Lace and Paint (True Colors Book 1)

by Ally Sky

  I know he’s examining the obstacle I’ve put in his way.

  He puts one hand on the back of my chair, behind my shoulder, and pauses a moment. His other hand lifts my top from below and reveals my stomach. He knows no limits. Nothing scares him. His hands crawl upward, exposing my stomach. He puts his freezing fingers on my breast, pulling my bra down, and grabs my exposed breast in his hand.

  My stomach turns and I can’t move. Only my heart is racing. He strokes my breast gently and my nipple pebbles, completely against my will. His touch is light, yet painful, burning holes in my heart, destroying every piece of trust I’ve ever had.

  And his voice is soft and calm, like it is every day at the exact same time.

  “How are you today?”

  My world is falling apart around me while his hand is in my bra, and he’s asking me how I am. I swallow. I’m mute, unable to make a sound. He’s not stupid. He knows he paralyzes me, makes me surrender in this chair, without an iota of physical force, destroying me.

  “I hear you’re doing a great job.”

  I have no idea, no idea about the work I do or about what is being said about me. In any case, he’s not even my boss so it isn’t even his business. My gaze never leaves the window, or the green treetops of the cypress trees.

  Just go. Just stop asking me questions and touching me, and go.

  “So, what do you say, Talia? When are we going to go for that coffee?”

  Coffee. I wonder what his wife would think of that offer, with two small children at home. I imagine myself throwing the boiling coffee at him, over his hands, so they can no longer touch me, or anyone else. Ever.

  “Maybe tomorrow?” His hand kneads my breast and I can’t breathe.

  Why aren’t you stopping him? Tell him to stop! You’re not a little girl; you’re eighteen years old. You’re going to the army soon, to teach soldiers how to use their weapons and this man renders you mute. Where’s your strength?

  “I need to get back to work. It was great seeing you again, Talia.”

  My name on his lips makes me sick. He emphasizes it in a way that makes his intentions clear. It’s clear to me what he wants. At least in the office it doesn’t get any worse. At least in the office I’m semi-safe. His hand slips out, separating itself from my skin. My shirt is still pulled up.

  And then the steps go away, the familiar screech of the doorknob, and the door closes quietly behind him.

  I straighten my top. My heart refuses to calm down. I can’t cry.

  No one would believe me. She’s desperate for attention—that’s what they’d all say. Look how far she’s prepared to go, blaming someone like him, for something like this.

  Someone like him. They don’t even know him. They don’t know what he does behind closed doors.

  I look away from the cypress trees, look down at the pile of papers, and start typing on the computer.

  I wake up in a cold sweat and try to calm my breathing. That dream again. It’s like a knife in my stomach and heart. What’s happening to me? Why is everything surfacing now? Those damn locks on my memories. I have to do something. I have to stop dreaming.

  I walk around the house, restless after a night filled with crazy dreams. Exhaustion makes me agitated, floods me with confusing and conflicting feelings. I can feel my head exploding.

  The hurtful memories from the past are surfacing, reminding me about things I just want to forget. It doesn’t help that I have nothing to keep me busy, apart from thoughts about my man.

  I remember my words from the night before, how reckless and flirty I was. The thought that I may have caused him to reject me scares me. He won’t be the first guy to run because I have no inhibitions. He doesn’t even know me. What he’s seen is only the tip of the iceberg, just a taste.

  He doesn’t want a girlfriend. So why am I being insistent? Maybe I just enjoy the chase? I don’t even know him…

  Its noon on Tuesday and I’m on the couch on the patio. With nothing else to do, I open my laptop and type in my password to my blog. I have fourteen new responses since checking it this morning.

  Dan’s response: I read your words and wonder, are you being honest with yourself and with him about how you feel? Does this guy, who sounds amazing, know why you want him so badly? Do you know why you’re being so obsessive about him (his green eyes aren’t a good enough reason). Is the game you’re playing the only thing he sees, the seductive femme fatale masks you wear? Does he know how sensitive, smart, and sharp you are (assuming he doesn’t read your blog)?

  Have you told him how you’ve been hurt in the past? Or are you too afraid, even now, to admit it to him and, maybe, even to yourself?

  Is it all just a game? Or are you brave enough to admit to him how much you want him, how much you miss him, how afraid you are? Are you brave enough to admit it to yourself?

  I light up a cigarette, lean back and close my eyes. Okay, I can’t deny that Ben is handsome. But maybe there’s something else there causing me to think of him constantly? I’ve met handsome guys before. What makes him different?

  He doesn’t get scared. He didn’t run from me that first night when I slammed the door in anger. It even amused him. He didn’t freak out when I told him about my bipolar disorder. When I stormed out on him at the café, he just came by the house and took me to the park. And then, in the rain, when he looked at me, I felt as though no one else existed in the whole world but us. And that same, strange feeling surfaces every time I’m with him or write to him—he makes me feel as though we’re in a bubble, a bubble that can protect me from all the shit going on outside.

  Deep down inside, I know he’s not just some project. Because when I consider giving up, just letting go, I can’t breathe and my heart begs me not to do it. At least not now, not yet.

  Dreadful feelings of fear and longing for Ben’s green eyes consume me and I go to the basement to paint.

  It’s four in the afternoon when I force myself to stop painting and go upstairs. I need to go shopping and fill up the fridge for the rest of the week. I really have to find a job somewhere. Danny’s idea that I’ll work at the company is so unrealistic. He’s unaware of all the variables in the equation, and I know Ben won’t allow it. A small feeling of frustration creeps in. It could be so interesting. Anything besides waitressing would be great.

  I return home and put everything away in the fridge and cupboard. I slice the vegetables to make a stir-fried chicken for supper. The front door opens and Danny and John enter, in good moods, just as I put the wok on the stove and heat up a little oil. They’re alone. My heart clenches with disappointment.

  “What are we eating?” Danny comes up to me and kisses my hair as usual.

  “Chicken and stir-fried vegetables.” I smile, trying to conceal my disappointment.

  “Sounds great. We’re just going to go change out of these clothes.” He goes with John to their bedroom.

  I wash my hands and quickly take my phone out of my bag.

  18:07

  On tonight’s menu: stir-fried chicken and vegetables.

  Isn’t it a pity? Hope your crisps are tasty …

  I send the message and put my phone back in my bag.

  The oil is hot and I start frying.

  Danny finishes eating and takes another sip of the white Israeli wine I know he loves, which I bought today despite the cost. I’m not sure if I feel guilty about everything I’m planning behind his back, or if I just miss home, but I wanted to make him happy and knew the wine would.

  “What are your plans for tomorrow?” Danny sits back.

  “I think I’m going to go find a café where I can waitress. I really need to find something to do.” I’m sure my expression conveys my feelings on the matter.

  “Shit, I forgot to speak to Ben about you.” He tsks at himself.

  “You don’t have to, actually, please don’t.” I so don’t feel like putting Ben in that situation.

  “Nonsense. I’ll call him now.” He pulls his ph
one out of his jeans pocket. John excuses himself and goes out to smoke, leaving us alone.

  “No! Danny, you really don’t have to…” I try to dissuade him but he insists. Oh, God…

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure he’ll agree,” he grins. He has no idea.

  “Hi, how are you?” Danny says into his phone, as I study him from the other side of the table.

  My heart is racing. This could be awkward. It’s definitely unpredictable.

  “Listen, I wanted to ask you something about Talia.” My heart plunges and I can imagine Ben going pale. He probably thinks I spoke to Danny about him. “I heard Jill from Interior Design has left work.”

  Nice of him to remember her name. I can imagine the relief on the other side of the line, as Ben realizes I’ve kept my mouth shut as promised.

  “John and I thought Talia would be perfect for the job.” Danny smiles at me and I reciprocate with a phony, nervous one. I wait for the smile to slide off his face. I feel like a fourteen-year-old. Okay, well let’s not exaggerate. Maybe a sixteen-year-old.

  “Yes…you know she’s into art, she’s friendly, cordial…don’t you think?” He winks at me. I really am friendly and quick to smile. I may not be a big art expert, but I like to paint and visit galleries and exhibitions. Danny’s appeals on my behalf are good. Poor Ben, he has him by the balls.

  Shit! I just hope he doesn’t think it’s my idea! I’ll have to let him know. The last thing I need is for him to think I intend harassing him at work. Although, I admit, it could be interesting and amusing.

  No. The office is off-limits. If he agrees to the idea, pressured by Danny, I won’t use it to my advantage.

  I really won’t.

  Really?

  “I know, but I thought maybe she could meet with Sarah and we can see what she thinks…Yes? You or me? Okay…” He ends the call.

  “Well? What did he say?” The stress in my voice obvious.

  “I’ll arrange a meeting for you with Sarah from Interior Design and she’ll contact you in a few days. Do you think you could put off your waitressing for a bit?” He smiles a huge grin, pleased with his success.

  “Are you serious?” I’m in shock. I can’t believe Ben agreed to it. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. He just stated you don’t really have any experience and asked if it would be an issue.” He shrugs.

  I’m not sure how I should react to that. “Do you think it might be a problem?” I’m trying to understand. Danny hasn’t told me much about the job.

  “Talia, you need to start somewhere and, from what I understand, you don’t need the skills of a tedious, old art critic to do the job.” He laughs. “Speak to Sarah and we’ll see, okay?”

  “Okay,” I reply, a huge grin on my face, as I get up to wash the dishes.

  At nine p.m. I get up from the couch and say goodnight to Danny and John. We’ve spent the evening in front of the television watching some funny sitcom they love. I mostly enjoyed observing the two of them, so in love and rolling with laughter. I tried to ignore the little ache in my heart as I imagined myself, in love and laughing—in love with him. As much as I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  I take a shower and lie down in bed, then open my Facebook. No new messages. Apparently, I overdid it yesterday.

  Talia Blum: I just wanted to make it clear that I had nothing to do with Danny’s offer and I apologize if you were boxed into a corner. I’ll completely understand if you say no to him (not that I’m sure anyone can say no to Danny). Anyway, the final word is yours; you’re the boss, and I won’t be offended if you decide it’s inconvenient. And again, sorry about yesterday.

  A new message comes in. I open it with a pounding heart.

  Ben Storm: I had a hamburger for supper. The chips that came with it were terrible. I’ve known Danny long enough to know the idea of you working for me wasn’t yours. In any case, thanks for clarifying the issue. Indeed, I’m the boss, and it’s best you remember that in case I become yours I don’t forgive you for yesterday, because there’s nothing to forgive.

  I lie on my side, watching the green light on the chat indicating he’s online. I know he’s on the other side watching it as well, but for some reason I’m scared. The two of us are sitting on either side of the network, staring at a green light and not saying a thing.

  He breaks the silence first.

  Ben Storm: Should we say good night now, or should we carry on staring at the screen a little longer?

  Talia Blum: Hi.

  Ben Storm: And to you, too.

  Talia Blum: Sorry to hear about the chips Boss…

  Ben Storm: Thanks. I’m not your boss yet.

  Talia Blum: Thanks for not objecting to the idea, although I say that without actually knowing if you did.

  Ben Storm: I didn’t object. I voiced some professional concerns and left the decision to someone else.

  Talia Blum: What happened to ‘I have the final word’?

  Ben Storm: It’s still mine and you haven’t got the job yet

  Talia Blum: In that case, I’d better behave myself.

  Ben Storm: Absolutely.

  Talia Blum: I’ll make an effort.

  Ben Storm: I’m glad to hear that. How are you?

  Talia Blum: Tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.

  I haven’t slept well for a few nights. The damn dreams.

  Ben Storm: I’m sorry to hear that. How come?

  Talia Blum: Dreams.

  Ben Storm: Bad ones?

  Talia Blum: Old ones.

  Ben Storm: Not old enough.

  Talia Blum: The past is coming back to haunt me

  With him, it’s better I pretend that it’s not as bad as it is. He likes me happy and bubbly. He doesn’t need nightmares about intrusive hands, me frozen in my chair, helpless, unable to move.

  Ben Storm: It doesn’t sound like something I’d smile about.

  Talia Blum: No worries. It’s all under control.

  Ben Storm: If you say so.

  I say so. And you’ll never find out the truth.

  Talia Blum: I really am sorry about yesterday.

  Ben Storm: Stop apologizing. It’s unattractive and ineffectual

  Talia Blum: Forgive me?

  Ben Storm: Nothing to forgive. Really, nothing happened.

  Nothing happened? Didn’t my words shock him? Could he have figured out my intentions toward him?

  Talia Blum: I’m making an effort not to discuss your boring routine today…

  Ben Storm: Actually, I had an amazing day.

  Talia Blum: Really?

  Ben Storm: Yes, my young entrepreneurs came to the office. That always makes my day.

  It was a great day because he’s doing something great.

  Talia Blum: Sounds lovely.

  Ben Storm: What did you paint today?

  Talia Blum: I continued the painting from yesterday. “Baby.”

  Ben Storm: You’re cute…

  Talia Blum: Yuck! Anything but cute!

  Seriously! Cute? What is he, a novice? I’d have expected a man with his good looks to have enough experience to know that cute isn’t a compliment.

  Ben Storm: Not cute?

  Talia Blum: No!

  Ben Storm: So what then?

  What then? Let’s just see how ridiculous I can be.

  Talia Blum: Try amazing, stunning, and seductive.

  No, I didn’t exaggerate at all…

  Ben Storm: Wow.

  Talia Blum: Yup.

  Ben Storm: And modest.

  Talia Blum: Yes, that as well.

  Ben Storm: If only you believed half of what you say…

  Of course I don’t believe it. It’s called sarcasm. Hasn’t he heard of it?

  Talia Blum: Ten points to the guy with the amazing car…

  Ben Storm: What a shame.

  Talia Blum: What?

  Ben Storm: You really are all those things you said.

  He’s not serious? My heart acc
elerates to one hundred miles per hour.

  Talia Blum: Flatterer.

  Ben Storm: When are you going to learn how to take a compliment?!

  Talia Blum: Never, and definitely not from you.

  Ben Storm: Why not?

  Talia Blum: Because you don’t really mean them.

  Ben Storm: You’re so wrong…

  Why is he saying all these things? Obviously, he doesn’t mean them. No one has ever said anything like that to me.

  Talia Blum: Is this part of your attempt to figure out how this ‘friend thing’ works?