Phoenix: The Beauty in Between (A Beautiful Series Companion Novel) (14 page)

“There she is,”
he says kindly. “You took a bit of a bad turn last night, didn’t
you?”

“I don’t know
what the hell happened last night,” I croak, as I try to sit up on
the couch I’m lying on.

“Sweetheart,
you're lucky it was me who found you and not someone else. You are
too young and gorgeous to be getting your highs from
strangers.”

“What are you
even talking about?”

“I’ve seen you
around the clubs lately. You’re always with someone, and on
something, and you’re always carrying that big backpack of yours
around. Have you got nowhere to go?”

I lay back and
roll my eyes, sighing. “If I had somewhere to go, do you think I’d
fuck half the guys I go home with?”

“No. No I
don’t. Although, if I had your gift for attracting men, I wouldn’t
be here looking after you. I’d be off with a man of my own.”

“Congratulations. You’re gay,” I state, my voice an emotional
void.

“Officially I’m
bi, but I do tend to lean a little closer to the gay side, which is
why I’ve noticed you. You have gone home with some very fine men
lately.”

I sit up
properly and clutch at my head as pain throbs behind my eyes.
“Thanks, I guess,” I wince.

“Here,” he
says, handing me two Nurofen and a glass of water. “I’m curious -
why do you keep going home with different drug fucked meat heads?
Why don’t you choose one of those geeky looking guys who drool all
over you and would do anything you asked just to be seen in your
presence? You’re a fucking goddess.”

“Been there,
done that. I can’t do relationships. I can’t stand the hurt look on
their face when I screw it up. I go with the guys I do
because
they’re jerks. Hot guys are always jerks. They don’t
give a fuck about me. They don’t ask questions. They just give me
what I want, while taking what they want. It’s an easy trade.”

He takes the
glass of water off me and places it on the coffee table in front of
me, before he sits on the chair opposite. Reaching into his pocket,
he pulls out a wad of cards and starts flipping through them.

“So which one
of these are you? Linda? Erica? Peyton?... there’s more. What did
you do? Rob every girl who looks remotely like to you take her
ID?”

I reach forward
to snatch them back, but he pulls the cards out of my reach. “Give
them back.”

“Maybe I
should. I can write these girls a nice letter and tell them that I
found the girl who stole from them. I’m guessing that she’s this
girl right here,” he says waiving my own ID at me. “Paige Larsen. A
seventeen year old runaway from where? Jamisontown? Where’s
that?”

“I’m not from
Jamisontown. It’s just where I was living when I got my learners
permit,” I tell him, reaching out again to try to take my ID.

“Ah, ah, ah,”
he tuts, moving them away from me again.

“What do you
want from me? I don’t have any money, and I’m too sober to sleep
with you.”

“Well, I did
have something else in mind for you. But after seeing your skills,
I think you can help us both out.”

“What kind of
skills are you talking about?”

“The ones that
help you survive my dear Paige.”

“That’s not a
skill. It’s called a pussy.”

He laughs. “Not
your pussy sweetheart. I’m talking about how you got your hands on
all these IDs. There’s a lot of money in selling them because
they’re too hard to counterfeit without the right machine.”

“So you want me
to bag snatch for you?”

“I prefer to
call it ‘acquiring stock’, but yes.”

“And what’s in
it for me?”

“Well, you’d be
doing me a slight favour in helping me change career paths. In
return, since you seem to be lacking a permanent place to stay,
you’ll have the use of my couch, and we’ll split the money from the
sales, fifty-fifty.”

“That seems a
little unfair. I’m taking all the risk, and you’re getting all the
gain.”

“Believe me
sweetheart, there’s plenty of risk in what I’m doing. The guy I’ll
sell them to is into a hell of a lot of shit, and if I get caught,
I’ll be charged with more than just theft.”

Looking around
the room, I take in my surroundings. It looks like we’re in a
studio apartment. There’s one of those tri-fold room dividers
separating a bed from the rest of the room, and a small kitchenette
off to the side. The walls are a bare red brick, and the floors are
a grey concrete with rugs dotted about the furniture. There’s only
one door, so I assume there must be a communal bathroom
somewhere.

Sleeping here
and actually making some money would be a nice change of pace. All
the men are starting to look the same, and I’m getting sick of
having sex. I have no idea how prostitutes do it as an actual
job.

“Alright. As
long as I don’t have to sleep with you - it’s a deal.”

He laughs.
“Don’t worry sweetheart. I like my dick too much to put it in the
likes of you.”

“Fuck you. I
don’t have anything. I always use protection.”

He holds his
hands up in surrender. “It’s ok. I’m joking. But you won’t have to
worry. I don’t want sleep with you. I just want to make lots of
money with you,” he grins. “Are you in?”

“Fine. I’m in,”
I concede, with a roll of my eyes.

Clapping his
hands together, he rises from his seat. “I think this new business
venture of ours calls for a little celebration. Care to chase the
dragon with me?”

“The what?”

“You can’t be
serious. You don’t know what I’m talking about?” he says getting up
and walking over to his kitchen.

“Never heard of
it.”

“Well then, let
me show you.”

He opens a draw
and pulls out a roll of foil and tears pieces off. He folds them
into neat rectangles and sets them aside. He then takes a baggie of
small irregular shaped crystals and adds one to the end of each bit
of foil.

“Is that ice?”
I ask, wondering what he’s doing with it.

“Heroine,” he
replies, pulling out a funnelled tube and a lighter.

As I watch him
heat the foil, the crystal starts to smoke. Using the funnel, he
breathes in the vapour like he’s inhaling from a bong.

“You try,” he
says handing it to me.

I have a bit of
trouble holding everything together, so he holds the lighter and
the foil and I just hold the funnel. The burning crystal gives off
a strange smell of chemicals mixed with caramel. It’s sickly sweet,
but not terribly offensive.

Taking turns,
we continue until the crystal is nothing more than a brown splodge
on the foil.

It doesn’t take
long before the buzz starts to affect me. Suddenly I’m deliriously
happy, and the world is once again a wonderful place.

Moving over to
the couch, we collapse down next to each other and just enjoy the
high.

“You don’t even
know my name,” he says to me.

“Yes I do. It’s
a hard name to forget,” I tell him, my mouth moving sluggishly
around the words.

“Braden,” he
says in reply.

“I know. I told
you I know.”

He finds this
really funny and chuckles to himself.

I think that
maybe I say something else, but I’m not sure that I do. My eyes
open and close slowly. I’m just so… blissful.

“Stop drawing
me!” I complain, when I notice Braden sketching me as I sit on the
bench top, shaving my legs into the sink.

“I’m an artist,
sweetheart. I see beauty, and I draw it. Simple as that,” Braden
says from his position on the couch that also doubles as my
bed.

“Me shaving my
legs is beautiful?” I laugh, as I continue my quest of hair
removal.

“Well, yeah. In
a way. It’s the light. The angle you’re sitting on. And you of
course. I like drawing you.”

“Hmmm,” is all
I say in reply.

“Just why are
you doing that there anyway? You know there’s a bathroom down the
hall.”

“Yes. But that
weird girl from number twenty-eight is in there. She sings all the
time and asks me super happy questions. She kind of freaks me
out.”

“Which girl? Oh
Valerie? Geez Paige, she’s completely harmless. I’m sure she’s just
trying to be friendly.”

“I feel like
she’s trying to force me to join her super-happy-hyper-girl cult.”
I shudder, bouncy girls really do freak me out.

“Sweetheart,
it’s not a cult. It’s called cheerleading. She loves that
shit.”

“Well fine for
her. But she needs to leave me out of it,” I tell him, as I rinse
off my legs and start applying some lotion.

“Fair enough,”
he concedes, focusing intently on his drawing and rubbing at the
page with his finger to smudge the pencil.

“How many
pictures do you have of me in there anyway?” I ask, as I slide off
the bench.

“I don’t know,”
he shrugs. “A few.”

I move over to
him and lean on the back of the couch to look over his shoulder.
“Exactly how many is ‘a few’?”

He just shrugs
his shoulder again and closes his book so I can’t see, sliding his
pencil behind his ear as he moves to stand up. He never lets me see
what he’s drawing.

Reaching over
the back of the couch, I snatch the sketch pad out of his hands.
“Oh no. You’re not getting out of it that easy. I’ve been here for
weeks and you’re always drawing in that thing. I want to see
it.”

“Give it back
Paige,” he warns.

Immediately, I
start moving around the studio, dodging him as I start leafing
through the pages.

“Close it
Paige! That’s private!”

“Wow, Braden.
You’re really good,” I admit. There are drawings of everything in
here, from people, to animals, trees and vehicles. Basically,
whatever has caught his eye, has been recorded in such vivid detail
that it actually looks real.

I’m so focused
on the drawings that I forget to move out of his way. Although, my
reactions are quick enough that I tighten my grip on the pages as
he pulls on the binding.

“Give it
back.”

“No. I’m
looking. Let go Braden. You’re going to make me tear it,” I tell
him calmly. He narrows his eye at me and releases his hand.
Grinning triumphantly, I continue to leaf through his drawings.

The visual arts
diary he uses is one of those thick bound ones with a hard black
cover. More than half of it is filled with his sketches.

Slowly I flick
through all the pages, marvelling at his work. “You can tell when I
moved in,” I smile, glancing up at him.

Suddenly, there
are pages and pages of me. Sitting watching television, brushing my
hair… “You drew me sleeping?” I ask, turning the book to him and
tapping on the paper.

“I like drawing
you. So sue me,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and
looking surly.

“Well… you’re
very talented,” I compliment him, as I shut the book and hand it
back to his eager hands.

“You’re not
weirded out?” he asks, taking it back and folding his arms over it
protectively.

“Why would I
be? I’ve seen you drawing me. I just wanted to see them.”

“They don’t
mean I’m obsessed with you or anything,” he assures me.

“I know,” I
smile. Moving towards him and giving him a light kiss on the cheek.
“You just think I’m beautiful.”

“You’re damn
right I do,” he grins back. “Now get that gorgeous arse of yours
out there and get me some more stock. I have a delivery to make
this afternoon, and we might as well get all the money we can.”

Once a week,
Braden goes out on his own to take all the IDs I’ve managed to get
my hands on, to whoever it is he sells them to. Our income level
varies from week to week, but it’s more money than I’ve ever had.
More than enough to get by and procure some entertainment for
ourselves on the side.

During the
week, we stay clean because we need to focus. Braden is studying
art and design at uni as well as working a few nights at Planetary,
and I have purses that require my attention. I need to have my wits
about me, or I’ll be caught. That’s the last thing I want.

“Get moving
woman!” he calls out to me as I’m preparing to leave. Saluting him,
I finish collecting my things, so I’m almost ready.

“You want to
run interference for me?” I ask as I lace up my shoes. Sometimes
Braden comes out with me and distracts my targets with a question
about directions, the time, or whatever else he can come up
with.

“Sure. I’ll
help you for a while. Then I can go and get our money.”

“Good, I want
to go shopping for something new to wear this weekend.”

“Me too. I want
to look irresistible this weekend. Did you see that guy I was
talking to last Saturday? He said he’d be at Compound this weekend.
So that’s where we’re going,” he sing songs.

“Yes. I did see
that guy. And then I saw him go home with his girlfriend. I think
you’re barking up the wrong tree with that one,” I laugh.

“No. I could
tell. Just watch what happens,” he grins, standing at the door,
ready to leave.

Weekends are
our party time. It’s when we really let loose and enjoy the fruits
of our labour. I haven’t completely given up my old ways though. As
much as I thought I was sick of sleeping with random guys, I still
have a libido. Except now I go home with guys that I actually want
– I can afford to be choosy.

Braden’s not as
bad at picking up as he originally made out to be, although he’s
better at picking up women than men. From the looks of it, I think
he’s attracted to straight men which is obviously where his problem
finding a man arises from. Sometimes he scores though, and that’s
when he’s happiest.

We have a rule
that we don’t bring people back to the studio, because it’s not
fair to the other person. We always go home with the guy or girl.
The studio is just for us.

Before he met
me, Braden was only into ‘chasing the dragon’, as he likes to call
it, and speed, which he calls ‘go-ie’ – it’s like he can’t call a
spade a spade. But I’ve convinced him that coke is far superior to
his ‘go-ie’, and after trying it with me, he’s inclined to
agree.