I wake up craving coke for the first time in a week.
I don't know why, because last night was fucking amazing. Mila and I had walked along the beach until we were exhausted. We held hands and kissed, then held hands some more. I had walked her to her car, where we kissed yet again. But I didn't invite her to my place and she didn't invite me to hers.
This is too good to fuck up. Even an asshole like me knows that. If she wants to take it slow, that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm not going to rush her. I have a hand for a reason and I'm not afraid to use it.
Just thinking the word use makes me remember my craving, the one where I want my nose to burn and the numbness to spread through me.
But it's just habit. Because for the first time since I can remember, I don't want to be numb. Mila makes me want to feel things... with her and for her. She makes me want to be a better person simply so that I can be around her.
So, I throw my covers back and do an impetuous thing.
I take the lid off of my vial and dump every pill inside it into my toilet, flushing them down. As I watch them swirl around, I'm overcome by a moment of panic.
What the fuck am I doing?
I almost thrust my hand into the toilet water to yank them out.
But then Mila's face appears in my head and I am calm again.
I'm doing the right thing. That's what I'm doing. And I can do this. I'm not a pussy.
I pad down to the kitchen and find my backup pills in the freezer, and I toss them into the garbage disposal, turning it on. I listen to it grinding up the pills, grinding away my escape from reality.
I even dispose of my sleeping pills. Anything that can be a crutch to me, I pitch. Except for the three bottles of whiskey that I have in the kitchen. I'm trying to turn over a new leaf- I haven't gone fucking insane.
My cell phone rings and I see Mila's name light up. I smile and answer it.
"Hey, babe."
There is silence for a second, as though the endearment caught her off-guard, but I hear the smile in her voice when she finally answers.
"Hey. Just calling to say good morning. And to thank you for last night. It was really nice. I had a fantastic time. What are you doing now? Did I wake you?"
I laugh. "No. You didn't wake me. You won't believe what I'm doing, actually."
Pause.
Then she laughs. "Well, are you going to tell me or are you honestly wanting me to guess?"
"I was wanting you to guess," I tell her. "But if you want to lack creativity, then I can just tell you. I'm turning over a new leaf. I won't bore you with the details, but I think you'll notice a change around here."
Another pause.
Finally she answers.
"Pax, what do you mean, a new leaf? What kind of change are you talking about? Because if it's something significant, I don't want you to do it because you think I want you to. That will never work. Change only happens if you want it to happen."
I chuckle. "You're fairly wise for such a young little thing," I tell her. "But I do want to make this change. You were right last night. I've used drugs to cover up emotions before- to block them out. Only a pussy does that. I can handle whatever life wants to throw at me. I don't need a crutch."
"Okay, one, I'm not much younger than you. I'm twenty-three. And two, I'm really happy for you, Pax. This is amazing. And I'll help you in whatever way you need. If you want, I can recommend a therapist. I used one after my parents died. He was really good with helping me deal with the grief. But I'm sure he can help you with kicking this, too."
"Fuck that," I tell her automatically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to sound rude. I just meant that I'm not an addict. I don't need help kicking the habit. I really don't. But thank you for the offer."
Pause.
Longer pause.
"Okay," Mila finally answers. "I can respect that. But let me know if I can do anything to help. I can listen if you want to talk, or try to keep you occupied, or whatever you need. In the meantime, would you like to have another date tonight? I have something in mind."
"Oh, really?" I ask, raising my eyebrow even though she can't see it. "And what are you thinking?"
"Well, it involves my shop and paint. Since we're getting to know each other, I thought maybe you'd like to see what I like to do."
I'm intrigued now, so I tell her that and then agree to meet her at her shop at 7:00. I'm supposed to bring take-out.
I smile as I head to the shower. If this is what being in a relationship is like, I think I can handle it.
********
Mila
They say not to wish your life away, but that's exactly what I do all afternoon long as I wait for 7:00 p.m. to roll around.
After I close the shop at 6:00, I rush up to my apartment and shower, dressing in a pair of jeans that fit me just right and a soft red sweater, a gift from him. This particular sweater has a plunging neckline and I don't wear a camisole underneath. I can see the swell of my breasts as I examine myself in the mirror and a flush spreads along my cheeks.
"God, you're ridiculous," I tell myself as I dab on perfume. "You're an adult, he's an adult. You can dress sexy if you want to. It doesn't make you a slut."
And now I'm talking to myself.
Great.
At 7:00, I make my way back down the stairs, pretending to be calm while I wait for Pax in my shop. He's right on time, thank God. I watch him walk up the sidewalk and quite honestly, he takes my breath away.
Tonight, he's freshly showered again and wearing jeans and a black shirt that clings to his chest beneath his coat. His slender waist makes me ache to wrap my arms around it, so I drag my gaze up to his face. He winks at me.
My heart flutters as I unlock the door and let him in.
"Hi," I say softly. He brings with him the cool winter air and his clean scent. I take a deep breath, then stretch up to kiss him on the cheek.
"Hi," he answers. "Is that all you've got for me?" He grins.
I shake my head, rolling my eyes. "For now. Be patient."
"Oh, I'm very patient," he tells me. "Trust me."
He stops in the middle of my shop and looks around. He's so big, but he manages to not look out of place in the midst of all the delicate furniture, easels and paint.
"So, what's the plan? What are we doing?"
"Well, first, I'm going to take your coat. And then you have two choices. I can either teach you to paint and you can paint with me, or I'll paint you. You can be my model. Either way, it should be fun."
Pax stares at me thoughtfully, appearing to truly think about this.
"Well, I'm not much of an artist," he finally says. "I don't even know if you could teach me, to be honest. I'm just not artistically inclined."
"I think I could teach you," I tell him smugly. "But if you would feel more comfortable, I'd be happy to paint you and we can chat while I do."
"I've never been painted before," he announces. "Can I choose the setting and pose and whatnot?"
I'm surprised that he would care. But I nod.
"Of course. This is just for fun. I'll do it any way that you want it."
He beams. "Great! I'd like to be nude."
I'm shocked as I stare at him, but as I see the sparkle in his eyes, I know that I walked right into that.
"That was a trap!" I roll my eyes. "You set me up."
He shrugs and looks very proud of himself.
"I'm sorry that you're not more street-wise," he says, and I can tell that he's not sorry at all. "But you already agreed to it. So, I guess you'll be painting me nude." He narrows his eyes. "Why? Does that bother you? Are you worried that you won't be able to control yourself as you gaze upon my sexiness?"
He waggles his eyebrows now and I giggle.
"Oh, I'll try hard to manage," I tell him. But quite honestly, it might be a feat. I can't believe I've gotten myself into this.
I gulp a big breath of air and glance around, trying to calm my quaking nerves.
"We'd better take this into my studio in the back. I don't think you want to be naked in front of the windows. Or maybe you do, you exhibitionist freak."
I laugh, remembering that he has entire walls of windows at his house which doesn't deter him from walking around naked. Then I remember watching him get a blowjob through one of those windows and it sobers me up. My cheeks flush and Pax looks at me.
"What's wrong? Does the fact that I'm a freak bother you?"
He's still kidding and has no idea that I have a picture of he and Jill firmly implanted into my head. I shake my head, trying to shake the image away.
"Of course not," I joke back. "I like it."
I turn my heel on his shocked expression and lead the way to my private studio. As I walk in, I inhale the familiar smell... of oil paint, acrylic and wood floors. I turn to Pax.
"I give private lessons in here and this is where I do my own work."
He looks around appreciatively. "It's perfect. I can see you in here, working away."
He points at a painting hanging on the wall, one of a woman with her head bowed. It's fairly abstract and you can't see the details of the woman's face. No one would know that it's my sister, and her head is bowed because she's crying at my parents' funeral. That particular moment imprinted on my heart and I knew I had to paint it. The painting hangs in here, in my private studio, because it's too personal to be sold.
"Is that Madison?" Pax asks curiously. I stare at him in surprise.
"How could you possibly know that?" I ask. "It's so vague."
He walks over to examine it. "Well, I can see that the features are delicate, like hers. Her hair is blonde and there's just something haunting and personal about it. I figured it had to be Madison. It's beautiful."
"Thank you," I murmur.
He runs his finger along the bottom edge of the frame, still examining it.
"She's crying, isn't she?" he muses. I nod.
"Yes."
He turns to me. "You've been hurt in life, Mila. I know that. And I swear to you, on everything that is sacred to me, that I will try not to hurt you, too."
I stare at him as I pull out a smock.
"On everything that you consider sacred?" I'm trying to joke now, to pull us out of this serious conversation. I'm just not in the mood for deep right now. "What exactly do you consider sacred? Jack Daniels?" I laugh, and he finally laughs too, allowing me to lead this conversation elsewhere. I'm silently grateful.
"I'll have you know, Miss Smarty Pants, that Jack has gotten me through some hard times. And thankfully, I'm not giving him up yet. So, yes. Maybe Jack Daniels is sacred to me."
He grins at me cockily, daring me to say something. So I raise an eyebrow.
"You can drop trow now."
His jaw practically drops instead.
"Drop trow?"
His shock makes me giggle. "Hey, you're the one who wanted a nude picture, you freak. In order for me to do that, you're going to have to drop your trousers."
Pax regains his composure and smiles charmingly.
"Well, if you think you can control yourself."
He unfastens his jeans and lets them drop to his ankles. He steps out of them, then his underwear follow. I fight the urge to look. He grins.
"Oh, you know you want to," he teases, as he pulls off his shirt. "Go ahead. Take a peek. You're going to have to eventually anyway."
I swallow hard as I stare at his chest. He's got a tattoo on each pec, and one on each bicep. I notice that he's also got words on his right side. All of it is perfectly show-cased by his amazingly sculpted body. Holy hell.
I fight not to look below his waist. I don't want to give him the satisfaction right now and he's certainly waiting. I smile.
"All in good time, Mr. Tate. Why don't you go up there and stand under the light?"
I motion toward the front of my studio, a safe and respectable distance from my easel. He confidently strides naked into place. I inhale. His backside is as sculpted and perfect as his front. How is that even possible?
"How do you want me?" he asks as he stands facing me, his hands dangling at his sides. What a loaded question.
I can't help but look below his waist now and am sufficiently impressed, yanking my eyes back up to find that he is staring at me in amusement. My cheeks immediately flush, hot and quick.
"Um. Why don't you turn a bit and look into the distance?"
"Your wish is my command," he drawls, turning. The muscles of his back ripple and I stare at the words on his side. They are bold and black, scrawling across his ribcage. I read it aloud.
"Go placidly against the noise and haste."
I stare at him in disbelief.
"Isn't that from the poem Desiderata?"
He nods and I'm stunned. I must look it because he laughs.
"What? You think I'm illiterate?"
He cocks an eyebrow and I laugh.
"No. It's just not how I think of you. Placid. Or calm. Isn't the next line something about peace?"
He nods. "It's And remember what peace there is in silence. I almost had that inked on me, too, but decided against it. It's enough that I know. Pax means peace in Latin, you know. So it's fitting."
I pull the canvas toward me and begin to paint his silhouette, deciding to do it in an abstract, like the painting of Madison.
"I guess I didn't know that. That's interesting. And your tattoo is beautiful. I just don't picture it as something that you would choose. It says a lot about you."
Pax stares at me thoughtfully. "Why? Because it's deep? I'm deep. Sometimes. Although most of the time, I'm just trying to block out reality. I'll give you that. But there's peace in that, you know."
I eye him, then paint the line of his butt and thigh.
"Maybe. But that's not true peace. It's a false sense of peace, brought on by oblivion and denial. That's not real."
I look up again and he seems to be considering that.
"You might be right," he says quietly. "But it's still a peace, nonetheless. It's better than nothing."
"I think you set the bar too low," I tell him. "You need to aim higher."
I paint the edge of his pec, then flow downward to his rib.
"I have," he says seriously. "With you."
I look up and into his eyes and the intense look that I find there gives me goose bumps. His hazel eyes glitter and I can't think straight.
"Anyway," he drawls with a grin, lightening the mood again. "I think you're handling this much better than I expected. Being exposed to all of this sexiness is usually disarming, but you're one cool customer, Mila. I propose that we up the ante."
I stare at him hesitantly, my hand frozen above the canvas.
"I'm almost afraid to ask," I tell him. "What do you want to do now?"
He examines me as he stands tall and proud in his nudity.
"I want you to be naked while you paint me. It's the least you can do to put me more at ease. I'm a basket case over here."
I do a double-take and my jaw drops open. He's the furthest I've ever seen from a basket-case right now. He's proud of his nudity. Cocky, even. He laughs at my expression.
"Are you chicken, little Red?"
My heart pounds so loud that I can practically hear it.
He stares at me, a dare in his eyes and against my better judgment, I lay my paintbrush down and unbutton my jeans.
"Fine," I tell him. "If you think you can handle it, I'll paint naked. Even though this isn't exactly normal second date behavior. But you need to focus on remaining still. Not a single part of you can move. Can you do that?"
He watches in utter fascination as my jeans fall to the floor and I step out of them, kicking them to the side. My black lace panties follow, and then my sweater and bra. He acts unfazed, as if it doesn't matter to him in the slightest, but the movement below his waist reveals the truth.
I smirk.
"Can you handle it?" I ask saucily. "Because you're moving."
His lip twitches.
"Oh, Red. If you want to turn up the heat, you've got to be careful not to get burned by the fire."
And as I stare into his hazel eyes, at the golden flames there, I have the distinct feeling that I could get very, very burned.