The Art of Me (The All of Me Book 1)

by S. J. Blaze

  After my long weekend, work has piled up. I shift through my messages and find some serious issues on the CC merger that need my attention. I also notice that I’m scheduled in court next week. Trevell’s case, the pro bono case I’ve been working on, begins at the same time as CC is scheduled to finalize the merger in Montpellier, France. I can’t be in two places at once. I’ll have to set things up for a replacement.

  Coen might be my best in. Catch him while he’s in a good mood. I hate bailing on him, but I think I can set things up where my absence won’t make much of a difference. I try his number thinking I can leave a quick voicemail.

  “Hey, love. Missing me already?”

  “Ha, you’re a funny man, Mr. Collins. Thanks for the flight upgrade, by the way. That was sweet of you,” I speak through my goober filled nose.

  “You shouldn’t have had to ride commercial. Love, you don’t sound well. Are you sick?”

  “Ssshhh. Don’t tell anyone. I’m trying to make it through my day.” I chuckle a snotty snortle. “Coen, I hate to do this to you, but I received a court date today on my pro bono case. It begins next Friday. It’s a murder case and I’m hesitant to walk away.”

  “Of course, love. Can the CC team handle things solo?”

  “I’ll prep them. I can send my legal secretary. She’s been working with me on the case.”

  “Anything for my fiancée,” he says softly.

  I’m about to correct him when I notice Gunner walk into my office, close the door, and sit in the chair facing my desk. He crosses his arms, eyebrows raised. He doesn’t look like he plans on moving. I better hurry this along. And now I have an eavesdropper.

  “Coen, à ce sujet. Je voudrais revenir sur le ring. Je suis sûr qu'il était coûteux et je ne me sens pas à l'aise avec elle dans mes soins.”

  Coen, about that. I’d like to return the ring. I’m sure it was costly and I don’t feel comfortable with it in my care.

  “Why are you speaking in French? Is somebody there? Do I need to send in Davis?”

  “Je vais bien. Juste un ami déposer un déjeuner tôt. Je ne voulais pas que quelqu'un a mal interprété les choses.”

  I’m fine. Just a friend dropping off an early lunch. I didn’t want anyone to misread things.

  He sighs. “Charlie, there’s nothing to misread. Hold the ring for now. I’ll be back in a few days and we can have that date. Are you wearing it?”

  “Non, Je l'ai laissé dans ma boîte à bijoux.”

  No, I left it in my jewelry box.

  He hums his disapproval. “Ok, we’ll talk about this soon. Text me later. I’ll have Davis drop in to check in on you. Feel better, love.”

  “Bye.” I sigh while looking over at Gunner and immediately go on the offense. “You should leave. I have a hectic day ahead of me and no time to waste.”

  “Look baby girl…what happened was...”

  “Don’t call me that! Obviously, it means nothing. An empty term of endearment,” I interrupt.

  “Charlie…”

  “No, I’m done Gunner. Please leave.”

  “NO!” He jumps up, rounds the table, and grabs both arms of the chair pulling me towards him.

  “Three years. We’ve been family for three years. What in the fuck is going on with you? You just shut down.”

  I push back at his chest interrupting him again. “Is that what this is? Me shutting down. Not you guys giving me shit then freezing my ass out? Then you have the fucking audacity to bring some nasty piece of ass into my house? Are you fucking kidding me?” I’m livid. Fuming and he’s turning it around. Family, my ass. I try to stand, pushing him away, but he gets directly in my face and grabs my neck hard.

  “Would you calm your shit and listen for two fucking minutes?” He squeezes and I go silent. It’s time to medicate and my sinuses are pulsing tighter with the increased blood flow. I should have left work early and avoided all of this.

  Despite his constricting hold, I lean further into him, daring him with my eyes. “Just relax, baby girl. I just wanted to talk. This got out of hand. I’m going to let go and you’re going to join me by the chairs. Then we’re going to talk and say what needs to be said. You got me?”

  We’re so close that I notice the tension lines in his forehead. I notice the coloring under his eyes and that his lips are more chapped than usual. Even his perfect rocker shoulder length hair is askew. Maybe he’s taking this harder than I thought. No matter what, he was still a contributing party to last night’s hurt fest.

  “You hurt me,” I whisper.

  “Shit.” He drops his hands and steps back.

  “Last night,” I correct him. “Last night you and Trig, and especially that bald asshole, you hurt me!”

  He drops his head, the curly dark hair curtain blocking my view, and grabs the back of his neck.

  “You’re the last person in this fucking world I want to hurt. I swear to you! That’s not why we came over. We needed to talk, as a band, as a family.” He straightens up and props himself on the edge of my desk. “Look, in five weeks we start touring. The label wants to drop another single from Fully Loaded. We’re supposed to be in New York next weekend to do a radio tour since we’re finally starting to gain some momentum. We shouldn’t be fighting. We’ve got to be a strong band to get through this.”

  “I don’t know what to say to you, Gun.” I sigh to the floor. He knows me better than anyone and he was the one with my key. He’s the one I trusted, unequivocally.

  “I didn’t know he’d bring her.”

  “I don’t care. You knew she was there.”

  “I fucked up. I’m sorry. Get over this shit and let’s move on.”

  “No. What happened that night?”

  “Last night?” he asks, confused.

  I nearly growl in frustration, my patience is growing thin. “No. The last time we were at BedHead. When you all bailed on me and this shit storm started brewing.”

  “Oh, that night.” He scratches his neck, again. “That was on us. Well, on Bullet really. He crossed a line.”

  “What line? What are you talking about?”

  “The pact. The guys and I made a pact that we’d never cross that line. Never get physical...with you.”

  “You kiss me all the time. All three of you. We even sleep in the same bed, and I just…I just don’t get it.”

  “Hhmmmm. We, ah, we can’t fuck this up. You get me. Being with you, well, that would fuck this up.”

  “Jesus, thanks a lot! You’ve said what you needed. Please leave.” I stand and walk to the window, effectively cutting him out and ending the conversation.

  He follows, apparently not getting the hint, and wraps one arm around my top half, and the other bands me in across the stomach. His mouth is close to my ear and he’s rubbing his scruffy face against my neck and cheek.

  “Baby, you’ve got to understand, Bullet crossed that line. Trig and I beat his ass for it. He knows we can’t lose you. We won’t lose you. You’re part of this, part of us. I don’t know what you’ve got in this crazy brain of yours, but please get it through.” He kisses my neck. “We love you, baby girl. I fucking love you.”

  He seals me to him. My back to his front. I willingly lean in. I miss him. He’s supposed to know me. He knows how to hurt me and how to make things better. That makes him both dangerous and paramount.

  “I have to think about things,” I reply hoarsely.

  “Okay, talk to me, though. Don’t shut me out. You wanna kick Bullet’s ass, I don’t mind as long as you leave his hands in good shape. You could do one of your awesome little ninja moves.” He chuckles and kisses me again. “I miss you. I hate missing you! Please stop making me miss you!”

  I give him a half smile and turn to look him in the eye. His reflection in the window isn’t doing him justice. “I got engaged,” I say slyly and wait for the Gunner volcano to erupt. And he does. Even sexy rockers sometimes have a challenging time keeping their cool.

  We spend the next twenty
minutes talking about this past weekend and my fake engagement. He isn’t Coen’s biggest fan, to say the least. Other than saving me at City Walk, Gun saw no rationale as to why Coen was in Orlando. He made a point to repeatedly tell me how he doesn’t trust Coen and that he will only hurt me in the end. It was disturbing to hear but wasn’t entirely unexpected.

  We mapped out a solid schedule for the next few weeks and then he left claiming that if I didn’t start sending my daily texts and calls, that he would obsessively hunt me down and stalk me. It’s not hard to do; I’m either at work or home, most days.

  At least the throbbing in my head went away, if only it would stay away. But peace is a rare occurrence in my life and tends to have a fleeting shelf life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Go away!” I yell through the door. Bullet is on the other side, but I want nothing to do with him.

  I arrived home thirty minutes ago and I feel like absolute monkey poo. I’m in my comfy sweats and was finally sitting down to relax with a bowl of chicken soup that I picked up from the deli. It’s still warm and has awesome fluffy matzo balls. The meds are finally working and I’ve found stuffy head zen. The last thing I want to do is get all worked up.

  “Open up! I wanna talk.”

  “Go away! I’m sick and don’t wanna deal with your shit!”

  “Come on. I won’t take long. I’ll stay here all night if I have to. You know how stubborn I can be.”

  Damn. He’s right. He is extremely tenacious. I open the door and walk away. Let him figure the rest out. I bury myself in the couch, padding the four blankets in all around me, and dig into my extremely satisfying soup.

  He walks in front of the TV, blocking my view and straining to garner my attention.

  I shake my head, seeing through his guise. “Clocks ticking, baldy.”

  “I don’t like you hurting.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have fucking hurt me!”

  “What do you want me to say, baby girrr...”

  “Don’t say it. You don’t get to say it anymore! Just like you won’t be getting my lips. Just like you won’t be getting my friendship. And just like you won’t be getting my fucking heart!”

  I stand up, soup now forgotten, and impede his personal space, my hands flailing everywhere to punctuate my points. “I didn’t know about the pact. I just thought we were having a moment of, I don’t know, something. I thought, maybe, we connected. But even if we didn’t, even if what happened meant absolutely nothing to you, you still owed it to me to be a decent friend. To not shut me out. Shut me down. Then bring a, a, a female into my home!”

  He looks over to where I was pointing. “Where’s your dining room set?” He questions while quirking his head to the side.

  “I lit it on fire during a sacrificial offering to bring a bout of herpes to your sensitive man parts.”

  “Right.” He hisses and grabs my head pulling me towards his chest by my hair. “You don’t really believe any of what you just said, do you?” I nod, because, well, I do, except for the offering. Although, I did think about it.

  “What happened wasn’t nothing. You hear me. It was beautiful. Watching you, in that way. So fucking beautiful. I’ve never seen anything more perfect than watching you cum. And knowing that I brought you there. That I was the first…” He stops and scratches his new beard. “I’m glad that Gun stopped me, Shooter. I shouldn’t have touched you the way I did, and now, fuck… and now I can’t get it out of my head.”

  He releases me and turns away, his hand rubbing his bald head. “You’ve got no idea how hard it’s been to not touch you for the last three years. In the beginning, you were still just a kid. Remember? Now, you’ve gotten so fucking gorgeous. And that night you were wearing that sexy as sin shirt and were all wet. Your face was flushed, and fuck, I had to taste you. I know I screwed up. I know I took things too far, and that I hurt you. The really fucked part is, I wouldn’t take it back.”

  He turns back around to face me. “I’ve never wanted anything more than you, baby girl,” he whispers and I can see the moisture building in his eyes. “You think you’re nothing, but what you don’t get is, YOU’RE FUCKING EVERYTHING!” He puts his head to mine and breathes me in. “If I can only hold you in my arms as a friend, then that’s what I’ll take. That’s all they’ll let me take.” He kisses my head. “I love you, Charlie! Maybe someday, you’ll be mine to truly love.”

  He kisses me again on the head and walks away.

  “Feel better, baby girl. Lock up after me.”

  I wonder if he meant the door or my heart. Because, I honestly no longer know...

  Chapter Twenty

  Edith Wharton claimed that, “There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.” I’m neither the candle nor the mirrored reflection.

  Instead, I’m a crystal. I refract. I bend the light and create a masterpiece of color on the other side. Using wavelengths and depths, the color changes in my spectrum.

  And although I’m the myriad of colors in its reverse, the light is still singular.

  I am still whole.

  Just colored in different shades and seen in different planes.

  I am refraction.

  This was how I used to feel. That I was broken light and in an element all my own. But I’ve decided that this is no longer the case. That I am, in fact, the mirror. A mirror that has broken into thousands of shards and pieces. I am reflected and refracted in those pieces. The colors are there but only when the candle, only when the light, is present.

  I think I was the light once. I think I had a candle that had begun to glow, an ember. But it was snuffed out. And sadly enough, I think it was the mirror, the vicious shard that breaks the light, which eventually led to my death. The candle that lost all warmth in the vacuum where darkness exploded and entertained.

  I was never a normal child. Despite how hard mother tried to make me so, my DNA claimed otherwise. I began walking too early. I spoke too early. I read too early.

  At two, I began with tutors. Father insisted that I have the best education; a gift as great as mine deserved to be harnessed. Mother agreed, as Joelle was beginning Kindergarten and she was the ‘normal’ child, plus it kept me out of her hair.

  With private education and access to the wonderful worldwide web, my knowledge grew. I was a sponge; language, mathematics, science, history and especially law. I loved law.

  If there was a puzzle, an order, a complication to be solved it was met with enthusiasm and infatuation. I needed to solve that puzzle. Law provided that avenue. To hunt that loophole. To devour the status quo and evolve. I aspired to be the good guy.

  As my education flourished in the realm of academia, both my parents realized that I lacked the social skills needed to advance properly in society. My sister wanted nothing of me and my closest confidents were my tutors. I couldn’t relate to children my own age. They didn’t make sense to me. They would say ridiculous things like, “If you don’t play with me than I won’t be your best friend.” What nonsensical notions. I saw no value in their friendship and refused to pursue it.

  My end goal was Harvard. Always Harvard. I would endure come what may, if I would be allowed to learn from some of the most sought after minds in the legal world.

  Before allowing me to enter any type of higher learning, mother insisted I go to high school as it was some of the best years of her life. There are homecoming games and prom and a child shouldn’t miss out on such crucial activities. They are a rite of passage.

  It was horrid, I was a freak. I was never asked to any games. Why would I be? I graduated at twelve years old. Who wants a date that hasn’t even hit puberty yet? Apparently, not the average pox-covered teenage boy. Friendships were nonexistent. Then in senior year, my sister joined the ranks as a freshman and led the ‘Charlie is a geek’ club. Needless to say, I never went to Prom or did any of those rites.

  It was college that changed me forevermore. In the end, it was the Un
iversity of Florida that won my acceptance. I would have preferred to move further away from home, but as it was less than a two-hour drive from Orlando, this was the only school acceptable. Beginning as a sophomore, I only had to endure two and a half years.

  Mother insisted that I live in the dorm and the university paid extra for the RA to watch over me. I had a curfew and had to check in at the end of the night. I was warned repeatedly to stay away from any parties, mainly off campus. It was very strict. Not at all a typical college experience.

  Puberty had finally found me and that alone felt like a huge accomplishment. By the end of my senior year, I had begun to smile and even have short conversations with others in my class.

  I wore my hair in a shoulder length bob and would hide behind it whenever the need arose. My baggy clothes always covered me, despite the eternal Florida heat, and I never flirted…ever. I just wanted to learn. I wanted to be invisible. I thought I was.

  The date was December 2nd, a Thursday night. I had just finished the last of my exams and was staying on campus until graduation. I was elated. I had survived relatively unscathed. There was a party that night at a fraternity house and one of the freshman girls on my floor, Krissy, had begged me to attend. We had been semi social and she was sweet, so why not? The last and only party. Although Harvard will have its own brand of party, UF is a notorious party school. Might as well try to act my age, well a few years older anyway.

  With nothing to wear, Krissy and two of her girlfriends dressed me. I guess I was their Barbie doll guinea pig. A beer in my hand, a skirt too short and my goodies nearly hanging out, we were dancing away. I must have lost track of the girls because the next thing I knew, Tori, Krissy’s friend attacked me on the makeshift dance floor begging for help. She claimed that Krissy was in the bathroom and crying for me.

  Naturally, I went. I didn’t know the protocol, but she was one of the few people I actually liked.