Chapter 10
Jenny
Sunday mornings were reserved for sleep and, knowing that fact, Jo and I didn’t want to wake the sleeping princess to ask if we could borrow her car. So we caught the bus to campus and walked to the art workroom.
I felt more inspired than I had in a very long time. I’d spent the entire ride with colors erupting in my head and Jo, sensing this, kept quiet for the duration of the ride. It was one thing to sketch at home, but what I was feeling needed all the art supplies I could have and the space of the art room to make a mess.
The room was blessedly quiet and empty. I liked working with headphones and Prince crooning in my ear as my hands moved on their own accord. The canvas was the size of the top side of a desk, bigger than my head and too big to carry. I primed it with white paint before going in with color.
Time flew and my hands were a blur as I covered the canvas like a possessed woman. When my hand moved over the canvas, it was almost like my mind was directing my hand without me; odd perhaps, but that was the way it was. The brush moved instinctively to the right spot, building a new picture, often one I had never seen before.
I forgot about everything—about eating, about going out of my comfort zone, about Jo, until she touched my arm, causing me to jump.
“I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” she asked, holding my arm.
“Yeah,” I said, clutching my chest and pulling my headphones from my ears.
“I’ve been calling your name.”
“Oh. Sorry. I couldn’t hear a thing,” I shrugged and stretched my arms.
Pulled from my trance, I felt the fatigue in my muscles and how stiff I was from standing in the same position.
“I could tell. You were in the zone.”
“Yeah.” I smiled, stepping back from the painting. “I was.”
It was still unfinished, but there were solid lines and a clear image coming from the colors. I’d zoomed in so there was nothing but his face, tense with brows creased. His Roman-arched nose gave more distinction and chisel edges to his already cut face with his brown stubble and full bottom lip. There was no need for his body when his face was this captivating.
Jo stood next to me, staring at my work.
“I’d say you’re about half way,” she commented, turning to me.
“Yeah,” I agreed, still unable to pull my eyes away from the canvas. “I’d say so.”
“It looks like you found your inspiration.”
She wasn’t asking. It was clear that I had.
I could see amongst the bright reds and oranges that the eyes were so brown they seemed black, pulling me into their depths. It was the man who saved me the night before. Solomon.
He’d inspired my muse to come back and now thoughts of him invaded my mind. I couldn’t forget his kiss, those lips, the way he felt against my body, and the way he said my name… I couldn’t stop thinking about him and the way he made me feel—sexy, hot, bothered, and stupid for not getting his phone number.
I took a step to the side to look at Jo’s painting. My eyes moved from place to place, unable to decide what the focus of the painting was.
Jo’s expertise was watercolor painting, and she challenged herself to work with acrylic paint and to be abstract. If there was anyone who struggled to see things abstractly, it was Jo. She was very black and white with her art. All her lines were precise and thick; she didn’t believe in minimalism. All the colors she used were vivid, almost to the point of garish. The stroke lines were almost nonexistent. The colors made the image instead of the lines. It was both stunning and headache inducing.
“You’re really stepping out of your comfort zone,” I commented as she sat watching the canvas with her hands crossed over her chest.
“Yeah. It’s almost scary.”
“Know where you’re going with it?”
“I don’t. But isn’t that the point of abstract art?” she joked and I stuck my tongue out at her.
Glancing at the clock on the corner, I realized three hours had passed. “Wow. Is that the time?”
“Yeah. That’s why I was calling you. I’m hungry.”
“Okay then. Let me clean this stuff up and we can go eat.”
It wasn’t too hard cleaning and we left our unfinished works in our individual work spaces ready to work on them on Tuesday. Sarah called just as we were walking to the only place open on campus—the cafeteria.
“Where you guys at?”
“Campus.”
“Boo. It's Sunday, girl. You’re not supposed to be at school.”
I shook my head. “We were feeling inspired.”
“Were you?” she said with a sly voice. “I bet you were. Where did you run off to last night, girl? One minute you were on the dance floor dancing with a little cutie and the next you were gone.”
I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to tell Jo who was my best friend after all, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud. If I said it, it would be real. I was assaulted. Somehow, I knew I wasn’t ready to accept that truth. Nothing they could say would change the fact that it had happened. Nothing they could say would erase the horrific memory. Only the beautiful ending with Solomon could do that.
“Well?” Sarah said, huffing. “Don’t leave me hanging. Come on, girl. I know you got a story to tell! Give up the deets! I want all the juicy details.”
“Okay,” I said, pretending I would spill all. “I met a man.”
She squealed into the phone so loud I had to pull it away from my face. “I knew it!”
There was so much she didn’t know, though.
“Tell me more! Go on.”
“His name is Solomon.”
“Sounds sexy,” she purred.
He was, but I wouldn’t be telling her that.
“Hello?”
“Yes?” I asked, talking into the phone.
“I asked if he was sexy.”
“What do you think?” I said, ready to move on. “Anyways, tell me about you because somebody was supposed to get me a drink but never returned.”
She giggled like she wasn’t at fault and like I was somehow joking instead of being serious. What kind of friend left to get drinks and never returned? The answer was… a bad one.
“Well, I met Alex.”
“Who the hell is Alex?”
“Just a friend I made,” she said. I could tell from her tone she was deliriously happy and twirling her hair around her finger on the other side of the phone.
“Well, I certainly hope Alex was worth leaving a friend behind.”
“I didn’t leave. You did,” she said calmly. “Plus, Alex is a good guy. I think you will like him. In fact, I’m going to hang out with him tomorrow. He works at Blue Nights. He said he’s going to take me upstairs to the VIP when I go.”
Jesus freaking Christ. Of all the terrible things to do, that was number one on my list. Could I tell her not to go? I needed to tell her not to go. I knew what was in the VIP section and it had nothing to do with very important persons.
“Sarah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh? And why’s that, mom?” she asked.
“Because…” I couldn’t tell her the truth. Could I? “Because nobody finds love in clubs.”
She scoffed. “Oh, come off it. Ain’t nobody looking for love in the club. I’m going to Blue Nights.”
“No, Sarah. That’s not it. It’s that the Blue Nights isn’t safe.”
Jo arched her eyebrow in curiosity.
“Right,” Sarah said in disbelief.
“No. It’s true, Sarah. Upstairs isn’t for VIP. It’s where they run some kind of sex ring.”
She chuckled without amusement. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’m not lying. When I was there, some guy snatched me, dragged me upstairs, and tried to tie me to the bed. He swore that he would rape me and more men would follow.”
“Oh my God! Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“Yes. I do.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Of what?
“You don’t want me to go back and have a good time without you. Just because you’re turning into a little wallflower like your bestie, Jo, it doesn’t mean you get to change me too.”
“Sarah, I am not jealous and I am not lying. That place is not good news.”
“You are lying. Why didn’t you tell me the truth in the first place then? Huh? Because you’re making it up. You don’t have to lie, Jen. You don’t have to lie. If you are that set on me not having a good time, maybe we’re not the friends I thought we were.”
“Sarah, I swear, on my mother’s grave, I am not lying to you. I was attacked at Blue Nights. Please, you have to believe me. I can’t stand the idea of you going there. You could get hurt. Please, Sarah, please. Do not go back there.”
“You promise you’re not lying?”
“Yes. I’m not.”
“Okay. I won’t go.”
“I’m serious, Sarah. You can’t go there.”
“All right,” she said, convinced a little too easily. “I won’t go.”
“Good.”
“Well, I’ll see you all later.”
“Yeah,” I said, not sure I believe she wouldn’t go.
Knowing Sarah, she would probably go again there anyway.
“Is everything all right?” Jo asked.
“Typical insanity that is Sarah,” I said, clearing the table and stacking our trays. We put them on the conveyor belt and walked out.
“She’s hell bent on doing something dangerous.”
“So? When isn’t she doing something she shouldn’t? Let her.”
“Jo, we can’t just let Sarah make crazy decisions. She’s our friend.”
“Is that right?”
“You know it is,” I said, bumping shoulders with her.
She giggled. “Right. Fine. Well, have fun saving her.”
“You’re not coming?” I asked as we climbed the steps of the bus.
She scoffed. “Nope. I’m not the saving type.”
I laughed and shook my head. On one hand, I did not want to go back to that awful place, but on the other hand, I just might see Solomon again.
“So,” Jo said, leaning against the window.
“So what?”
“I noticed your art is looking a little different.”
Little wasn’t the word, but either way, I couldn’t deny the truth. Solomon had changed me. He’d changed my art. He had only touched me once and yet I couldn’t get enough of him. I couldn’t get him out of my system. I wanted more. I needed more.
“It’s all thanks to Solomon,” I admitted.
“I saw him leave, you know. H-O-T, hot!” she exclaimed while fanning her face with her hands.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you about him sooner, Jo.”
Because, aside from the sex, there really wasn’t much to tell. Solomon remained a stranger.