Awaken Me

by Farrah Rochon

  He motioned to where he’d been standing for the past ten minutes. “I slipped in toward the end of the discussion.”

  “Really?” Her brows arched. “Hmm.” She folded her arms across her chest, drawing his attention to his favorite part of her anatomy. “So, what did you think?”

  “About?” he asked.

  “The panel?”

  The panel? He could barely remember his own name right now.

  “Uh, it was good,” he answered. He was such a damn liar. He didn’t have a clue what those guys had talked about. All his attention had been focused on her.

  The corners of her mouth turned up in a knowing smile. “So, if I asked you something about what was said—”

  “Please don’t,” Reid said, cutting her off.

  She burst out laughing. “If we’re being honest, I’m surprised that you’ve made a full two hours. Maybe there’s still hope for my plan to convert you into a blerd.”

  “Oh.” He widened his eyes in mock surprise. “So you’ve been planning this all along, huh?”

  “Is it working?” she asked, a cagey grin tipping up the corners of her lips. Reid couldn’t fully describe how amazing it felt to have her smiling at him like this again.

  He took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

  “You don’t have to trick me into doing anything with you,” he said. “All you have to do is ask. I’m here. Ready and willing.”

  She remained silent, her eyes roaming his face as if she was looking at him for the first time. Reid’s chest tightened with anxiety. He knew he stood on shaky ground, and any misstep could tear their tenuous connection apart even more.

  When she spoke, the words came out in a whisper. “You want to hear something crazy,” she asked. “I’m starting to believe you really mean it.”

  Reid drew the backs of his fingers along her jaw line, transferring some of the gold dust makeup she wore to his skin.

  “What do I have to do to prove to you that I mean every word?”

  Another smile slowly drew across her lips, this one more mischievous than the last.

  “Let me think on that,” she said. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

  * * *

  Brooklyn tried to recall that old saying. Something about being doomed to repeat history if your foolish ass didn’t bother to learn from it the first time. She was definitely playing the role of the fool in this current scenario.

  It wasn’t even ancient history she was having a hard time learning from. It was a mere week ago. The memory of how she’d felt watching Reid with his past girlfriends was still fresh in her mind; the stinging rejection still irritating her skin. Yet here she was, ready to tear down all her newly resurrected shields.

  She’d spent the last several days steeling herself against the impact being in such close proximity to him would have on her. She’d anticipated this from the moment she reluctantly agreed that he could still join her at this weekend’s comic con. She’d prepared herself because she knew how hard it would be to resist his tempting smile and sexy, lighthearted teasing.

  Yet, despite all the safeguards she’d put in place, it had only taken a few hours to fall right back under his spell. As foolish as she knew it to be, Brooklyn couldn’t deny that when it came to Reid Holmes, she wanted to be under his spell.

  It was the antithesis of her normal way of thinking. She usually avoided setting herself up for this kind of heartache at all costs.

  What was that other saying? It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Yeah, she called bullshit on that one. The way she saw it, if you didn’t open yourself up to being hurt or ridiculed, it wouldn’t happen. Period.

  Which begged the even more pressing question of the hour…why was she still contemplating visiting Kurt Bollinger’s table?

  Her misgivings over the swift one-eighty she’d turned regarding Reid had taken a backseat to her anxiety about meeting one of her favorite comic book illustrators. Mainly because this convention wasn’t supposed to be about her simply meeting him. It was supposed to be about her taking that next step.

  Panic swarmed like a streaming wave of honeybees inside her stomach.

  Brooklyn sat at the table in the convention center’s huge food court area, pretending she had an appetite. If Reid had been paying any attention at all, he would have noticed she’d been chewing on the same French fry for the past three minutes.

  “You know, you could have just told me you weren’t hungry,” he said.

  Ah, guess she wasn’t fooling him after all.

  She dropped the fry and shoved the food container over to him.

  “What’s wrong?” Reid asked, grabbing several of the fries and stuffing them in his mouth. “Did a panel get cancelled or something?” he asked, the words garbled.

  She shook her head. “No, that’s not it.” She sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it. After another moment’s hesitation, she decided to come clean. “One of my favorite illustrators is here today. When I bought the ticket to attend, it was with the intention of showing him my work.”

  Reid’s eyes widened over the rim of his cup of soda. He swallowed, then asked, “Well, where’re the drawings you plan to show him?”

  “Back in my hotel room,” she admitted. “I chickened out at the last minute and left my portfolio on my bed.”

  Reid used a napkin to wipe the grease off his fingers, then reached his hand out to her.

  “What?” Brooklyn asked.

  “Room key.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll do it next time. There’s another con in Lafayette in the spring.”

  “Will this illustrator be there?” he asked. Then he shook his head. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. He’s here now, and you’re here now, and you’re one of the most talented artists I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He motioned with his fingers. “Give me the key. You sit here and finish these fries. You’ll be grateful for the sustenance. I’ll run back to the hotel and get your portfolio.”

  A million voices screamed in her head, warning her not to do this. But after several terrifying moments, she handed him the keycard.

  The minute Reid walked away, Brooklyn had to talk herself out of calling him back. Anxiety and adrenaline fought for dominance in her brain, and she wasn’t sure which would win the battle.

  How many times had she allowed opportunities like this one to pass her by? Too many to count. The fear of being laughed at, of being told she didn’t have what it takes, that she should leave comic book writing to the professionals and go back to the construction site; it was all the things that kept her awake at night.

  She’d tried to put that horrific online chat room episode behind her, but had never been able to let it go. The taunts haunted her, dictating what she did with her drawings for the past three years.

  Here’s your chance to move forward. Finally.

  Right here, right now. She could put it all behind her. She’d taken a huge step the moment she’d handed Reid the drawing of Dynamo Diane. She’d taken an even bigger step when she shared Iansan with him.

  Showing her work to Kurt Bollinger would be more than just a step, it would be an astronomical leap forward. It was one Brooklyn knew she had to take if she was ever going to seriously pursue her dream. Even if he called her drawings crap and told her not to quit her day job, at least she would have given herself the opportunity to see what someone who was a master at the craft thought about her work.

  Those same thoughts continued to ping pong back and forth in her head until, after what seemed like only five minutes since he’d left, Reid returned with her portfolio.

  “Wow. You did that fast,” she said.

  “I’ve been gone twenty minutes.”

  Ah. Time flies when you’re obsessing.

  “Well, come on,” Reid said.

  The panic returned. “I don’t know about this,” she said, gripping the edge of the table. Maybe if she held on tight enough, her f
ingers would fuse themselves to it and she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.

  Pulling the chair he’d been sitting in closer to hers, Reid set the portfolio on the table and turned to her.

  “Do you realize how good you are?” he asked. “I know I’m not the best judge. After all, I’ve only been reading comics for a few weeks. But I know when I see a kickass drawing, and every single drawing I’ve seen from you is beyond kickass.”

  His words were exactly what she needed to hear. They washed over her body, bringing her comfort and reassurance.

  Her confidence had taken a beating three years ago, but Brooklyn hadn’t realized just how much power she’d allowed the words of a random stranger on the Internet to have over her life. This dream she’d held since she was a little girl had been stymied for years, stuck in neutral because some dude-bro who probably lived in his parents’ basement had made himself the king of an insignificant message board in one corner of the World Wide Web.

  No one knew she was the face behind NOLAComicGrl28, yet she’d remained hidden all this time, keeping her illustrations to herself for fear of being ridiculed. She could not allow this irrational fear to hold her back any longer. So what if she was ridiculed. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. It wouldn’t even be the end of her dream. One person’s opinion—a dozen people’s opinions—didn’t have to be the end, as long as she kept pushing. She was in control here.

  “Okay,” Brooklyn said. She released a heavy breath, looked up at Reid and smiled. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  His answering smile helped mend the fissure that running into the brick wall of reality at his birthday party had rent in her confidence. Maybe it was time she stopped allowing fear to hold her back in all aspects of her life.

  Reid stood. “Okay, where is this guy?” he asked as he grabbed the portfolio. Holding the flat 11x17 case to his chest, he looked around with purpose.

  Brooklyn rolled her eyes. He wouldn’t know Kurt Bollinger if the man walked right up to him and drew his most famous character on Reid’s forehead. She grabbed the portfolio’s handle and pulled it from him, then she put her hand to his chest to halt his movements.

  And maybe she should have thought it through before placing her palm on his muscular chest. The effect startled her.

  Reid looked down at her hand and then back up at her, and Brooklyn could tell it affected him too.

  “I…uh…I’d rather go by myself,” she said. “If you’re there it’ll just make me more nervous.”

  A trace of disappointment ghosted across his face, but it quickly disappeared. He nodded and said with an earnest expression, “I understand. But try not to be nervous. You’ve got this.”

  With a nod and smile, she pulled in a reassuring breath and took his words to heart. She confidently tossed her cape behind her, stuck her head up in the air, and marched toward Illustrator’s Row. But with every step she took, that self-assurance began to erode. Her heartbeat quickened. Her breaths grew short. Her grip on the portfolio slacked as her palm became sweaty. When she spotted the line of people waiting in front of Kurt Bollinger’s table, Brooklyn’s mouth grew as dry as the sandy beaches kissing the shoreline outside of the convention center.

  What was she doing? Had she lost her mind?

  The man sitting on the other side of that table was one of the most brilliant comic book illustrators in the country. Why did she think she could just walk up to him and show him her work?

  Run. That’s what she should do. She should kick off these heels she’d been dying to get rid of all day and hightail it out of this crowded convention center.

  Brooklyn glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of Reid standing just inside the line delineating the food court, his eyes locked on her. He gave her a brief but encouraging nod. It was what she needed to take the remaining steps that would bring her to the end of the line at Bollinger’s table. Brooklyn prayed that no one would get in line behind her. She could deal with the humiliation of one of her favorite artists laughing at her if it was just the two of them. To have witnesses? Witnesses who would actually see her face, and not just an online screen name?

  A knot the size of the state of Mississippi formed in her belly.

  “Stop it,” Brooklyn breathed.

  The Captain America standing in front of her turned. “Stop what?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I’m sorry.” Goodness, could she be any more of an idiot?

  The line moved much too slow. It gave her too much time to contemplate backing out. But then, as if even God was tired of her cowardliness, there was an announcement on the loudspeaker, informing convention-goers that the day’s signature panel, featuring several actors from an upcoming superhero movie, was about to begin in the main exhibit hall. All but one of the people standing before her vacated the line, and in less than two minutes, Brooklyn found herself face-to-face with Kurt Bollinger, with no one else around to witness her impending humiliation. At least God was also apparently in the mood for answering the prayers of shy comics geeks.

  “Well, thank you for sparing my feelings and not racing to hear that panel like everyone else,” Kurt said with a lighthearted chuckle.

  Brooklyn laughed, not because what he said was particularly funny, but because for a moment she forgot how to speak.

  Pull it together, girl!

  “I’ve waited a long time to meet you,” she said. “This is way cooler than hearing actors talk.”

  He smiled.

  Good. Good. This was going okay.

  He picked up a copy of his latest comic—she’d read it twice already—from the pile on his table and, pen poised over it, asked, “Who should I sign it to?”

  “I draw comics too,” Brooklyn blurted.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Why couldn’t she at least try not to be an idiot?

  He nodded. “Oh. Good.”

  Her eyes briefly shut as humiliation filled every corner and crevice of her being. “You can make it out to Brooklyn,” she said. “And what I meant to say is that your work has been an inspiration to me for many years.”

  He gestured to the portfolio she held. “You have some panels in there?”

  For a millisecond Brooklyn considered lying. She could say she was holding it for someone else, or better yet, she could just run.

  Stop. It.

  “Yes,” she answered, and with hands that shook only slightly, she laid the portfolio flat on the table and unzipped it. She’d taken out the few Iansan drawings she’d brought with her before they left the hotel, and hoped to God Reid hadn’t seen them on the dresser and wrongly assumed that she wanted them in here. A tiny wave of relief crested over her when she flipped the cover open and saw a drawing she’d completed last year—a middle-grade comic based on tiny superheroes who lived in mushroom houses.

  Her heart did the Cha Cha Slide in her chest as he lifted one of the panels up and studied it.

  “Nice technique,” he remarked. “You do a good job with shading.” His eyes roamed over the first panel. He pointed to the arm of one of her superheroes. “Proportions can use some work, but that will get refined with time. It took me years to get it right.” He flipped through a couple more panels before setting them down and smiling up at her. “You’re not ready yet, but you definitely have talent. Keep it up.”

  How she refrained from bursting clear out of her skin, Brooklyn would never know.

  “Thank you,” she said, breathless with barely contained excitement. “Thank you so much.” She zipped up her portfolio and tucked it underneath her left arm, then grabbed her signed copy of his comic. Sticking her hand out, Brooklyn smiled. “This was such an honor. Enjoy the rest of the con.”

  She backed away from the table, feeling as if her head was on the verge of exploding following the praise she’d just received. When she turned, she found Reid standing a couple of feet behind her. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the expression on his face could scare a grown man.

  He jerked his
chin over at Kurt Bollinger’s table. “What did he mean by that proportion thing?”

  “I thought I asked you to stay back there?” she said, pointing to the food court area.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He lifted the portfolio out of her hand and tucked it underneath his arm, his displeased frown still directed just over her shoulder.

  Although she usually deplored the knight in shining armor routine, Brooklyn couldn’t deny the thought of Reid running to her rescue made her heart skip a few beats. It startled her to think of how much had changed since that first week when she’d considered it silly that he insisted on walking her to her car.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine,” she said. “I’m more than fine. Kurt Bollinger just told me that I have talent.” She held her hands to her sides and released a silent scream. She mouthed, “Oh. My. God.”

  “Yeah, well, he also said you’re not ready yet, so I think he’s full of shit. Don’t listen to him.”

  “Oh, sure. Because, of course, I would take the advice of someone who just read his first comic two weeks ago over a legend who has been drawing them for decades.” Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “I’m not ready. I know this. I want to work on my craft. That’s why I want to apply for those fellowships—” she started, but then she stopped herself. Goodness, had she said that out loud?

  “Apply for what?” Reid asked.

  Shit. Yes, she had.

  Brooklyn shook her head. “Nothing. Are you hungry?”

  “We just ate,” he pointed out. “What fellowships do you want to apply for? Is it for your comics?”

  She pitched her head back and stared up at the Teen Titans banner that hung from the ceiling.

  “Brooklyn?”

  “There are these classes you can take,” she started, returning her attention to Reid. “They’re usually several weeks long, and almost like a boot camp for writers and illustrators. I’m self-taught, but know that I would benefit so much if I was able to attend one.”

  “So why haven’t you gone?”

  “First of all, I just started a new job.” It was such a bullshit excuse Brooklyn almost choked on the words, but as far as excuses went, it worked.