Page 108 of Rage

And she’s holding all of this inside herself? My heart is breaking, knowing that whatever is going on, whatever she’s feeling right now, she didn’t even feel like she could confide inme.

I’ve always been her safe place to shelter through the storm. Always.

“Kath, please.” I grip her hands in mine, bringing them to my chest. “You need to talk to me, darling. I’m here for you, always. I’m listening—please let me.”

“I was… I was attacked, okay?” She breaks then, raw anguished sobs of rage and pain escaping through the fingers covering her mouth. “I was attacked by a guy one night.”

What the fuck?

My breath catches at her words. And suddenly, I’m not even close to crying anymore. I’m still boiling, a burning rage of fire that’s billowing up inside. But my spoken voice is deadly, calm. Murderous.

“Tell me everything.”

Chapter Two

Kathy

It’s too much. The sensory overload is drowning me.

The lights are too bright overhead, glaring spotlights shining their beams on walls full of printed expressions of my soul. The chatter is too loud, a multitudinous cacophony of voices that mean I can hear every single one, and yet hear nothing at all. The smell of overpowering perfume gags me, the dressed-up VIPs of Seattle wending their merry way through the hallowed halls of this artistic institution.

But I have to breathe through it, have to keep my smile in place, my tone friendly, my gestures welcoming.

Because my future hangs here in vivid color, framed for their viewing pleasure. If only they could comprehend how much of myself goes into each and every piece. The price tags could never reflect the glow of the inspiration, my ardent passion and true intent captured in every single square inch of brazen femininity.

They don’t care anyway. They’re here for the champagne, for the canapes, not for some silly woman who splashes her indecent thoughts on bare canvas.

I startle as a hand lands on my forearm, breaking into my thought process. It’s attached to a man, one around the sameage as me, and one who I recognize from various citywide events.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Kath.”

“Um… Thank you, Greg. It’s… Thanks.” I don’t understand. It’s exactly the same shade of purple as it has been for a long time. Just faded a little, because I hadn’t had time to redo it before the opening.

“It always did suit you.”

His hand is still on my arm, and it’s making me feel uncomfortable. I bring mine up to my hair instead, running my fingers through the short strands.

Unfortunately, that causes him to move his to my back. My bare back, because the cocktail dress I borrowed from Lara’s wardrobe for tonight’s event drapes low down my spine. I draw in breath, tension in my posture as his thumb sweeps a little lower.

I take a step sideways, but he follows; too close, too near, too in my space to be comfortable.

“Could you… Do you mind stepping back a little?”

“Oh, come along, Katherine. I’m just complementing the artist on her exceptional work. A beautiful job, well done by its beautiful creator.”

He does move away a little though. It’s still not far enough for me to feel really happy, but then I am beginning to suspect that anywhere in this building wouldn’t feel far enough.

“If I can ask, what inspires you?”

I’m taken unaware by the question, too late to stop the flick of my eyes to Lara, laughing comfortably with the city mayor on the other side of this wide-open space.

“Ah. I might have known.” His hand comes back into contact with my skin, and I unsuccessfully repress a shudder. “The radiantwife. Such a happy couple.”

The amount of scornful disdain he manages to capture in that singular word is astounding. But I brush it off with certainty. “Yes. We’re very happy together, thank you.”

He laughs aloud, squeezing the meat of my hip where his hand lies. “There’s nothing happy going on in that bedroom though, you know what I mean?”

“I beg your pardon?” Did he—did he actually just say that to me?

---