Page 63 of Make Me Scream

“That won’t be easy. He’s used to getting what he wants. The only foolproof answer is to change schools, like I said, but that means letting him win. I don’t want that. I assume you don’t either.”

“No.”

“Then the next best way is to give Rush a reason not to pursue you further.”

Like, a hard punch to the face?

“How?”

“Your roommate, Joel. Mundell sees him as his rising star. If he-”

“No. I’m not getting him involved. Whatever we do, I don’t want this to affect Joel.”

Lane nods.

“That’s a tough needle to thread.”

“I know.”

“In that case, my suggestion is to achieve an artistic success so significant that Rush won’t want to risk losing you as a student and representative of his school. It would have to be something other than Enmity Jane, of course.”

“How am I supposed to do that? It’s not like I can just pull a masterpiece out of thin air.”

Lane gestures at my bag, the one where I keep my sketchbook.

“No, but you do good work when you’re feeling inspired. I say we start there. However, we’ll also attack the problem on a second front: while you work on something that will really impress Rush, we use Alistair Rat to keep him distracted.”

Yes. Now we’re talking.

“All right. I’m with you, professor.”

I step up to him, pulling off my top. His eyes move down to my chest, so I unhook my bra and let it fall to my feet.

“Inspire me.”

Chapter 14

“Undress,” says Lane. “And tell me: have you ever looked into going on an artist’s retreat?”

That would be amazing. A few days of just drawing and writing — no job, no classes, no distractions. Sadly, there’s no way I could afford to take off that much time, and I doubt I ever will.

“No, professor. They’re too expensive.”

“Of course. The trick is getting someone else to pay. Artists have long depended on benefactors to escape the world for a while. However, there’s more than one way to enjoy isolation and introspection.”

Lane bids me to use the restroom and wash up, then leads me not to his usual composition space, but down into the building’s basement. I haven’t been here before — or even know there was one — so I watch my step, especially on the stairs.

At the bottom, I’m relieved to find a finished basement, with hardwood floors and pink marble wallpaper. Shelves, cabinets and pegs display a massive collection of sex toys, devices and supplies. The rather large, open space allows for multiple pieces of dungeon furniture: benches, a stockade, a St. Andrew’s Cross and more. Lane has to tug at my leash to keep me moving; instinct begs me to stop and stare. I’m reminded of his artwork at Galleria Carnale — I’d bet a week’s salary that this is where he and the models conceived the pieces and rehearsed them.

We arrive at the back of the room, which houses an incredibly large box covered with black studded leather and sealed with a series of padlocks. It’s about six feet long, maybe two feet wide and two feet tall — too big to be called a coffin, but not by much. What could he possibly have in there? All of the rope, whips, gags, plugs and so on were back on the shelves.

Isolation and introspection…

No way.

Fuck me.

He’s going to put me in the box, and he’s going to lock it. I can already feel the thumping in my chest.

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