Tenebrosity

Chapter One: “I’m Not My Former”

 

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Saturday, September 3, 2016

Have you ever only seen black? To be clear, I’m not talking about anything physical overtaking your sight, but an emotion so present that no matter how you try to find your way out, the shroud around your soul gets thicker and larger, growing from the inside out. It falls upon you so hard that it works like a vacuum sucking out the air and sticking to you like tar.

You choke on the black. It drowns every emotion so thoroughly that what you show as happiness is only false, an act you subconsciously perform for everyone. It seeps into every piece of your life and every crevice of your body. You can’t change it because once you’re aware it’s there, it’s already taken any strength you fooled yourself into believing you once possessed.

Have you ever seen the world fall away from you? You’re no longer in control; the director pulls the camera back, further and further from life, then the shot fades to black. No sound jars you, only numbing vibrations chatter your soul, trying to wake it but making no progress. Before you know it, you have chased yourself away into dark complacency. You live to die, yet the path that led you to darkness is the fear of death itself.

The night my child, my daughter Arella, my life, died, everything around me turned from colors sparkling with golden shimmers to an absolute blackout. It was as though an eclipse appeared out of nowhere and refused to pass.

Resentment. Do you harness it with the power and the need with which I do? I doubt it.
 

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I walk into our bedroom and I see Brian in bed, naked and stroking his hard-on. It makes my stomach turn and spit formed from bitter jealousy forms in my mouth. “What are you fucking doing?” I ask, wiping my mouth and swallowing a deep breath.

“You’re not going to touch it, touch me, so what the fuck do you care?” he replies, closing his eyes and settling himself into his pillows, continuing to stroke his dick.

There’s nothing beautiful about Brian anymore. I know there should be. I know I should be the one who sees his beauty unlike anyone else. I know I once did and this knowledge, it’s another cruel injustice to both of us. In the last three years, I haven’t been able to see beauty in anyone or anything. I’m nothing without Arella and without him. I am nothing because I ceased to exist the moment I could no longer call his breath mine. It’s my fault that I own nothing but my blind insanity. I know this and I cannot change it because no matter what you’ve heard, it isn’t true. It’s possible to be insane and know that you are. The thing is, I can’t help myself and no one can.

When it happened, Brian didn’t shoot into my alternate universe alongside me. He somehow escaped to the other side of my new earth and the eclipse only lasted a little while for him. Sun, light, something stronger than darkness enveloped him but avoided me. I guess I was too far gone for him to reach out for me and pull me back. I don’t know, I don’t ever remember the gesture if he offered it.

Brian’s probably so beautiful that he can make me forget what ugly truly is.

No, scratch that. I know what ugly is.

Me.

I can’t bear to think about touching him. The last time I felt a hint of anything, a sliver of the depth of his touch, was when he squeezed my hand while we watched Arella’s casket descend into the ground below us. At first, I thought he was gripping onto me so hard that he was cutting off my circulation, but then I saw he’d released me and his hands were covering his face. He hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his face as he wept.

I stared at him, unmoving until the service ended. I vaguely recall my mother telling me that I can’t pretend that it wasn’t happening and it’d be better if I allowed myself to feel. I don’t have much recollection of what happened for days after that. Flashes of a shitty movie with torturous dialog flickers through my brain at times but I don’t know what is real and what isn’t.

“Just go back into the living room!” Brian’s shout startles me out of my thoughts.

“What?” I ask, backing up toward the door. I don’t know why I went into the bedroom in the first place.

“You’re fucking standing there, staring at me with that lost expression and I know what… I know <i>who</i> you’re thinking about,” he stutters. “Do you think I can get off knowing that you’re thinking about the day I fucking killed her?”

“I’m not thinking that!”

“Right. Of course not. Because you still think she’s coming home from the hospital. Well she’s not. I did fucking kill her.” He gets out of the bed and rushes toward me, pushing me across the threshold.

“You didn’t kill her!” I shout back as he slams the door in my face.

He didn’t. He really fucking didn’t.

Avoidance.

The door swings open again and he screams, “If you truly believed that, I wouldn’t see you wishing me the same fate every time you look at me!”

Guilt.

More words for feelings that feed off my silent agony. Emotions buried deeper than she is to everyone but me.

I can’t reply to him. I can’t say a word when he says these kinds of things to me, when he puts the one-sided truth in front of us. I don’t know how to lie to him, to console him, to turn his guilt. I run away and race down the stairs.

I don’t realize that I’ve fallen at first. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt real pain. I don’t think I’ve yelled in just as long, but I can’t help it. I’m unaccustomed to feeling an ache so strong it shocks my system so quick it numbs me. Not this time, the burn running from my elbow and up into my shoulder jolts me away from the familiar, forcing me to cry out.

“Are you all right?” Brian asks, appearing beside me.

I can’t move, but I don’t think I’m hurt that bad. I’ve banged my head a little, fucked up my shoulder and arm, but I feel paralyzed everywhere that doesn’t hurt. Maybe his hands on me are what still all my deliberate movement as he’s trying to lift me up. I almost hear what I think I should in his voice; worry, fear and love. I don’t though; I’m deaf to it. Only the vibrations mix within me. They don’t break the surface of my sorrow that drowns out all care.

“I’m okay,” I whimper, trying to push him away from me.

“You’re not okay. Look at your arm for Christ’s sake!” he screams. “It’s broken!”

Just like everything else. No surprise.

“Walk," he says irritated. “Stand up.”

I thought I was standing, but everything around me is rocking back and forth. I try to get purchase under me, to place my foot on the floor but my leg won’t straighten and I scream from the pain…and there’s blood. Blood leaks through my jeans, spreading fast.

Blood always spreads so fucking fast.

 

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“Thanks for staying,” I politely tell Brian after the doctor sets my arm.

He says nothing in response. He just stares out the window of the small room.

It was good to feel the pain when the doctor popped my shoulder back into place. The open fracture of my left tibia in my leg required immediate stitching and casting. That pain didn’t feel good. It wasn’t bad enough to require surgery. I fell ‘just the right way’… or so the doctor said. I would’ve preferred not to fall at all, but falling is my specialty.

“Will you be able to care for him at home?” Dr. Emberton asks Brian, when he should’ve asked me.

“Yes.”

“No,” I say louder, overpowering Brian’s answer.

The doctor looks confused and runs a hand through his graying hair. I’m sure he can feel the tension between Brian and me. It’s the only thing between us.

“I am capable of taking care of you,” Brian speaks, standing from his chair and walking toward me.

“I don’t want you to.” I don’t want him caring for me. I’d rather stay here at the hospital.

“You don’t have insurance,” Brian informs me.

“What?” Since when don’t I have fucking insurance?

“You canceled your policy after…” he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to finish a thing.

I look at the doctor. “Can I hire at-home care?”

“You can,” Emberton says in confusion, “but you don’t really need to if your husband is willing to care for you. The cost will be…”

“The cost means nothing,” Brian interrupts. “If you want a stranger touching you, caring for you, then I’ll pay for one.”

“I have money of my own,” I reply. “I don’t need you for anything.”

“I know,” he whispers, nodding his head. “I guess I needed you to remind me again,” he growls, then walks out of the room.

 

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Friday, September 16, 2016

Having wood floors throughout our house used to bother me. They were cold even when wearing socks, and Brian wasn’t a fan of having rugs cover them. I wasn’t comfortable thinking about Arella taking her first steps and falling on the hard floor. Once she started pulling herself up on furniture at about eight months old, she took off walking, barely wobbling in her first steps. By the time she was a year old, she was steady on her feet and climbing up and down the stairs. She was physically advanced for her age which wasn’t unheard of, but I worried she’d get into something she shouldn’t before I could get to her. Thankfully, she turned her curious nature to other things like the pots and pans in the lower kitchen cabinets.

Instead of hiring a nurse, I opted to use a wheelchair, which was against doctor’s orders. I’ve gotten along just fine the last two weeks. Brian’s taste in minimal furnishings and the wide hallways of the home make it easy for me to navigate the downstairs. I called my mother to pick me up from the hospital, and then she came over and moved some of my things to the downstairs guest bedroom. It has an attached bath with a walk-in shower and bench seat within it. I was able to get Gortex casts, so it doesn’t matter if I get them wet; I would’ve hated to have to deal with that too.

I’ve managed to get along just fine without any help once my mother got me set up. One of the reasons I didn’t hire a nurse is because I didn’t want someone invading my personal space. I’m an adult and it’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone caring for my needs, and even longer since I’ve felt like an invalid. I also want to be able to control my health and activity. I got some meds for my pains, but I haven’t taken them. The injuries I have make me feel alive. The pain I feel from them is tangible and welcomed. I didn’t want some nurse thinking I was mental and trying to convince Brian to admit me to a psych ward. I’m sure he has already thought about it and I don’t need anyone encouraging his thoughts.

I’m not crazy. I’m just alone and I prefer not to feel the emotions that come from loneliness. I’ll go on pretending, casting away the ache of solitude in the only way that I can.

 

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“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Brian asks, walking in the door, home from work early. He watches me with an amused expression from the bottom of the stairs.

“Going up the stairs,” I tell him as I continue to wiggle my way up them, sitting backward and using my good arm to pull me up the railing and pushing up with my working leg.

“How do you plan to get around once you’re up there?” he sneers. “Never mind that, how do you plan on getting down?”

Shit! Why didn’t I fucking throw the crutches up here first? I look down the staircase, I’m halfway up them and I really have no clue how I’m going to get down or how I’m going to get around upstairs. “Fuck!”

He smiles, but I know it’s only because he’s laughing inside at my fuck up. I keep my eyes on him as he walks to the closet and takes off his snow-covered coat.

“Don’t you think you should shake that off first? It’s going to get all over my shoes.” Brian doesn’t keep any of his shoes in the floor of the closet downstairs. He has his in the guest closet beside the master bedroom; otherwise, he wouldn’t be so careless.

He chuckles as he turns to face me and starts climbing up the stairs. “What does it matter if your shoes get wet?” he asks, standing on the stair I’m sitting on. “It’s not as though you’re going anywhere.”

I’m tempted to reach out and push him as he passes me, practically jogging up the rest of the steps, leaving wet footprints in his wake. Bastard. Now I have to try and avoid the wet spots! I listen as he walks down the hall and then shuts the bedroom door behind him.

A few minutes later, I reach the landing, sweating extensively, my arm and leg weak. I have to rest so I lean my head against the railing, close my eyes and take a series of deep breaths. After a few moments, my heart stops pounding in my ears and I hear… I’m not sure what it is at first.

My daughter’s voice echoes from behind the door of the master bedroom. Brian is watching the videos again. I thought he’d stopped this routine, every day after work, locking himself away in the bedroom for hours. Usually around eight o’clock he’ll come downstairs to make himself something to eat, takes it into his office where I suspect he spends the rest of the night working. At some point, long after I’ve fallen asleep, he joins me in our bed. I guess he’s back to this again. Back to the past, back to memories that fade to black.

 

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Sunday, May 19, 2013

“I liked my birthday party, Dada! Thank you for the new bike.” I hear Arella tell Dad as she peddles toward him down the stone path.

“I’m glad you liked it, Rel, you should go thank Daddy too. He worked really hard making your birthday cake and he picked out your bike. I wanted to get you a blue one with dragons on it, but Daddy insisted we get you the pink princess one.”

Yeah, right. There’s no way he would ever not give Rel exactly what she wanted. The same goes for me. During Christmas or birthday parties, someone always makes a comment about how surprised they are that Rel and I aren’t spoiled brats. We’re not, we really aren’t. Sure, it may remain yet to be seen with my sister, but I know that both of my dads had to work very hard to get where they are now.

I pan the camera back so that I can get Rel on the bike in full on the video camera screen as she makes another sprint toward Dad.

“Maybe we should take back this bike and get the blue one,” Dad teases her.

“Oh Dada,” Arella giggles stopping the bike, “you’re silly. You know I wanted the princess one, not a boy one.”

The bike Dad described to her was actually my first bike, the one he bought me for my fifth birthday.

“Come on, let’s go inside and find Daddy,” Dad says helping Arella with the kickstand.

Arella takes off running up the stairs of the porch passing me. I follow her as she throws open the French doors leading to the kitchen.

“Daddy!” she yells, wrapping her arms around Justin’s waist. “Thank you for the bike and the party.”

They really have trained her well.

Dad comes in behind me. “Can I take that?” he asks and I surrender the camera.

I stand beside Dad and look at the LCD screen as he zooms in on Daddy kneeling to be face to face with Rel. There is no mistaking that they are father and daughter. Every single feature on their faces is the same. Their hair blends in color as one when Arella rests her head on Justin’s shoulder.

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispers.

“I love you too, Rel,” Justin answers, combing his fingers through her long hair. “I’m glad you had a good birthday.”

Rel turns her face to look up at me and Dad. “Dada’s tapin’ us,” she informs Justin as if he doesn’t have eyes.

Dad laughs and holds the camera out to Rel. “Here, Spielberg, why don’t you try it?”

“You said I was too little,” Arella says nervously. “I’m not ever to touch it. You said so.”

Last time she touched it, she erased something that was really important to Dad, but he wouldn’t tell anyone what it was.

“But you’re five now, so you’re much bigger than you were at four,” Dad explains, handing the small video recorder to her. “Just don’t ever play with it unless Daddy or I say that you can.”

Rel points the camera at me and giggles, “Hey Gus-Gus!”

“Happy birthday, Rel,” I say, making funny faces.

“I like the bear house you got me!” she squeals. I think she forgot about it until now.

“Good.” I really hate being in front of the camera.

“Will you play with it with me?”

My dads are looking at me like they’ll kill me if I don’t say yes. It’s so not fair because they are the ones that told me to buy her that. If it were up to me, I would’ve bought her the telescope I thought she’d like. I guess she isn’t old enough for that so I had to get a stupid stuffed house. All the pieces of the house are velcroed together and when you open the roof, you take out Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Rel seems to think she’s Goldilocks, I’m Baby Bear, Justin is Papa Bear and Dad is Mama Bear. She declared this in front of everyone at her party today. I guess I’d rather be deemed Baby Bear than Mama Bear.

“Will you Gus-Gus? Will you?” she annoyingly asks, jumping up and down. I’m sure that’s going to make a great movie.

“I guess,” I moan painfully.

Arella aims the camera toward Dad. “I got you, Dada. Now you have to act.”

“I do?” Dad asks. “Why?”

“Cause you’re in my play. The script says that you have to give Daddy a kiss now.”

Eww! One day she’s going to want to throw up at the thought of them kissing. I can’t wait for that day!

“You don’t have to write that in a script, Rel,” Dad says as he grabs Justin into his arms and gives him a disgustingly passionate kiss.

“Awww, true love,” Rel giggles.

I think she watches way too many Disney movies. But maybe girls never grow out of the lovey-dovey stuff? She sure does like it and doesn’t seem bothered by it at all!

Daddy laughs, then whispers in Dad’s ear, “I think we need to give Rel some love too.”

Thank God they aren’t including me in on this!

“Rel?” Dad sing-songs. “I think it’s your turn to act.”

Justin grabs her in his arms and pulls her down onto the floor. The camera flip-flops in Arella’s hands as she giggles and screams, trying to get away from the kisses and tickling.

“Oh I think you should turn her over,” Dad snickers in a false evil tone of voice. “She needs her birthday spankings.”

“No!” Rel giggles. “Please, don’t, Daddies!”

Daddy blows a raspberry on Arella’s cheek and laughs, “Okay, we won’t give you your birthday spankings this year. But only if you run upstairs and get in your pajamas.”

“Okay, okay,” Rel promises, handing Justin the video camera, "I'll get them on. Gus you come too, then we can play!”

“Just for a few minutes,” I agree, walking after her. I like playing with Rel, but I’m getting too old to do all the girly things with her.

“Don’t forget to find the birthday book for me to read,” Dad reminds us.

“But that’s for my real birthday tomorrow,” Arella says. “I’ll let Gus pick out tonight’s book.”

I really didn’t want to be included in story time but I guess if I’m allowed to pick out the book it won’t be so bad.

 

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Now that Gus and Arella have left Justin and me alone, I point the camera onto Justin’s ass. “I wish this thing had x-ray vision.”

“So you could see my bones?” Justin jokes, rolling his eyes at me. “You realize that now we’re going to have that on her birthday video.”

“I don’t care,” I say, zooming the camera in on Justin’s crotch. “I’ll edit it out.”

Justin puts his fingers in my waistband and pulls me toward him. “Maybe you can get a new disc to put it on and we’ll edit them together,” he suggests in a husky voice, kissing along my jaw.

I aim the lens to capture Justin’s face and ask him, “Really, what for?”

“I thought Rage’s super powers included mind reading.”

“Oh,” Brian growls. “You mean you want to act in our own feature film?”

“Mmmm…yeah,” Justin replies, grinding himself against Brian.

“You definitely deserve a leading role after the awesome party,” I praise him. “Who knew we’d have to invite her entire pre-K class just because she wanted to invite two of them?”

“There were only twelve kids, Brian,” Justin reminds me in a snotty tone. “If she was in a public school, it’d be more like thirty kids.”

“Thankfully, she’s a genius.” Believe it or not, the tests Arella had to pass to get into Brookhaven pre-kindergarten were quite extensive.

Justin smiles at me, nodding proudly. “I’m glad you appreciate my hard work as much as Rel did.”

“Of course,” I easily reply. “I wouldn’t have done half as good of a job; you know my history with planning parties. They definitely don’t involve children.”

“Thankfully,” Justin agrees, licking his lips.

I really want to fuck him on top of the cake crumbs on the counter but for a reason completely unknown to me, I blurt out, “I love you, Justin.”

“Ooooh, that is now on record forever,” Justin predictably teases me. “You’d better not edit it out.”

There’s no turning back now, if I backtrack at all it’ll only piss him off and there really isn’t any point in turning my words sour. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say and turn the camera to capture myself. “I love you, Justin Taylor-Kinney,” I snicker.

Justin grabs the camera from me and aims it at his face. “I love you, Brian,” he laughs and shifts it so that it captures us as we kiss.

I push him backward onto the dirty countertop and place the camera on the buffet beside us. “What do you say we get something else on record?” I ask, unbuttoning his pants.

“You have the best ideas, Mr. Taylor-Kinney,” he growls, pulling me on top of him and smashing his mouth against mine.

 

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Friday, September 16, 2016

I hear Brian crying the moment he shuts off the television. I’m not sure why he does this to himself. I don’t understand why he wants to watch her living when she isn’t. Does he like to torture himself? Maybe he knew I could hear it and he wants to torture me?

I rub the tears that never fall and look around me. Something is jarringly different. I feel…I feel something… something that I can’t grasp and as I look down the hallway I see light coming from under the master bedroom’s door.

Now that I think about it, I don’t remember him crying in front of me except at the funeral. I don’t think that he realizes I can hear his screaming, whimpering and begging to a God that damned us both. Or maybe I’ve just never been able to hear it before?

When I left for New York, I never imagined this is where we would end up. I thought that would be the worst separation we’d ever go through. I was so fucking wrong. I was so fucking naïve.

 

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Tuesday, August 8, 2006

I’ve never seen such radiance in colors before. Not only am I seeing them, but I’m actually a part of them. I wish I could get my supplies from the back of the plane. I’d set up my easel in the fucking aisle and paint the sunrise. If I weren’t coming to the end of my non-stop sixteen-hour flight, I’d dig out my chalks and do my best to capture the amazing view.

Thankfully, I brought my new camera and I find myself getting lost in taking picture after picture. It looks as though someone released dozens of giant smoke bombs into the clouds. The rainbow mist wraps itself around the sky, entrancing me, inspiring a dozen paintings that I ache to begin. I will, as soon as I’m home.

Well, okay, it’ll probably be a day or two before I get the studio set up and start painting. Scratch that, it’ll be probably a week because Brian will, without doubt, keep me sequestered in our bedroom or busy christening every surface in the palace.

The clouds clear as the plane begins to descend and the flight attendant’s announcement rings through the first class cabin. I click my seat belt, pack the camera away and make sure I’m not leaving anything on the plane. Once satisfied, I turn my gaze toward the window and watch as the city of Pittsburgh gets closer and closer.

When I left New York City for Paris three months ago, after having lived there only a year, I knew I wouldn’t be coming back for more than a visit. It’s been a month and a half since Brian surprised me by visiting me in Paris and I’m starting to shake inside from nervous excitement.

I know he loves me. I know he loves what he calls my ‘new toned body’, which I’ve developed since I started running in the park every morning. I still feel like a teenager though when I think about seeing him after an absence. I washed my face in the bathroom an hour ago, combed my hair and changed my clothes. I discarded my underwear because let’s face it, the fewer obstacles in the way of Brian’s cock and my ass, the better.

There’s been too much time in the way of us, for too long.

It still amazes me that Brian came to visit me in New York every other weekend after I left the Pitts. My friends and Mom, and Molly visited me in New York whenever they could through the year I lived there. I think they all enjoyed the little getaway, even if they had to sleep on a couple blow-up mattresses in my itty-bitty living room.

The gang was lucky that I actually had a tiny bedroom with a door, otherwise there’s no way they could’ve stayed with me. I’m sure they all heard more than what they bargained for, but I’m sure they knew what they were getting into when they planned visits the same weekends that Brian was there. Needless to say, my mother and Molly never visited while Brian was in New York. The two times Brian brought Gus with him, we made heavy use of the cramped bathroom, running the shower to drown out any noise while he slept.

I got a part-time job at the coffee shop on the corner of my block in Chelsea the first week I moved to New York. A month and a half after I moved in with Daphne’s friend, her third cousin or some shit… who, I might add, was a complete basket case; she got engaged to her boyfriend and moved in with him, leaving me with the rent. Thankfully, my name wasn’t on the lease so I was able to rent a smaller apartment in the same building that came available. However, I was going to have to pay for it all myself and I couldn’t make do with my savings or the part time job.

That’s when Brian offered to give me some freelance work. Kinnetik was growing rapidly and the artists he’d been hiring for his art department hadn’t been able to keep up with the flow of work, so it helped the both of us out. I was able to have time to work on my art and find an agent, while at the same time paying my bills and easing Brian’s stress.

I loved New York and of course I loved Brian more than I loved the city. I missed him more than I wanted to live there, but I knew that I had to make a name for myself. I had to experience the art world because I knew, long before I left the Pitts, that I would come back home before too long. I looked at New York as though it were a mission. I had to make a name for myself, get an agent and then I’d go home.

My first January in New York proved to me that the cold in Pittsburgh was nothing like the cold of the Big Apple. Nothing could compare to the biting wind, the constant chill of my apartment and the non-stop snow and sudden blizzards.

I was out one night with Brian buying art supplies, when a storm came upon us as we left on foot and we started to run for the apartment. We were holding hands, trying to navigate through the other people caught outside, practically blinded by the huge blowing flakes pouring down on us. When we couldn’t take the cold any longer, he pulled me up onto a set of steps leading to a small art gallery.

I’d been inside ‘The Sinc’ a few times, but the art was lesbianic and the gallery manager wasn’t inclined to change anything about it by hiring new talents. That had been back in August and I hadn’t been back in. Something sure had changed however in the few months I hadn’t been inside it again. I gushed about one painting in particular to a complete stranger, going on and on about the composition, the theory of feeling, the lines, the brush strokes, the colors used, and what I thought it meant. And then she laughed and introduced herself and I realized I was talking not only to the artist, but the new gallery owner, Valerie Gavile.

We connected over art as much as over the fact that she missed her boyfriend just as much as I missed Brian. Fyn was French and taught in a school in Paris. I almost felt comforted by the fact that Brian and I weren’t separated by a fucking ocean. That was until she invited me to spend a few months there, helping her with a project.

The day before Valerie and I left for Paris, Brian drove up to New York in his brand new Jeep and we fucked through the whole night and morning until it was time to pack up the stuff I wasn’t taking to Paris home to Britin. And by then it was only Britin, because Brian had sold the loft weeks after I left Pittsburgh. He never elaborated on the reasons but I had my suspicions…

‘The Sinc’ was booked with events and other artist’s showings until March, but after seeing and becoming a fan of my work, Valerie offered to put me in a show with two other artists in the beginning of April. I had seven paintings in the show and she was enthusiastic about my submissions. In between this time, I still tried to get an agent and tried to get my work shown in other galleries but had no luck. Valerie tried to help, but even though she made a good living with her paintings, she didn’t have many connections and her agent was dealing with a family crisis and could never meet with me.

All of the gang, plus my Mom, Tucker, and Molly came for the show. Brian splurged and got everyone rooms at a hotel downtown. The opening night was a success, and all but one of my pieces sold. On the second night, the last one sold within a half-hour of the gallery opening its doors. I was so thrilled and could hardly wait to celebrate with Brian in the hotel room he’d gotten for us that night.

I was practically floating around the gallery when Timothy Desmans appeared beside me. I knew exactly who he was the moment I saw him. Valerie had many pictures of them together in her apartment. Not only was he her agent, but he was also her friend. I tried not to get my hopes up and remain relaxed as he talked to me, hoping the whole time that he would offer to be my agent. However, after much schmoozing he left me to talk to Val and disappeared soon after.

Brian did his best to keep me from thinking about it that night. The foreplay lasted a long time and our love making that night was slow and sweet. We had just fallen asleep when Valerie called and asked me to accompany her to Paris for the summer. I thought I was hearing things, but she was serious. She’d gotten an offer to paint a large mural on a massive wall that wrapped around a park area. She needed someone else on the job so that she could get it done before the heavy fall rain started.

I had to say yes.

It was tougher leaving Brian for Paris, mostly because I was afraid that I wouldn’t want to leave the romantic city. That and the fact that Brian was sure he couldn’t come to visit because Kinnetik was so busy and I wouldn’t have time to fly back and see him until the mural was finished. I had to go. It was an opportunity of a lifetime and Valerie hinted that Timothy was showing interest in being my agent.

Paris was everything I dreamed it would be. Valerie’s boyfriend Fyn was a nice guy, though a bit solitary. He worked at a boarding school there in Paris and came from a wealthy old French family. The country house I stayed in with them was centuries old but had just gone through a modern flawless remodeling .We didn’t see much of Fyn because of his heavy work schedule, but he got off on perfecting my French and taking me to all the non-touristy spots when he had the time.

In the middle of June, Timothy came to visit and stay at Valerie’s house too. He was amazed at the work I’d created in Paris and went through my portfolio and critiqued it too. I took him out one afternoon while Valerie and Fyn went to lunch and showed him the park mural’s progress. He loved it and that’s when he started talking about himself. He told me that he had a few different homes in the U.S. and one in Philly where he spent most of his time with his family. He offered to be my agent as long as I could meet with him there in September to discuss specifics. Of course, I said I would meet with him!

I went back to my room at Val’s and tried to call Brian to tell him the good news, but he didn’t answer either his cell or home phone and Kinnetik was already closed so I couldn’t reach him there. I had tried at least a dozen times and started to wallow in self-pity in my room when Valerie and Fyn came home and called me downstairs.

I ran down, renewed with excitement, ready to tell her the news and then I saw Brian standing at the end of the staircase. Apparently, Timothy had already told Val that he wanted to be my agent and she’d set up the surprise visit a week prior with Brian.

It was the best surprise I’d ever gotten. Brian stayed for a week; we did the touristy things, which he enjoyed even if he pretended he didn’t. He shopped while Val and I worked on the mural, and at night Brian and I had amazing sex on the veranda where we could see the lights from the city. When he left, it was worse than when I’d left for Paris, but I settled my mind with the knowledge that I would be going home soon to Brian. He was proud of me. He said he always had been, but now I am too.

So, as the plane lands, all I can think about is running into Brian’s arms, coming home to him as an accomplished artist with a highly sought-after agent. The world is a beautiful place today. I can’t help it, even though I’ve only had a couple of hours of sleep and the plane is touching down on the runway, I feel well rested and as high as a kite. My future as an artist is bright, and Brian’s and my future together is even brighter!

Shit! I can’t wait to get off this fucking plane and see him.
 

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