Rory vs. Rockstar

To divert her mind from such thoughts, Rory logged onto her online store again. Gone were the days when she checked her sales data with excitement. Now she just prayed that a few pieces would sell everyday so that she had enough to make ends meet. There was nothing she wished for more than financial freedom, and the more she strived for it, the more it seemed to evade her.

Three new sales, it said. Rory stared at the screen numbly. Maybe sales will pick up later in the evening. She repeated the mantra that she told herself almost on a daily basis. Her only saving grace through all these years of struggle had been her ability to stay positive and keep a straight face. Of late, she hadn’t been sure if she would be able to maintain it for long.

Irritated, she walked away from the computer. Only a total of two other customers walked into the bookshop for the rest of the day. One had just browsed around silently while the other had bought a map of the island.

Lizzy left at five as she had a Zumba class, an invitation to which Rory declined. Forty dollars to dance around? No, thank you. Besides, evenings were her favorite time to sketch, and she was not going to give that up for anything.

The day before, she started on a new T-shirt design: an overly smiley, plumply cartoonish garibaldi fish with thick lips and a sarcastic smile. She was sure it would appeal to kids. After trying all sorts of designs from faux artistic impressions to vintage cars to stuff with a lot of text on it, she had no qualms about diversifying further. Nothing had really worked for her so far except that one time when a lot of those “Keep Calm” T-shirts had been trendy.

Rory was really hoping that this cartoon character that she had envisioned in a weird dream would take her to the next level and provide her with financial security. She was sick of skipping dinner every other day and cutting costs wherever she could. At one point she even thought about giving up the house to her sister, but found it incredibly hard to let the memories of her grandma go.

She smiled as she thought of Grandma Colleen and got down to sketching again. Even though she was no longer in this world, just the memories of late-night talks with Granny strengthened her resolve to do more with her life. Rory just wished that she had such a strong resolve twenty-four hours a day.

She was lost in sketching and thinking up a name for the character when the rain started lashing down. Nothing like a long, deep sleep in the rain to rejuvenate the body and the mind, she thought to herself as she got up from her desk to head to her bedroom.

Her footsteps echoed around the huge, Victorian-style house where every rustle of the wind sounded like reverberating waves of the ocean. Rory wrapped herself in a comfy nightgown and was about to get in bed when she felt the floor shake and heard a loud booming noise, like that of a bomb exploding.

3

Arsen felt like he often did after a very heavy workout in the gym. Except this was much worse, as every single muscle in his body ached more like he had been beaten with a club. He wasn’t even sure whether he was alive or dead. The sound of whirling winds still surrounded him, and he felt a trickle make its way down his face. Water, or maybe blood? His vision was limited to the blur that was in front of his eyes.

Am I dead?

The words echoed in his head. Along with the sound of his favorite Sinatra song coming from somewhere far away.

Am I really dead? he asked himself again. Arsen tried to lift up his body, but he struggled. Raising his head, he saw a soft light. Suddenly through the light, he saw a young woman with long hair and a glowing face extend her hand to him.

Is that the angel that is supposed to come and take me to the beyond? Is that the light at the end of the tunnel?

The thought made him feel strangely relieved. Arsen wondered if this is what everyone who overdosed on drugs and was pronounced clinically dead for minutes talked about when they were resuscitated.

Is this how the story of Arsen Ford ends?

Arsen felt numb. Not remorseful, not content, but emotionless. He was surprised by his own lack of reaction, so he shut his eyes, willing himself to pass on to the other side.

“Hey?… Hey!” the woman shouted. Arsen opened his eyes and rubbed them gently. For an angel, her voice is kind of harsh. He’d expected an angel to have a silky voice, like that of a vintage harp.

“Hey!… Dammit. Lemme call the cops,” she shouted.

All of his senses came rushing back to him as he heard the word cops. In a split second, everything came back to him—rain—Ferrari, Jack Daniels—DUI. Fuck. He forced himself up and realized that he was partially trapped under the airbag that had deployed upon impact.

He stretched his hand out of the window and motioned for the woman to stop. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with cops. Especially when neither his manager nor his lawyer were present. He’d have to think on his feet for a way out of the situation.

“Help me.” He motioned for her to come closer and could sense her reluctance at this request. “Just open the door from the outside.” He tried to speak loudly. She was slender and Arsen wasn’t even sure if she could pull hi

m out of the car if she had to.

Arsen cleared his throat and said out loud, “Just pull me out.” Through the streetlight that blinded him, he could see the woman reluctantly make her way toward him.

She slowly opened the door and he extended his hand toward her. It hurt as numb muscles awoke in his body.

“I’m not sure I can do this.” She hesitated. At least she was contemplating helping him.

“You can. Just take my hand and give a pull,” Arsen said with his eyes half closed. A long forgotten warmth curled through him as her hand clasped his. Arsen pushed against the steering wheel with his other hand and threw his body out of the car. With a thud he landed on the ground, right on top of the soft curvy body of the woman that he had mistaken for an angel.

His eyes looked into hers and Arsen studied her face as if she were the only thing he wanted to look at ever again. The distance between them was temptingly close, and there was heat in the air that was warmed by their bodies, moistened by the rain. Adrenaline spiked in his body, the intimacy of skin touching skin making the feeling unbearable.

She was all woman, a fiery petite storm, that turned slowly in his grasp. A bolt of desire rushed through him, igniting in him a long-forgotten fire, the scent of her feminine body encompassing his senses, and a thin nightgown all that laid between him and her body. For a moment Arsen forgot about it all, choosing instead to stare deep into the most expressive eyes that he had ever seen. Her hand pushing against his chest brought him back to the present. She was scowling.