by R. F. Allie
Consume Me
By
R. F. Allie
Copyright 2013 © R. F. Allie
All rights reserved.
Cover Photograph by Sabri B. Mlouka
www.sabribenmlouka.com
Cover Design: Clay Dev
Cover Model: Sally Kf
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products and brands referenced in this work of fiction. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by their owners. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of contents
Table of contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Dedication
I’ve been conjuring my brain to find the perfect words to thank the people that stood by my side for several months; they’ve been patient, fun, encouraging and confident that everything I’d sacrificed was worth it.
So while scrambling through the internet; I stumbled upon a quote that I found very amusing and that described the circle of people I live and share my life with perfectly.
“I’m thinking of buying a monkey…
Then I think: “Why stop at one?”
I don’t like being limited in that way…
Therefore, I’m considering a platoon of monkeys; so that people will look at me,
and see how mellow and well-adjusted I am compared to these monkeys throwing feces around.”
R.D Jr
This quote made me think of all the crazy people I’m thankful for…
The only way we would be considered normal and well-adjusted would be if we stood next to those monkeys.
Thank you H.N for being the best friend any girl would dream about having. You were the first person who ever read my book and thought it “entertaining” and “well written”; but didn’t refrain from making a shocked face when you read one of the scenes. I love you… Forever and Beyond.
To S.A; for being my best girl and showing your excitement when this book was only a mere idea in the back of my imagination. You will always remain my best girl and acolyte.
Sabri Ben Mlouka for a beautiful cover and a unique vision… You are a true artist.
Sally K you are a truly mesmerizing sight to whoever looks at you, and a tender soul.
Kais T. for skimming immolation and remaining cool about it… You are a true friend.
Miko H and Miriam. O for being the crazy girls that you are and never missing on an occasion to show how truly disturbed and awesome you can be.
For H.J, my latent muse. You were the first stranger who showed full excitement about the story of Landon Davis and Clea Dane. I do love you.
My two brothers; A.F and E. F; whom I hope never get to read this book for their own sake and mine. You encouraged me and helped me in more ways than possible.
To the only man I love…
You are my rock, in this life and the next one…
Finally, to all those of you who are passionate, crazy, hopeful, lustful, lonely and heartbroken…
You are not alone in the world…
Just a burning desire…
Prologue
I really hate this city; it reminds of all the things I’ve come to despise, of all the things she’d made me love that have become unbearable to me.
I remember a time when I would come to Paris just for the heck of it and spend the weekend with her inside of our hotel suite just fucking each other’s brains out.
I really hate being in this fucking city; she seems to be at every corner.
I can’t even go and enjoy a dinner at “Les Arts” just to avoid remembering her smile; that damn smile used to give me a hard-on just as soon as it would show on her face and I would know she was happy.
I’ve been stuck at the museum for an hour; I hope giving up the collection would give me some peace of mind. I’m only doing it because it was my mother’s initial plan; but she still left them to me and told me to do as I see fit. I think it is best if I honor her will; after all, I still have my favorites at the lake-house.
But those damn French people and their administrative rituals are getting the best of me. They almost make me regret to give the fucking paintings up. I’d given some to the Guggenheim and chose the Louvre for the rest; they were both my mother’s favorites.
But that damn manager is really weighing on my patience.
Truth is I came here hoping to find that angel from last week, she’s the only reason I’m extending the stay. Alec has been begging me to fly to Tokyo and have some fun with all those models at the fashion week. But I’m done with models and mannequins and all those fucking gold-digging and opportunistic Bi…
« Monsieur Davis ; vous voulez bien me suivre? On va signer les derniers formulaires et on pourra vous libérer. »
Well it’s about damn time.
I follow the middle aged manager with the aggravated expression to her office; all the while searching for that little brunette with the curly hair.
I had no luck today; but I’ll go back tomorrow. That girl is the only one who seemed appealing to me ever since Audrey had embarked in her new adventure and left me behind, again, for the third time now.
It has been almost three months; I’m getting tired of the one night stands and the usual girls at the club. I need another Audrey.
No scratch that; I need that girl…
It’s been a long time since the sight of a girl had made my breath rush out of my chest. She was mesmerizing; something about her called to the deepest parts of my soul. She wore a little yellow backless sundress, her tan exquisite and her skin conjuring the touch of my fingers to travel all over every inch of her.
She had majestic long curls that fell in ringlets around her face. I wanted to push my finger inside every bundle. It was pushed to the side; which made her features accessible to my eyes. Her tan suggested that she enjoyed just about the reasonable amount of sun, her cheeks full and peach.
Her long eyelashes fluttered while she was concentrated on Botticelli’s Madonna and Child. She was breath-cutting; emerged with the painting as if reliving the history of the painting and saddened by the fate of the child.
Something captivating flickered in her gaze…
What had really caught my attention; was the ink she revealed when she pulled the remaining curls; it was as if she was inviting me
to watch it and glimpse into her soul. It was an angel, a magnifying rebelled woman. Every line in that illustration was a revelation of the story behind it.
I have to know the story behind it; I have to know that girl.
I need to see her again. I need to have her and keep her and be inside her.
She really took my breath away…
I look out at the crowded street in front of Notre Dame De Paris Cathedral.
I really need to get out of this city.
I blink as if my sight had just played a magic trick on me, or I just witnessed a miracle or an answer to my prayer.
I see her…
I’d recognize those curls and that beautiful face anywhere.
It’s the angel…
Well I’ll be damned…
“Calvin, stop the car!”…
Chapter I
"Wake up sleepy head. You don't want to miss this."
I nudged Jenna lightly not wanting her to pass over her big entry to her new life, and we were about to land at JFK. It had been seven hours and I'd been incapable of getting any sleep; shuffling from side to side between my iPod and the movie selection on the plane.
Jenna, on the other hand, and despite all her excitement, fell asleep two hours in. But I knew she wouldn't have wanted to miss on this moment. The view was spectacular. She'd been over the moon that she was finally moving to New York after all the hard work she'd put into getting into a graduate program at Columbia University.
"Oh my god Clea. I made it. I really did."
She straightened herself in her seat and peeked out the small window; her eyes filled with happiness and only a gleam of tiredness.
"Yes Jenna. You made it, now buckle up for landing and take care of that messy hair of yours."
Jenna gave me a glare and a mocking look over. She knew I was being difficult because I was tired. She was also sure that her hair never looked messy.
Admittedly, it wasn't fair to say that. She had the most gorgeous hair, the one that everyone dreamed about having; straight, shiny and controlled, with golden-honey highlights that made her skin glow in the most beautiful way.
Jenna was my oldest friend; my acolyte since middle school. We were both living in Beirut back then. Our dads worked together; and everywhere my dad took us over the years, Uncle Keith and Jenna came with us.
So while moving around, she'd been the one constant in my life. Despite the distance that had separated us; since after high-school graduation, she'd chosen one of Paris' most prestigious political science school, while I'd moved back to New York.
After college graduation and a big scandal that had destroyed me, I'd taken the last four months off and went on a long trip, some kind of an eat-pray-love journey. I ended up in Paris for the past month. It was a blissful trip. I felt recharged and somehow, at peace.
I was back home. Eager to start fresh and put my life together again.
I had a big dilemma about whether I should follow up with graduate school or just concentrate on a new job. I'd sent my résumé to advertising agencies and had several interviews lining up starting next week. I finally decided that grad school was a great idea; I always wanted to carry on with more than a bachelor degree. I finally opted for a master’s degree in public relations and corporate communication and transferred to New York University.
Hopefully, everything would work out just fine. I'd been stressed out and brooding about the way things were going to turn out.
"Give me your iPod, mine is dead."
Jenna sat on a bench in front of a Starbucks in the middle of the airport searching through her purse and seemingly freaking out.
"What is it sweetie? Here's my iPod."
I handed her the little device and sat next to her.
"No, no, no! Where's my Polaroid? I can't find it."
I laughed at her reaction. She had a tendency of taking things a little too dramatically. She went all over Paris and Barcelona to find one of those ‘Impossible Project’ shops that had managed to recreate Polaroid filters for people who loved photographic authenticity.
"Here, it's in the back of your bag."
I opened one of the compartment in her check-in bag and handed her the camera.
"And stop frowning. We're in the Instagram era."
I wasn't surprised by her eagerness. My best friend wasn't ashamed of being the total tourist cliché. Everything she knew and loved about the city; she'd learned from thousands of romantic comedies and television dramas. I didn't have the heart to crush her expectations just yet, so I kept on laughing.
"Ok, now the music."
She beamed and gestured for me to get going. I puffed at her, feigning annoyance and walked past her.
"I'm thinking... New York State of mind. Only question is, which one, Alicia keys' or Barbra."
"I don't know. Whichever you want. You have both."
"Oh you're such a buzz kill."
Jenna pouted at me.
"Let's just snap a picture and please, don't forget the smile." She flashed the device at us and grinned proudly at her first memory in the city.
Mario, our driver was waiting for us at the baggage claim exit. He used to be just another driver in the booking agency I'd always contacted when needing a ride outside the city. But he grew to become a good friend when I stumbled upon him in a bar next block from my apartment where he worked as a bartender. He'd always been nice to me, and claimed himself as my one and only driver in and out of this city.
The ride home was as long as usual, but just as entertaining. Jenna climbed next to Mario in the front seat and he showed her around all the way to Chelsea. She was marveling at the scenery and it made me smile. I could never understand her stubbornness when it came to spend the holidays with me. She had many opportunities to do so over the years. But she insisted that the first time she'll step a foot in New York, she'll never leave it again.
And in the end, that was exactly the way she did it.
I thought that a ride with someone as patient and fun as Mario would be a perfect opportunity for Jenna to get a little acquainted with the city, especially since she won't be able to do much sightseeing with her course schedule taking off the following week. She needed to get a little familiar with the neighborhoods and I indulged myself in some thinking-over.
I was back home. The past three months had been a bliss and offered me a much needed escape from what I'd been through. It was hard at first, thinking about it still made me nauseous and sad, but thankfully I grew stronger and resigned to forget all about it.
It won't be easy being in the same city again, and hopefully, the chances of meeting him would grow slimmer by the day. I decided that the best thing I could do, was sticking to a safe zone and avoid any altercations with Caden. It took me a great deal of time to get over him and what he'd put me through the past year, and I needed to get my life back on track again.
I decided to text Jude and Ryan to tell them that we had landed safely and on our way home. Jude was an ultimate part of my life, my touchstone, along with his better half. While I'd only known Ryan for the last four years, Jude and I had known each other for over ten years. We'd attended junior and high school together, then moved to my dad's old apartment for college and Ryan moved with us two years two years later.
Jude was your basic French dreamer, Mediterranean looks that made people sweat out of jealousy, beautiful sapphire eyes and a body shaped out of Photoshop. He'd been carrying both our pains and deceptions, trying to make it better as we went.
He and Ryan had met during one of my college events that Jude had attended with me. Ryan was merely an acquaintance back then; we had several classes’ in common, but different majors, so we didn't spend much time together.
That was until he'd met Jude, and from that moment on, we'd became the notorious trio. They never made me feel left out, even though sometimes I'd felt like I should have. They moved together when an apartment in my building was put on the market during the summer. I encouraged the
m to take it. I could never imagine my life without them, especially Jude. I haven't seen it yet, they kept me up to date with the moving over Skype and phone calls, so I was looking forward to see it.
We were closing in on 27th and 6th St. I started looking through my purse for my keys. I had just gotten rid of the keychain Caden had offered me as an early graduation present. I couldn't bring myself to keep it; it was too painful. It was a beautiful silver chain holding my initials carved in gemstones. It was made by a local rising jeweler. I remembered the day he'd offered it to me. I'd been over the moon that he could make a gift feel so personal, like he knew me better than anyone else.
"OMG Clea, this is beautiful. Way better than my building in Paris."
Jenna' squeak snapped me out of my trance, her broad grin illuminated her face.
"What's mine is yours."
I returned her enthusiasm.
"Welcome home Miss Seiter."
We'd been in the apartment for more than three hours, and while I was officially exhausted, Jenna was still running and dancing around all excited. I was happy to be back in the comfort of my home; I’d really missed it. There wasn't any obvious change.
The guys had even left some of the things that belonged to them. It was a two bedroom apartment; the living room area connected to the kitchen with a Dutch door that my father used to take pride in establishing how he'd worked on it for several weeks during his college years. The building was one of the finest and authentic ones in Chelsea. It had a beautiful view, which my dad used to brag about when giving a reason for purchasing the apartment.
He'd only lived in it for three years, before the previous landlord had decided to put it on the market for sale. My father went through hell and beyond to buy it. He lived in it for thirteen years and left it when he started his career in politics and moved to D.C.
