning up at him and palming his crotch.

  Tristan jumped and pushed her away.

  “Fuck, Brandie,” he complained.

  “Exactly,” she answered.

  “You’re a beautiful girl, but I don’t want you like that.”

  Tristan ran both hands over his nonexistent hair and darted back inside. He let Lee know that he was cutting out early. Only one destination entered his mind. He would not fight it any longer.

  * * *

  In theory, sixteen days doesn’t seem like a long time. In the grand scheme of man’s historical existence, it is less than nothing. Yet during these sixteen days, Josie had endured the greatest test to her willpower.

  It had been just over two weeks since she’d seen Tristan, and she felt as though she was fading inside. The bit of light he had ignited, the spark of hope that had emanated from her very soul, was all but extinguished. She could never go back to the time before he’d come along because now she knew he was out there, calling to her.

  She hated re
jection. To kill the hurt, she found a man to fuck her senseless. When that didn’t work, she got so high she couldn’t remember who she was or why she hurt. When that had worn off, she felt even worse. She snuck through the nighttime streets, searching out white walls to deface. When she found them, she’d get her piece thrown up and find somewhere to sit and inspect it. Perfectly formed letters filled with blues and oranges made words that defined her. Alone. Want. Need. Though they looked like single-word declarations to everyone else, they were so much more.

  Josie spent the rest of her time pacing the floors of her apartment. Like a caged animal, she wanted to beat and scratch at the walls that held her captive. Though her confinement was self-imposed, she knew that venturing out again would be too tempting. She missed the nights spent in the Darkroom, nights when drunken strangers and a familiar staff left her feeling like she wasn’t so alone.

  In her earliest memories, Josie could recall what it felt like to be frightened by the unknown. Because of her amnesia, everyone had been a stranger. She remembered the police telling her that her father was dead. She remembered feeling crushed by the news, not because of his death but because she could not recall his face or voice. They had given her no information about her mother or any other family, just a vague report of who she was and where she was going. She felt cheated that she wasn’t allowed to retrieve any personal items from their apartment, all of it becoming state’s evidence. With no mementos of her former life, Josie had been left to fly blind.

  That seemed like three lifetimes ago. Josie felt old and weathered now, a seasoned vet to the ways of the world. She was not the naïve little girl they found in the subway. She was wary and untrusting of people’s intentions. Her emotions were severed from her heart, leaving only her jaded mind to make decisions.

  The past sixteen days had proved her to be a coward. Josie could not openly admit that she needed anyone or anything. Her usual drugs seemed to leave her in more pain. She’d thrown out the rest, only to buy more pills the next day. She didn’t even take them. They sat untouched in the plastic bag tucked into a kitchen drawer intended for utensils. Knowing they were there was enough to get her through.

  She didn’t understand why she felt defenseless in Tristan’s presence, the way his touch set her on fire, or how Earth seemed to tilt on its axis just to bring them together. She felt weakened by the unfamiliar heartache of wanting him. Lying on her floor, Josie pressed her cheek against the wood planks as her hand sketched mindlessly. She didn’t know what time it was or what day it was, only that she’d seen too many sunsets since she’d last seen his face.

  She closed her eyes and imagined running her fingernails along his scalp, through that short bit of hair. Josie just knew it would feel like the soft fuzz of a velvet toy against her fingers. Mentally, she traced every permanent line of ink on his skin, memorizing the curve of each design and the meaning behind it. She envisioned flattening her tongue and sliding it over the scruff of his jaw, eventually biting down for a better taste. Even more curious, she imagined herself wrapped in his arms with no sexual connotations, while he whispered secrets of their past against her skin.

  Frustrated, Josie pulled herself from the floor and plodded to the bathroom. She showered and dressed and awaited Alex’s arrival. As she sat and stared at the blank paper, her leg bounced nervously. She glanced at the kitchen drawer holding her escape and back to her sketchpad. She decided she would power through this on her own.

  She almost ignored the pounding at the door, delighted at the idea of messing with Alex. When the sound shot through her apartment again, she decided that she’d better put him out of his misery before he destroyed the door completely. Josie unlocked and opened the door, only to find Tristan standing there, fist poised to knock again. She whimpered, her pencil clattering to the floor. Relief flooded her body along with an inclination to attach herself to him and never let go.

  “Josie, please,” he whispered, his voice scratchy and thick.

  He wasn’t sure what he was begging for. He only knew that whatever it was lay within her. Nodding, she took his hand and pulled him inside, closing the door behind them. Silently, reverently, she sat him down on her sofa and crawled into his lap. Tristan’s arms embraced her and crushed her to his body, molding them into one form. Her head lay tucked on his shoulder. She’d never felt so safe.

  In the quiet space of the apartment, Tristan simply held Josie. He surrounded her with himself, creating a shield between the evil outside world and the beautiful wounded girl. He concentrated on the bare skin of her arms beneath his fingertips, inhaling deeply just to breathe her in. This moment, imagined so many times, had been lacking in power compared to reality. Without even trying, without any conditions, this girl owned him.

  Just after midnight, Alex found the couple curled into each other in the corner of Josie’s couch. Even as they slept, their possessive fingers dug into the other’s flesh. He’d been angry when he found her door unlocked again and was about to scold her as if she were a forgetful child, but when he spotted the sight before him, he understood.

  Alex had never seen Josie so peaceful, so free from the darkness that permanently loomed over her. Even without an introduction, he recognized Tristan. He knew no one else could invade Josie’s space like that. He left the pizza box on her table and locked the door behind him.

  As he kicked Mrs. Thompson’s brainless cat from his door, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. With Tristan around, he feared that Josie wouldn’t need him anymore. He had served his purpose and he’d be dismissed like one of her crumpled drawings. Perhaps, one day, someone would unfold him, smooth out his wrinkles, and hang him up anyway.

  * * *

  Tristan woke in the early hours of the morning, his legs and arms aching from the position he’d slept in. He looked at Josie’s sleeping face and was reminded of the young innocence that was McKenzi’s. It was easier to see now that she was unconscious and defenseless. Needing the bathroom, he shifted over and left her to finish her rest.

  He stretched his arms high above his head, bending and twisting to bring circulation back to his limbs. He relieved himself and threw some water on his face. The liquid dotted his skin with crystal-like drops. It clung to his eyelashes, matting them together, and dripped from the scruff of his chin, taking with it the grunge from the night before. The circles beneath his eyes were nearly invisible. He looked refreshed in a way that made him feel like a fool for staying away. With Josie cradled in his arms, he’d slept better than he had in years. They’d both waved their white flags and given in to the gravity pulling them together.

  It had always been this way for them. Even in grade school, they would argue over something silly, swearing off their friendship forever. By recess, they’d be huddled together beneath the monkey bars, whispering apologies. McKenzi had been more stubborn than Tristan, but she always came back to him.

  Tristan used the bottom of his T-shirt to pat his face dry. He looked for an extra toothbrush, but all he found were tampons, charcoal pencils, and paint markers in her medicine cabinet. He pushed the toothpaste around with his finger as best he could and rinsed.

  There was only one door besides the bathroom, and as Tristan let himself inside, he had no idea what he’d find. At first it was too dark to see anything, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light coming through the curtain. There was a mattress on the floor, tucked into the farthest corner of the room. No bedding or pillows topped it. Haphazard stacks of spray-paint cans lined the perimeter of the room, along with sketchpads and a few articles of clothing.

  He walked to the window and pulled back the curtain, flooding the room with daylight. Tristan gasped. Pencil and charcoal sketches covered every inch of wall from ceiling to floor. He turned, scanning the rest of the room and finding each wall plastered in the same way.

  “Holy shit,” Tristan whispered.

  A familiar face drew him in as he stepped to the wall for closer inspection. A young boy of eleven o
r twelve stared back at him, his smile a bit higher on one side. Tristan ran his index finger over the lines of his baby face, reflecting the crooked grin.

  “Tristan?” Josie’s voiced called out. He spun to find her displaying a defensive posture, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Just looking,” he answered.

  “These are private.”

  He nodded, leaving a beat of silence in case she wanted to continue. She didn’t.

  “You drew these?”

  Josie nodded.

  “You don’t know who they are, do you?” he asked.

  Her scowl disappeared as she shifted from foot to foot. She refused to meet his eyes.

  “No, but I dream about them. I see nothing else when I sleep. Just these faces,” she answered, pressing her palm to her forehead.

  Tristan walked to her and pulled her inside the room. He placed Josie in front of his body, facing the middle of the largest wall.

  “This,” he said, pointing to the wild-haired boy, “is me.” Josie gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Your shading is amazing, you even included my eyebrow scar.” Tristan took a step sideways and brought Josie with him. “This one here is your mom. She was always laughing like that. The one above her is your dad. He was the chief of police in Gretna.”

  Tristan glanced over her shoulder to see her trembling fingers still covering her mouth and her other arm wrapped around her waist. He slid his hands around her, holding Josie to his chest for support. Even though she had no conscious recollection of her childhood, she’d always had these faces with her. After a minute of silence and stuttered breaths, she finally spoke.

  “She was beautiful,” Josie said, running her fingers over her mother’s face.

  “Yes, she was.”

  “I can’t believe my dad had that beard,” she said finally, smiling as her eyes scanned the drawings. “I look like him.”

  Tristan squeezed her tighter in confirmation. Josie took a step closer to Tristan’s sketch now, scrutinizing the curve of his chin and weight of his smile.