Lace and Paint (True Colors Book 1) by Ally Sky (9)

I wake up early on Friday morning. It’s the first day of June, and I don’t understand how it can be so grey and cloudy. If it rains over the weekend, it’ll be really irritating. I only hope I won’t have to walk from gallery to gallery in the rain, like a cold and scruffy stray cat. It’s eight thirty in the morning. I arranged to speak to Sarah at ten. By then I want to be ready, having written a bit in my blog and checked Facebook.

I put some soothing music on the stereo, make a cup of coffee, and go out to the patio with my laptop to smoke and get updated.

My blog has been quite active in the past few days. Since asking for ideas and offers, my readers haven’t stopped responding.

Anne Summers? I smile. Sexy lingerie is definitely an interesting idea. I don’t want to be caught wearing a plain bra and panties.

I close my computer, go into the shower, wash my hair, and plot.

Dressed and ready, I call Sarah. She instructs me to go to a certain gallery. The gallery isn’t showing an exhibition, but it’s important for me to go and introduce myself to the owner and give him a business card. I can get there by using the tube, but I decide that if it’s raining on the way back, I'll take a cab. Let Ben foot the bill …

The visit to the gallery is a success. James, the owner, is a nice, young guy, and we get into an interesting discussion about the works of Koons and La Chapelle’s. He bursts out laughing when I describe my visit to Koons’ provocative exhibition at The Tate Modern, which I managed to see during one of my trips short weekend trips to London. My friend dragged me there. Nothing had prepared me for it. The name of the exhibition was ‘Made in Heaven.’ I was surprised by how provocative it was. There were no barriers and no coyness, not like me, hiding behind my blog with an alias and masks. Koons removed the masks and laid out the nudity in every picture and statue in the room. I was captivated by his audacity, by his low blows. I love Koons.

I remember to give James the company business card and say goodbye, promising to come and visit again soon. I leave the gallery and catch the tube.

The ideas from my blog are really successful.

You and your Porsche. Just you wait. I’m loading my cannons.

Twenty minutes later, I get off at Marble Arch station and hit busy Oxford Street. Thousands of people, loaded with bags, are running around like armies of busy ants, as if they’re in a competition—mostly with themselves.

I go straight into Ann Summers. Luckily, the shop is empty. Hundreds of multi-colored designs of bras and panties are hanging from the hangers and I reverently touch the lace and the satin. They’re all so soft and nice to the touch. I’ve never spent money on expensive lingerie. I don’t even know where to begin.

Eventually I choose a black bra, go into the dressing room, and try it on. It’s a push-up bra made of lace, which lifts my breasts perfectly. I look in the mirror. The truth is it doesn’t look half-bad.

I take my phone out my bag, stand in front of the mirror, and try to get the best angle possible to take a photo. I’m not satisfied. Maybe I’ll need the shop assistant’s help after all.

“Excuse me!” I call out from the dressing room.

“Can I help you?” A young sales assistant peeks in, an earring dangling from her eyebrow. She looks suitable for the mission.

“Yes, the bra is perfect. I just want to surprise my boyfriend,” I lie with a smile and raise my phone. “Do you mind?”

She smiles and I turn around so my back is to her and my body is reflected in the mirror. “Perfect. Here take a look.” She turns the phone to me.

I’m photographed from the back, which is completely exposed right down to the waistline of my pants. My image is reflected in the mirror and exposes the black lace of the bra. My hands are in the back pockets of my jeans and my head is turned to the side, so that you can only see my profile.

“Perfect.” I smile at her and quickly get dressed.

While I’m here I may as well freshen up my wardrobe. The business of seduction demands lingerie that will get the job done. I pick out a few new sets, pay, and go back out into the busy street.

I buy a weak latte with no foam from my favorite branch of Pret a Manger and sit on a high bar stool in front of the big window facing the street. I take out my phone, open up to the last picture, and look at it, amused. I have no idea how my ideas will be received on the other side. And I don’t really care. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I attach the picture and press send. My demons are rubbing their hands together in satisfaction. They’re as psyched as I am…

As I take a sip of my coffee I stare out the window, trying to imagine him opening the message in his office. I hope he’s alone…

Shit! What if he’s not alone? What if he’s with Danny?

Well, it’s a bit late to think of that now, right?

My phone buzzes with an incoming message. I open it quickly.

I stare at the message he’s just sent. What does he mean: ‘gets burned’? Am I playing with fire? Well, obviously I’m playing with something. So is he. So he’d better not warn me or threaten me. I’ve only just begun. If he can be naughty and unpredictable, so can I.

I look through the window. The sky is still grey, so a walk in the park isn’t an option. I take out my laptop and open the blog.

I crop the picture I took this morning so there’s no evidence of my face, just an exposed body in a black lace bra. I attach it to my blog and post it just as tiny raindrops start falling, tapping on the window.

I wait until the rain slows down and then slip into the tube, hoping to make it home dry. I get off at Kensington only to find out the rain didn’t comply with my wishes and the tiny drops have become bigger ones.

I pop in to another store to look for one more surprise. I checked the weather forecast and know that by tomorrow the weather will have improved.

God, I really have become meticulous. But, I absolutely cannot leave any room for error, especially if I want to see the look of surprise on his face.

I enter the cigar store in Kensington, the smell of tobacco heady. The bell on the door rings as I enter. A nice young man smiles at me from behind the counter.

“May I help you?” He looks as though he’s in his early twenties.

“I’m looking for a present,” I smile self-consciously.

“What kind exactly?” he asks. I go to the counter where dozens of different kinds of cigars and lighters are displayed.

“Cigars. Good ones. A box of say…ten. And a Zippo lighter.”

“Something serious? For someone appreciative?”

“Not sure. But it’s for a guy with high standards.” I shrug. Not that I have any idea, but I assume Ben has smoked a cigar or two in his lifetime.

“We’re having a sale,” he smiles and takes out a wooden box with ten cigars. “Montecristo No. 2. One hundred and seventy-five pounds. It’s a great price.”

Wow. This stuff is pretty expensive. Do I really intend on spending so much money on a box of cigars?

Damn it, I want to liven things up a bit, so I don’t care how much it’s going to cost me.

“Excellent,” I say. “And a lighter?”

He pulls out a black wooden box containing a dark black, Zippo lighter in a red velvet cover.

“Can you engrave here?” I ask as I take the lighter out of the packaging.

‘Yes.” He smiles as he takes the lighter from me and hands me a small piece of paper and a pen. I scribble a few words on the white paper.

“Are you open tomorrow?” I give him back his pen.

“Yes.”

“And will you be here?” I ask again, shyly. If I want my plan to work, I need to get over my embarrassment and recruit anyone I can to help.

“Yes.” He smiles politely again, trying to understand where I’m going with these questions.

“Do you feel like earning some money on the side?” I blush.

“What do you have in mind?” he asks curiously.

“I want to make a special delivery tomorrow.” I check his response nervously.

“I’m always happy to earn a few more pennies,” he says, and my plan goes into action.

I wake up on Saturday morning, after an almost sleepless night, wondering if my restless tossing and turning was because my head was full of illicit schemes and ideas for my blog, or because something else was happening and I was about to get a taste of it real soon. In any case, I’m happy and looking forward to my day. It’s exciting, all this plotting and scheming and then seeing plans come to fruition. I only hope the guy from the shop won’t back out. It’s all in his hands now.

I go into the kitchen and find John there, dressed in his football shirt, making himself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Giggs.” I giggle.

“Someone’s in a good mood.” He grins at me warmly. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

“What are you thinking about?” He hands me a cup of coffee.

“That I’m dying for a cigarette.” I’m being evasive. There’s no point in telling him what I’m really thinking about.

“Let’s go outside.” He leads me out to the patio. We each sit in our favorite spots and light up a cigarette.

“How’s your new job?” He inhales deeply and exhales a trail of white smoke in the cold air.

“Amazing.” I smile. Really amazing. I get to visit the coolest galleries in the city, meet new people, and still have plenty of time left to write, paint, and devise naughty plots and seductions.

“You’re really elated this morning,” John smiles widely. I know he likes seeing me like this, smiling and happy. And I like being like this. It certainly beats the other option—curling up on the floor and crying.

“Yes.” I inhale deeply on my cigarette. “Lots of new things are happening in my life. I’m trying to absorb it all.” There’s no way whatsoever I’m going to let him in on what’s going on. “So, football in the park?” I ask with interest.

“Yes, if your brother ever gets out of bed,” he laughs.

“It’s not his fault. Sleeping late runs in the family.”

“Are you coming with us today?” He issues the invitation I was hoping for and stubs out his cigarette.

“Yes, I think it’s a great day to write in the park.”

And to see Ben’s face.

“Great. I’m going to try to get your brother out of bed, or I’m going without him,” he says, getting up from the sofa.

“Okay,” I smile at him. He goes inside and I lie back and let my imagination run wild.

We enter the park through the gate. I’m tense with excitement and gripping the strap of my backpack. John finally managed to rouse Danny and, after a quick cup of coffee, we’re out in the hot, June sun. I’m trying hard to hide all my mixed feelings. The last time I saw Ben his lips were stuck to mine and his hand was traveling down my cleavage and inside my bra. And now I’m going to see him again.

We walk along the pathway. Luckily the men play close to the park’s entrance, so I had no problem explaining to the guy from the cigar shop where to find us.

We get closer to the group of men on the grass. I glance at them. I have no problem spotting the tall man with the broad shoulders and the short hair, standing in a white T-shirt and athletic shorts. My man.

As we get closer to the group, I feel a pair of green eyes staring at me inscrutably. I smile at him helplessly, knowing what I’ve planned.

“What’s going on?” Danny shakes hands with some of the guys.

“Adam’s not coming,” Ben informs us.

“Thank God. At least there’s a chance we won’t see blood today,” Danny breathes a sigh of relief. “So we’re eleven?”

“Yes.” They all exchange looks. “I don’t mind sitting out for a bit. I didn’t sleep last night,” Ben answers and my heart skips a beat.

Sit out? And why didn’t he sleep last night?

I look for a shady tree to sit under, leaving the guys to their football game. I take out my laptop, open it, and pretend that I’m busy and don’t care whether he comes to sit next to me.

I notice his approach from the corner of my eye but I don’t look at him. He sits down next to me on the grass. His long legs, with his worn-out sneakers, are stretched out before him, and his aftershave mingles with the fresh grass.

“Hi,” he says softly, still staring at the loud group on the grass.

“Hi.” I keep my eyes on the screen. His gaze causes me enough trouble.

“What are you writing?” He sounds intrigued.

“I’m writing about irritating men who insist on sitting next to me on the grass and distracting me.” I glance at him mischievously. I don’t know about him, but I’m enjoying this game we’re playing. For now.

His smile, surrounded by stubble, raises one side of his perfect mouth. I imagine him kissing me and the stubble tickling my lips.

“Well, we’re an uneven number.” He invents a lame excuse that I totally don’t buy, as I watch him staring at the game indifferently.

“And you just volunteered to sit this game out.” It’s obvious to both of us what his intentions are.

“Yes.” He’s still not looking at me.

“Okay.” I lower my eyes to the computer screen, still smiling.

“So what are you really writing about?”

“I’m going over some old material,” I answer.

“Come on, let me read something.” Finally, he turns to look at me.

“What?” My eyes open wide in surprise.

“Let me read something. You’re constantly with that laptop. Show me what you’re doing there,” he persists.

“And what will Danny think about that?” I screw up my face.

“What will Danny think about me reading something on your laptop?” He stares at me amused.

Do I really want to let him read something I’ve written?

In a second, Danny’s going to see us sitting here, staring at each other. He’d be a complete idiot not to figure out what’s going on here. And Danny is no idiot.

I look back at the screen.

“You’re not going to let me read anything?” He tilts his head to the side.

“You won’t like it anyway,” I answer.

“You know that’s not true.” He’s starting to play his game again.

I open one of my Word files.

“If you insist.”

My hands shake as I pass him the laptop. I lean back and watch him as he reads the piece I’ve chosen.

My demons dance in the closet, closed behind the door and peeking through the keyhole. Occasionally I rest my hand on the lock, believing that if I don’t give them a glimpse into my life, they’ll stay locked in there forever. My fairies float about the room, flapping their transparent wings and their torn dresses, flying around in circles, free.

My demons dance in the closet, making background noises of muffled chaos, so far, yet so close. It’s only a matter of time before they manage to slip out through the keyhole and scare the fairies away, forcing them under the bed. Then they’ll take their place and burn down the room, turning my life into a bonfire that will rise as high as the ceiling.

I am afraid of the moment my fairies will run and hide and my demons will celebrate. I’m paralyzed by the thought. But my demons are restless. Sounds of battle grow louder and my fairies quicken their flight, their wings creating cold gusts of wind in the room. My bed gets chilly and I cover myself with a blanket, hiding from my demons, from myself. Getting ready for the war, the fire, and the blood. Wounded joints, a torn soul, and petrified weeping under the covers. What kind of battle will it be? Will it destroy or resurrect my soul? How will I emerge this time? Stronger, or maybe this time… I will die.

I sit on the grass, scrutinizing his every move. His chiseled jaw is clenched and his eyes are glued to the screen. Without missing a beat, I let him read my darkest thoughts. He didn’t even have to ask. A rare peek at my soul’s Holiest of Holies. And now here I am, sitting right next to him, checking his response. However, not a muscle moves in his face. His expression is frozen and I don’t know what to think.

And then, he turns his head in my direction. His green eyes are agitated, but I can’t guess his thoughts.

“Not so good, huh?” I mumble self-consciously. This stuff isn’t for everyone.

“Surprising,” he says quietly, not taking his eyes off me. He returns the laptop and I take it from him, lowering my eyes.

“Surprising good or surprising ‘not great, you should start dreaming of another career’?” I ask and steal a quick glance at him. He’s watching the football game, his hair gleaming under the warm sun. I’m dying to touch him like I did the night he kissed me.

“Surprisingly shattering,” he almost whispers, and Danny crashes down on the grass next to us before I get a chance to ask him what he means.

“Exchange,” he pants and gestures at Ben to replace him. Ben gets up and joins the boisterous group without looking back, leaving me to wonder.

Danny lies on the grass, trying to catch his breath. His shirt is soaked with sweat and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Is someone out of shape?” I tease him and poke his side with my finger.

“I told you, I don’t have time to work out,” he pants laboriously. I’m still trying to get used to the idea of Danny not working out. Nowadays he’s either too busy or too tired, so lifting weights has now been replaced with watching TV on the sofa, cuddled up next to John.

“I see you and Ben are getting along,” he mumbles, his eyes closed. I’m panic-stricken, but try to hide it.

“Yeah, he’s nice.” I try to sound cool as I reply to his innocent words.

“Nice?” He scrunches up his face, opens his eyes, and looks at me.

“Yes, nice.”

This conversation must end—quickly—before I say something I shouldn’t, and before he notices my flushed cheeks.

“Well, I’m glad you’re getting along.” He shrugs and closes his eyes again. Thank God. I got out of that unscathed. I return to my laptop. The part I gave Ben to read is still on the screen and I can’t help but fear it was too revealing, shocking, and deterring. However, there’s no point in worrying about it now, since I can’t do a thing about it. I close the file and start typing something new.

The cheerful group collapses next to me on the grass for a beer break. I peek at my phone. It’s one p.m. My surprise should be showing up at the gate any minute now, and a chill of anticipation goes through me.

Will he be embarrassed? I’m sure he will. I wonder if he’ll like it. The inscription doesn’t give away any revealing details. Only he and I will understand.

Cold beer bottles exchange hands, just as I notice the young store assistant walking toward us on the pathway. He recognizes the group at once, as I had expected him to, and approaches us with quick steps.

“Ben Storm?” he asks in a business-like manner. I look away so our eyes don’t accidentally meet and give away our previous acquaintance.

“Here,” Ben raises a cold beer bottle.

“Special delivery.” He approaches Ben and hands him two wooden boxes tied together with a ribbon.

“For me?” Ben’s eyes are wide with surprise. My heart is beating like crazy, a million beats per minute. I’m dying to see if he’ll like it. What guy wouldn’t love such a present?

“Yes.” The assistant smiles. “Have a good day.” He nods slightly before he leaves.

All eyes are turned to Ben, as he opens the top, brown box, the bigger one of the two. He looks stunned.

“I’ll be damned…” Ben says and shakes his head, a huge smile spreading across his face.

He’s pleased…really pleased. I make a supreme effort not to smile my biggest smile, which is just bursting to come out.

“Something good?” Danny asks him, as he takes a sip of his cold beer.

“Montecristo,” Ben shows him the box.

“What?”

“Yeah.” Ben shrugs and smiles his amazing smile, which manages to melt me. I try to remain indifferent, but it excites me to see how much he likes my gift. He lifts the small box with the lighter and opens it. He picks up the lighter from its bed of red velvet and reads the inscription. If he had any doubts before, he will definitely know now whom it’s from.

“Dying to get burned. By you.”

He doesn’t stop smiling, nor does he take his eyes off the lighter. It’s obvious he’s not going to look at me. I try not to smile. One small smile will give me away. Give us away.

“Who’s it from?” Danny grabs the lighter from Ben’s hand and reads the inscription. Ben shrugs, keeping up the pretense, and claims that he has no idea.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer,” Danny smiles playfully.

If he had any idea who it was, he wouldn’t be smiling like that.

“Looks like it.” Ben continues to smile without giving me a single implicating look.

“At least she has taste.” Danny gives the lighter back to Ben, who puts it back in the wooden box and closes it.

“Bring her to supper sometime.” John smiles at Ben, completely unaware of the fact that he eats supper with Ben’s secret admirer almost every night.

“We’ll see,” Ben answers awkwardly. He straightens his legs and puts the boxes on his knees. My heart is bursting with happiness. He loves his gift.

“Well, it looks like Ben has arranged a men’s night for us,” Danny winks at Ben.

“It seems that way,” Ben smiles at Danny. “The whiskey’s on you. And don’t be stingy. I’ll be spoiling you with Cuban cigars!”

Danny passes me a beer. The beer is wonderfully cold. Everything is wonderful today on the grass in the park. My man looks happy, his hand resting on the wooden boxes, his fingers stroking them. And no one has any idea who the present is from. Only the two of us share the secret.

“The break is over, you lazy mob!” one of the guys shouts out loudly, jumps to his feet, and everyone starts getting up. I’m pretty sure they would prefer to stay like this, lying on the grass doing nothing but drinking their cold beer.

Ben gets up reluctantly. It seems as though he’s dallying, waiting for all the other men to leave. The boisterous group gets farther away from us and then it’s just the two of us. Ben leans over toward me and hands me the boxes. “Do you mind watching them for me?” he asks and smiles, his eyes shining.

“No problem.” I stare into his eyes, my heart racing. As he hands me the wooden boxes, his fingers brush against mine, sending a tickling sensation up my arm.

“We’ll still discuss this present. I know how much money you’ve spent on me,” he continues with a smile, and I’m not so sure he’s pleased about that.

“It’s my money. Who’s asking you, anyway?” A huge grin appears on my face. He runs off and joins the loud group. John comes toward me with slow strides.

“Is everything okay?” I ask in concern.

“Yes, it’s my turn to sit out.” He sits down next to me, stretches his long legs, and looks at the wooden boxes I’m holding on my knees. I decide to take the opportunity to investigate a bit.

“So,” I try to sound uninterested, “Ben has a secret admirer?”

“Ben has a lot of secret admirers,” he smiles and looks straight ahead at the group of noisy men in front of us.

What?

“Really?” I carry on with my pretense. Ben has a lot of secret admirers? Well, I suppose that’s only logical, what with his good looks and his flirting.

“Yeah.” John shrugs with no concern.

“Doesn’t he want anything serious?” I ask before I have time to think whether I should be asking John such a suspicious question.

“Probably not. At least not since Jenny.”

Jenny! He wanted kids; she wanted to travel. I don’t like her.

“Ben told me about her. She preferred to go to India,” I murmur. The thought of that girl makes me sick.

“Yes, it really hurt him,” he says, staring at the scampering group.

“Hurt?” I’m taken aback by his choice of words.

“Yes, Ben was pretty crushed afterwards. I think since then he generally just pretends.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t want to get hurt again and I don’t blame him.” A thousand hammers are hammering at my heart. Ben was hurt. That explains a lot. I look at the group of men on the grass, and at one amazing guy in particular with his broad shoulders and green eyes and I can’t help but wonder what happened and what it did to him.

That night, Danny and John return home, extremely boisterous. I’m in my room and I can hear them laughing. I assume they’ve had a successful evening at Ben’s.

My laptop is open and I’m checking Facebook. My chat box opens. Ben wants to talk.

He’s drunk? Now, that’s something I’d like to see…

I take a deep breath and stare at his simple question. Why aren’t I sleeping? Because my head is filled with thoughts of him. Sleep has eluded me in the past few days. I know myself well enough to understand what it means. My body is beginning to celebrate, and I don’t want to stop it.

Well, that’s what you think. But I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Actually, we’ve barely discussed it. He just mentioned he didn’t want a girlfriend. I’m beginning to collect pieces of information, trying to piece together his broken picture.

He doesn’t know what I want. God, I’m still trying to figure it out myself. All I know is I can’t stop thinking about him, and my body is sending out such intense signals of longing that it surprises me. Even scares me.

I know.

For now. We’ll see about that.

What? He’s not serious! He’s not going to start regretting it now. No. No. No. This isn’t happening. Okay, he’s drunk and I need to raise the odds.

Damn! Does he really not care?

He’s not a good kisser. He’s an amazing kisser.

Very good. He doesn’t need another stroke to his inflated ego.

What? Didn’t he just say that it’s not going to happen again? Damn it, will he make up his mind?

Make up your goddamn mind!

Okay, if he’s unable to make a decision, I’ll decide for the both of us. No problem, so he needs a little more convincing. I’m sure that I, or one of my readers, can think of something. He can’t just send me hints that he wants me, and not expect an appropriate response.

Does he think I can even think of anyone else? I’m addicted—to Ben, to his mouth, to the words he says to me. I drive him crazy and he drives me insane.

He logs out first. I flop down on my back, dizzy from the chat with him. Not a chance I’ll be able to sleep now.

I get up, pull on cargo pants and my blank tank top, which I washed after Ben pushed me up against the orange painting, and go downstairs. Music is playing in my head and in my ears. I turn up the volume, lost for hours, and then let my words burst forth onto my blog. I see how direct they’ve become, how I don’t put up any filters. My entire life is spread all over the Internet, naked and exposed.

It’s noon when I open my tired eyes on Sunday. I get up and go into the shower, hoping the warm water will wake me up. The water runs over me. My thoughts are all over the place.

I’m on a high.

I’m on a high and my entire body wants to shout, and dance, and go wild.

Entering the kitchen, the water in the kettle has boiled. I assume John is smoking out on the patio, as I can smell his cigarette. I make myself a cup of coffee and go outside. John is sitting in his usual place on the large sofa and, to my surprise, Danny is there as well.

“Hi,” I mumble tiredly and fall down on the small loveseat, which I love.

“Good afternoon. Did you just get up now?” Danny looks at me wearily.

“Yes…” I answer, hoping he won’t ask too many questions.

“When did you go to sleep?” He stares at me, and I know I’m out of favor and he’s not going to like my answer.

“Late…” I try to evade his question one last time. Danny doesn’t look happy. “How late? And don’t lie to me,” he says quietly.

“Four?” I stammer, knowing there’s no point in lying to him. I take a sip of my coffee and try not to catch his eye. John pretends to be indifferent to the confrontation brewing on the patio. His ability to remain uninvolved is astounding. He can sit silently, close his eyes, and smoke his cigarette, as though Danny and I aren’t on the verge of a showdown.

“Talia!” Danny reprimands me.

“What? It’s Sunday! I don’t have to work. I can paint all night if I want to.” I try to make excuses for the late hour I went to bed.

“Who are you kidding?” He gets angry. He’s not stupid. He’s known me long enough.

“I’m not kidding anyone. Anyway, I slept till now,” I try to appease him.

“Tonight you’re going to bed at eight,” he insists angrily.

What?

“You think?” I shout. He’s not my father.

“Talia, don’t argue with me. You need to sleep properly. I can’t take care of you, if—” he stops abruptly.

He’s scared to say it. To even think it.

“If what?”

“You know very well.”

“I’m not on a high,” I say defensively, well aware of how untrue that is.

“You’re really close to it.”

“How do you know? Did you study psychiatry while I wasn’t here?” I snap. I need to calm Danny down quickly. He can’t realize the true state I’m in.

“I know you. And the more you deny it, the more worried I get.”

“And sending me to bed at eight o’clock will make you worry less?” I retort.

“I’m begging you. Eat and sleep properly. I don’t want to worry about you.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.”

I put out my cigarette and go down to the basement.

“Come and eat!” I hear a shout from the top of the stairs and I know there’s no point in arguing with Danny.

I reluctantly close the box of paints, completely unaware of the time. In the last few hours, I’ve painted and listened to music at a high volume. I wash my hands in the sink and am reminded of Ben, grabbing my wrists and looking with shock at the tiny, scarred lines, with the white circles decorating them. I shake my head.

The table is loaded with food. I sit in front of my plate, facing Danny’s prying gaze. I don’t feel like fighting with him, but I have no appetite. I really don’t.

I put a few pieces of potatoes on my plate.

Danny’s stare leaves no room for doubt—he expects me to eat more. John carries on pretending nothing is going on. I need to learn a thing or two from him.

I take a few more potatoes without looking at Danny. I don’t want to see his angry gaze, and anyway, I have no intention of eating more than this. What I’ve taken is more than enough. I pick up my fork in silence like a good little girl, stick it into a piece of baked potato, and put it in my mouth. I chew slowly and swallow it, washing it down with a sip of the white wine Danny poured for me. Then another piece. And another. Slowly, like Chinese torture, I finish all of the potatoes.

The heavy feeling of food in my stomach is awful. I can just imagine its digestion in my stomach, and with every passing second I’m losing precious time. I have to get rid of it. There’s no way I’m going to leave it inside of me.

“You see that you were hungry?” Danny says to me.

Right. I ate it only to shut him up. I have to get to the bathroom.

“Now that I’ve eaten, may I please go back down to the basement?” I bite out, frustrated.

“Don’t stay down there till late, I don’t want to come and pull you out by your ears.”

“Yes, Dad,” I grumble, getting up and going down the stairs with the clear intention of getting to the toilet as quickly as possible.

I go into the small toilet and lock the door. The toilet bowl is clean and white. I face it and bend forward, holding my hair with one hand, while I shove a finger down my throat with the other. Come on, short and quick. A jet of food and wine gushes out into the toilet. A little more, so nothing’s left. My finger tickles my throat, skillfully stimulating my vomiting reflex. It's used to my finger and my body reacts, obediently and wonderfully. My stomach empties and a wonderful feeling, a high of control, fills me. No harm. Everything came out.

I wash my hands thoroughly and glimpse in the mirror above the sink. I imagine the thick layer of makeup I’m going to have to put on tomorrow to hide the incriminating evidence – the burst blood vessels around my eyes and under my eyebrows.

I’ll just wash my face a bit and hope that under the weak light of the basement, no one will ask any questions.

If Danny knew...he’d kill me. But I don’t care. Not enough to stop, that’s for sure.