Page 80 of Sinful Skulls
He moves a few things around and then pulls it out. “Here ya go.”
My hand reaches for it without much thought, and then it hits me.
The mailman gives me a strange look. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you. This just wasn’t what I was expecting.” I take the package from him and rush over to Brody’s truck, shoving it in the back.
I give him a little wave as I get in to let him know everything is fine. My hands are shaking as I back out of the driveway.
I look behind me every few seconds, worrying that someone might be following me. I don’t see anyone.
Maybe it’s from my parents. We called them the night Brody and I got engaged. It was a little awkward, but they were relieved I was talking to them and that I was happy. They seemed to like Brody. He even managed to make them laugh a few times. Anyway, that’s probably what’s in the box. They’ve sent me a piece of my artwork to hang in my new home. Brody and I areplanning to visit them, but not for at least a month, so I’m sure that’s why they mailed it.
Every time I think I have a handle on what happened in Paris, something triggers me.
I thought I would feel better today after talking to Brody last night. I guess I did until that package arrived. It’s in a perfect portrait sized box. There’s no mistaking what is inside.
Of course it’s from my parents. Henry doesn’t even know where I am.
I take a deep breath and pull into the warehouse parking lot. Jesse told me to go on in. She’s at her sister-in-law’s house today. I grab my art supplies, and then lug the big box out of the back of the truck when Jesse’s husband, Dirk, approaches me.
He takes the package from my hands. “Let me help.”
Reluctantly, I let go of it. “Thank you. I was just heading down to Jesse’s art studio. She’s letting me use it.”
“I know.” He leads the way into the warehouse and down the stairs.
He’s a hard man but a gentleman at the same time. Dirk is definitely someone I would like to paint. Both he and his wife. The stories they must have living here in this big warehouse, living the club lifestyle twenty-four-seven. Can you imagine the sheer potential their dark beauty would portray on canvas? He catches me staring at the art on his arms as he leans the box against the wall.
“The way you look at people reminds me of my wife.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, drawing my eyes away from him. “It’s definitely the artist in me.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll leave you to it. If you get hungry, help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen. Jesse always has it fully stocked. If you need anything, someone from the club is usually hanging around somewhere.”
“Thank you.”
The second he leaves, I drop to my knees in front of the box. My stomach plummets when I spot the customs form on the front of it. It was shipped internationally.
Tears instantly spring to my eyes as I hug my bag to my chest. I slowly open it and pull out the portrait I’ve had hidden in the bottom since I left Paris.
I run my thumb over the frame. Maybe I should text Anthony, the guy who said he might be able to help me find my birth mother. She might be the only person who will understand what I’m feeling right now.
“I wish you would show me your face,” I whisper to the blood-stained image of her.
I’m not going to open the box. I can’t. It’s the portrait of me. I just know it, but I never want to look at it again.
My thoughts are dark, but I manage to push them aside as I paint as many small landscape paintings as I can to sell in Lily’s store. Then, I set to work on what is really calling to me.
It’s a self-portrait. It’s exactly like my mother’s but instead of a heart, I’m holding an apple. It’s different shades of black and white. But the apple … I think I’ll paint it red. My gaze wanders to the unopened box, sitting a few feet from me. My mother’s portrait is leaning against it.
A few minutes later, I find myself staring at the palm of my hand. I could use my own blood.
Stop!
What the fuck are you thinking?!
My stomach turns at the intrusive and unwanted thought. I’m not like them. I’m not. I’m not.
