Monochrome (21 page)

She put her hand on the door, annoyed. “Alright. What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so weird today? Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, his light brown, shaggy hair, mussed by the motion. “Nothing’s wrong. I don’t know what you mean.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Liar. Come on. I’ve known you since we were eight. There’s something wrong and that something is me. Right?”

Steven’s hands shook, his brown eyes moved from side to side. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Abs. It’s me. I’m just…” He sighed and shook his brown curls. “I don’t want to be just friends anymore.

It happened so suddenly Abigail didn’t know what to think of the change, the softness and intimacy in his voice. He grabbed both of her hands, pulled her towards him and kissed her softly.

At first, Abigail was too stunned to kiss him back, but she was soon overcome by the softness of his lips and the heat of his body against hers. She’d been kissed before, but never by someone who she knew so well, and never so passionately. It was beautiful and sweet. Her knees shook. He was her best friend, but what she realized as his mouth left hers was she’d wanted this for a very long time.

Abigail didn’t want to be just friends either, and when she said as much she saw something in Steven’s eyes she’d never, in seven years of friendship, seen before—desire.

He walked her to her car and kissed her firmly before letting her leave.

“See you at school,” he murmured.

Everyone has a moment when they feel like a rare beauty, a treasure. And this was her moment. Her heart was light and giddy and her hands shook with anticipation. She wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship with a person she already loved.

Abigail already felt drained. Steven was a great friend and a sweet boyfriend, even if they ended up being better friends than partners. They were friends still, and his memories were some of her most treasured. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her body strained as she let go of one of her favorite memories, but she didn’t allow herself time to grieve.

Ishmael had done this time and again, and he’d not pay for her decision this time. She clenched her eyes and concentrated on her next memory. She raised her hand and a pained yelp left her as she let the last memory go. Ishmael walked through the door just in time to watch the memory leave her:

She heard her name being called over the loud speaker: “Abigail Rose Pierce. Magna Cum Laude.” The piercing cries of her family and friends filled the air. The only voice wanting was that of her father, but the reminder didn’t make her sad today. She walked across the stage with purpose, shook the hand of the dean of the university, took her Bachelor’s degree in hand and lifted it to the sky.

She kissed her degree and sent a sincere thank-you to her father. It was cliché, but she knew he witnessed this moment. It was because of his guidance and faith in her that she even gave college a chance. She felt proud and fierce. The world was hers.

She made a promise, just between her and her dad, this wouldn’t be the last time she’d walk across a stage in a ridiculous cardboard hat and starchy gown. Her father wanted more for her than ordinary, and she wanted to make him proud, even if he couldn’t be physically present. In that moment she experience what it meant to achieve something life changing. The cheers of her family faded as she took her seat, and her future was all bright confidence.

Ishmael got to Abigail just in time to catch her as she slumped, in a faint, to the floor. She felt light taps on her cheek. She opened her heavy eyes and focused her blurry vision, blinking away the black spots left over from the darkness that took her as she fell. As her vision focused, she realized she was staring into Ishmael’s worried brown-green eyes.

Her body woke, and, with it, the memory of what she’d just done. Pain settled in her chest and she clenched her eyes shut tightly, to keep the tears from running down her face. She searched her thoughts for what she gave, but only disjointed images of Steven flooded her head. It was impossible, no matter how she tried, to think of who the second memory involved.

Frustration seared her chest. Her tears came in a torrent. Ishmael cradled her for a few minutes then helped her up when she felt able to stand. “Abby, what did you do?” He hugged her to him. “Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

Abigail let go of her tears. She didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t even know why she was crying. Anyway, he knew she lied to him, and she already felt awful. He didn’t push her. He must’ve known she wasn’t up to the confrontation.

He put her arm around his shoulder. “Come on, dummy, I’ve got the keys.”

He led Abigail to an old-fashioned elevator to the right of the desk. She leaned heavily on him. All energy and feeling other than pain was drained with the last of the memory she no longer recalled. Even worse, she was overcome with a feeling of worthlessness. His strong arm held her steady as they walked towards their rooms.

He took out a small key and unlocked a door at the end of the third-floor hall. He helped her into the room and sat next to her on the bed. She broke down when she saw the comfortable, clean room and soft bed. The gilded wallpaper glimmered in soft lamp light. The white comforter on the bed puffed out welcomingly where they hadn’t sat, and sank under her like a compressed cloud. She knew she should feel better, being in a place like this, but the cost weighed on her, making her unable to enjoy the warmth and lightness of the room.

Ishmael combed her hair with his fingers, and held her tight as she cried herself hoarse. Finally, she felt like she had no energy to cry any longer, and no tears left, either. She pulled away from his hold and wiped her tears on her sleeve. She lay back on the soft comforter and felt nothing but bitterness. It cost her too much.

She felt a longing for the cabin in the dreary forest and cold sleeping bags on a wooden floor. Ishmael watched her wearily before saying, “You should take a bath. They’re warm here. You’ll feel better.”

She didn’t want to tell him she could care less about warm water, but she also wanted to appease him since she lied to him and knew he was feeling somewhat responsible for her condition. It took every ounce of energy she harbored to sit up and walk to the bathroom.

Ishmael yawned and stretched his arms. “Take your time. I’ll wait for you here.” Abigail didn’t argue with him. It was unnecessary for him to stay awake just to keep tabs on her, but he would do so regardless of what she said. She undressed, her muscles protesting every step of the way. The bathroom floor was tiled black and white. It was cold on her tired, swollen feet. Fancy electric candles lit the bathroom in a romantic glow, the red wallpaper standing out against black swirl designs.

She bent over by a clawed foot tub and twisted the “H” knob on high. Hot water steamed from the faucet. She twisted the “C” water on low and released all the tension in her lungs as she climbed into the deep tub. The hot water seeped into her pores. It felt like it sank into her muscles and bones. She moved her feet and arms through the water and lay back in the tub, soaking in the warmth. She closed her eyes and concentrated on thinking about the warmth and nothing else.

Spaces of forgotten memories vied for her attention, but she breathed deeply and thought only of washing dirt from her body and hair. She scrubbed herself with a small bar of soap that smelled strongly of roses, provided by the hotel. She washed her hair and face with the bar and stayed in the tub until the water was dark and cold.

She stepped out of the bath and grabbed a towel from a gold-gilded steel towel bar near the tub. She bent over to let the water out and watched it as it swirled down the drain. She wrapped a soft as cashmere towel around herself and crossed to the mirror in the bathroom.

She was afraid to approach the mirror until she remembered Ishmael was the one to test her. He hadn’t promised not to test her again, but she knew he wouldn’t. Whether he said it or not, he was falling in love, and he wasn’t the type to hurt those he loved.

The reflection she encountered in the steamed mirror made her gasp. Her face was thinner and still bruised on one cheek, either from Geoff hitting her yesterday, or from the bathroom days before. Her arms were scratched and dotted in yellow, purple and black bruises. But worst of all were her eyes. Liberal strands of black swirled through the hazel of her eyes, tired circles sagged under them. It made her dizzy to look at her own irises. She whirred away from the mirror and ran her hands through her wet hair.

She walked out of the bathroom and was about to tiredly announce to Ishmael it was his turn to bathe, but stopped short at the sight of him sleeping soundly on her bed. He’d taken his boots, socks and shirt off and was sprawled out on the bed. His tattooed torso was lightly muscular and lean, and it rose with his deep breathing. His long angles were more appealing than the bulky granite bodies many women panted over.

Abigail made herself stop staring at him, which was a difficult task. She tiptoed to the bed and sat down beside him. In his open hand was the key to his room. She took it and stared at his calm, sleeping face. For a moment, she thought about lying next to him and throwing her arms over his firm, inked chest. The thought made her shiver pleasurably, but she pushed it away.

His eyes were defined by frequent worry, drawn in thin lines around the edges, and his dark blond hair made a disheveled halo around his sleeping face; an inked angel. A light brown shadow coated his cheeks, stark against his pale skin. He was so handsome. The urge to touch him was so strong she didn’t fight it. She relished the contrast of rough cheek to soft palm.

His eyes blinked open and he grinned up at her. “Am I dreaming again?”

Abigail laughed. “I hope your dreams are better than this.”

Ishmael sat up and pushed her wet hair behind her ear. “No. Dreams here are never very good.” He grinned. “We could certainly do better, though.”

His hand stopped stroking her hair and worry crinkled his forehead. “Oh, Abby! Your eyes. Why did you do it?”

She shrugged. “I can’t make you give up your last memories. I’m sorry I lied, but I’d do it again.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “You’re too good. Don’t ever do that again. We’re even on the lying. I can’t be angry. But your eyes were such a beautiful green.”

She felt tears pull at her throat, but the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Ishmael more. “They still are. In some spots. I better go use the other room or it will all be for nothing.” They stood and he spun her towards him, and wrapped her in a tighter hug. Abigail felt like a bottle under pressure. She wanted to drop into Ishmael’s ardent embrace and stay until she broke free of the emptiness that plagued her.

“Stay.” His voice was a quiet, beckoning whisper. “Stay here and I’ll give you a few good memories to compensate for what you’ve lost. I can’t promise it’ll make your eyes green, but I can try.”

His words pushed against the pressure of desire building up inside her. Her legs wobbled like rubber bands. Ishmael felt her resolve melt into his chest. His hands ran along her body, searching her curves indiscreetly, over her towel. She shivered and breathed out in broken sighs. It was impossible to remember the last time Jason touched her so eagerly. Ishmael’s chest was hard and warm against her towel, which was slipping down her legs. She was going to give in if she didn’t leave now. It was too difficult to fight against herself.

Ishmael’s breath was heavy against her hair. His left hand tugged at her towel, which slipped further down her body, leaving them exposed together. His chest was thumping in excitement against her breasts. She shuddered with pleasure, picturing his lean perfection entwined in her legs.

Ishmael released a deep moan in the back of his throat, as her naked skin pressed against his. He eased his body into hers, leaning them towards the bed. His lips brushed the skin of her collar bone, melting her knees like wax. His solid arms were the only thing keeping her standing. Her thigh pressed in passion against his eagerness, and she felt herself fold into him, trying to let go. He lifted his chin, sweeping his open lips towards hers.
No. Jason.
She reluctantly pulled away, took his hand in hers and kissed it, tugging awkwardly to right her towel with her free hand. Her knees almost gave out when she put her weight onto them.

“Go take a cold bath,” she forced out, barely able to speak over the pissed lunatic that was her screaming body.

He hung his head, but laughed ruefully. “No way. I’m taking advantage of the amenities. Just let me know if you change your mind. I hope you do.”

He eyes were all serious yearning, but he backed away from her. “Knock if you want company. I promise you won’t regret it.” His careful tenor voice reverberated within.

With that, he sauntered to the bathroom, turned to face her, and, without warning, dropped his pants surreptitiously, leaning his glorious frame against the door. “There. Now we’re even for the memory I gave up today,” he teased.

She had just enough time to process the fact he was, indeed, covered in tattoos,
almost
everywhere, and to notice what wasn’t inked was still magnificent in its own right before forcing herself to look up.

Her heart hammered as if it wanted to leap free to meet him. It took all the strength she contained to leave, but she jangled the keys she took from him, and practically ran past him into the bathroom to grab her clothes.

She tried not to see him out of the corner of her eye as she fumbled from the bathroom, but she was unsuccessful. He decided not to make the fight easy for her, and shifted to offer a better view.
God, he’s so beautiful. Just go to him. You both want it.
She pushed her yearning deep down, until she thought it might double her over. She scrambled into the other room, from the adjoining door, without saying goodnight.

Abigail flicked on the lights in her room, locked the door behind her and flung herself down on the bed. She buried her face in the flat but clean Hotel pillow and cried, feeling worthless for a reason she couldn’t remember, feeling loss for wonderful memories forever forgotten, and guilty about listening to the sounds of the water from the next room and wanting to join Ishmael in his bath, to do something to make them both feel like whole people again.