Page 8 of Erik

I prop my elbows on the table and squeeze my face with my hands like the man in Edvard Munch’s painting. “Uh, do I ever? But that was six years ago. I’ve changed, you’ve changed. I’m sure Erik’s matured as well.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. Have you seen the headlines lately?” He guffaws.

I reply with a mix of a pained sigh and a groan.

He pats the back of my hand. “Exactly. Just be careful,mon ami. Reality might disappoint you and I don’t want to see you get hurt. Again.”

I smooch his clean-shaven cheek. “Appreciate you for that, but I’ll be fine.”

“That’s my girl!” He returns my kiss.

With ease born out of years of cooperation, we gather mugs and plates, bags, and boxes. While Hadley disposes of the garbage, I do the dishes.

When we finish, I tilt my head toward the ceiling, hollering, “Caramel, c’mere, baby!”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t come down yet,” Hadley confesses.

“I fed and walked her before I went out jogging. She’s been taking her morning nap in my room.”

I rescued the cockapoo last year when she was still a puppy. Now, she darts downstairs and bounces on my legs for attention.

After offering her a treat, I attach the leash to her collar, and stroke her golden mane. “I’ll miss you too, sweetie.”

I clasp Hadley’s shoulder, handing him the leather strip. “Thanks for taking Caramel to the office. She gets so anxious when left alone, she gets sick. Not to mention she eats stuff she’s not supposed to.” I crouch and give her nose a quick shake. “Right, little rascal? Like charger cords and hand cream.”

“Not a problem.” He wraps the leash around his wrist, smooching my cheek. “Going now, hon. Best of luck.”

As the front door closes behind him, I rush upstairs. When Hadley starts his car, I toss the dirty clothes in the hamper before sliding the glass door open for a quick shower.

Fifty minutes later, I snatch a keychain from a hanger on the wall and scamper to the sleek convertible parked outside.

I press a button on the fob and the roof slides open. I vault over the closed doors and settle behind the steering wheel.

Revving up the engine, I giggle when the black Maserati lurches into action. The wind tangles my long, curly hair as the car roars downhill.

4

Erik

Dragging my limp body across floor planks covered in ash and embers, I scrape forearms and knees, keeping my head down. That doesn’t stop me from choking on thick smoke. Sweltering heat broils my skin, burns my irises. Through a mist of tears, the shade of a rectangle emerges. I pray it’s the front door. A whiff of night air cools my cheeks. I stretch blood-covered fingers, grazing granite on the doorstep. An ominous growl freezes me in place. The ceiling caves in, pouring debris and blazing logs.

“No! No!”

I sit up on the bed, kicking twisted sheets away, tugging the tee into my leather pants. Snagging a metallic water bottle from the nightstand, I guzzle half its content. Disoriented, I scan the room around me trying to figure out where the fuck I am. Black shapes against a dark background don’t help. I find nothing familiar, but I can’t see much either.

As the last effects of the nightmare dissipate, I remember Kimberly has booked a hotel room for me. Living in Carmel ensures the privacy I crave. But, for practical reasons, sleeping in San Francisco often makes more sense.

I lean my head back on the padded headboard, squeezing my eyes shut, listening to the erratic beats of my heart. The old ticker sinks to my stomach when fragments of the bad dream threaten to invade my thoughts. I pop my eyes open, staring at the ceiling, which I now can make out because my sight has adjusted to the lack of light in the room.

When the hell will this torture ever end?

Certainly never. And why should I expect it’d ever end?

Rita Fraser, aka Bimbo, on the bed by my side has no clue what’s going on in my world. That’s how I roll. Sweat darkens the bangs covering a black blindfold I slid over her soppy blue eyes last night. I sneer at a dusty white spot under her chafed nostrils. A curl of her mane of red hair slides from her sunken cheek to her neck and I follow it with my gaze.

My stomach churns. Pathetic Rita is nothing like my angel. How could I have imagined otherwise? I rub a palm over my forehead. Then again, that long-ago, otherworldly apparition was no more than an illusion. A drug-induced hallucination, for sure. A pang in my chest takes my breath away. After all, no supernatural creature could wash away my sins. Let along a breathtaking human with a heart too pure for the monster in me.

I flip a switch on a lamp on the nightstand for a little illumination, and shake my head to return to the present, where last night’s fuck buddy softly snores beside me. With a leather-clad knee, I nudge her naked hip. The clink of handcuffs stifles her mumblings.

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