Heartache

by Danielle Allen

  The light in her eyes was fading. “What’s going on?” Bianca asked quietly. “Do—”

  The doorbell rang. We jumped apart as if we were caught doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing.

  “I’ll get it. You get dressed,” Bianca announced without looking at me.

  Bianca turned and closed the door behind her. I exhaled as soon as I heard her running down the stairs. I didn’t know what to do anymore.

  I dressed quickly in jeans and a t-shirt before running downstairs to see who would stop by without calling first.

  In the kitchen, I found Bianca and Meredith drinking orange juice.

  “Hey Meredith,” I said politely. “What’s going on?”

  Even though I wanted to ask her why the hell she was at my house, I refrained. Bianca and I shared a look and I smiled. From the look on Bianca’s face, I knew she was also curious about the intrusion.

  “Monroe sent me over because you weren’t answering your phone. Charlotte Spence sent this to Art House by courier this morning. Monroe said it was an urgent reply package.” She handed me a large white envelope that had ‘urgent’ stamped across the back. “She also gave me all of your mail to deliver to you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the mail from her. “I didn’t realize that was part of your job.”

  “I didn’t either,” she replied shyly. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she stood. “I’ll leave you two to have breakfast.”

  “I’ll see you later today, Meredith. You can let Monroe know I’ll be in today so she doesn’t have to send you to find me again.” I smiled at her as we walked to the front door. “And thanks again for my stuff.” I gestured to the kitchen with my head.

  “You’re welcome, Roman.” She beamed at me, her cheeks flushing. “And I’ll tell Monroe you’ll be in today. Bye,” Meredith squeaked as she waved and then ran out of the house.

  Closing the door, I returned to the kitchen, where Bianca was rinsing the two glasses out.

  “That was nice of her,” Bianca commented as she dried her hands and brought food to the table.

  “It was nice of Meredith to do it. It was overbearing for Monroe to ask her to do it,” I pointed out, sitting at the table.

  “You think Monroe’s overbearing?”

  “Yes.” I picked up the urgent letter from Charlotte Spence. “Monroe didn’t make Meredith drive over here to give me my mail because she wanted to make sure I had it. Monroe did that because she couldn’t stand the urgent letter sitting on her desk and not knowing what it was all about. When I go in later, Monroe’s ass is going to be standing outside of the elevators waiting.”

  “Wow, that’s an extreme kind of nosiness.”

  We ate bacon and biscuits while Bianca told me about her plans to teach in the summer. Once we were done and the dishes were cleaned off the table, I pulled my mail in front of me. Starting with the urgent envelope, I opened it. Scanning it quickly while drinking orange juice, I choked.

  “Are you okay?” Bianca asked, rushing to my side. “Stand up.” She pulled me up from my chair and rubbed my back while I coughed and sputtered.

  “I’m okay,” I said after a minute. “I’m okay.” I cleared my throat. “Shit.” I sat down heavily and took a deep breath.

  “What happened? What’s this?” She pointed to the letter I was clutching in my right hand.

  “An offer for me to collaborate with a fashion house. What’s a fashion house?” I looked up at her and her face was priceless. Her eyes were wide and her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ as she stared at me.

  “A design company,” she answered breathily.

  “Well, this design company, Sophia’s Haute Couture—”

  Sliding her chair next to mine, she sat down and gasped, “SoHoCo?”

  “Oh!” I pointed to the imprint that I hadn’t noticed before. “Yeah, that’s them. Well, they said that Charlotte showed them the photos of one of my pieces a couple of months ago and they used it to inspire one of their lines. Now they are inviting me to New York for fashion week in September.”

  “Roman…Oh my God!” She squealed so loudly, I recoiled a bit. Jumping up from her chair, she started bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Do you understand what this means?”

  I ran my hand down the side of my face in disbelief. “That my work just inspired a fashion line.”

  “No. Well, yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Do you know how huge that is for your career? You are going to be a household name. Do you know how many people wear and love SoHoCo?”

  Happiness radiated from her. Her eyes glowed with so much excitement that I got lost in them for a moment. “From your reaction, I’m guessing a lot.”

  Throwing her arms around my neck, she hugged me while I was still seated.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered against my neck as she squeezed me. “You deserve all of this.”

  Her lips grazed my skin with each word and I felt it everywhere.

  “Thank you,” I responded against her ear. I inhaled her and she smelled like a mixture of herself and my soap.

  My dick started hardening against my jeans. Gently pushing her away, I rose so that we were both on our feet. We were still close, but not close enough that she could feel me getting hard and not far enough away that she could see it.

  Bianca looked up at me, her eyes wet with tears. “I’m so happy for you, Ro. I’m…I don’t even know how else to express how I feel right now.”

  My heart lurched. Looking down at her, I felt a mixture of so many conflicting emotions that I could feel the sweat pop up on my forehead.

  If she sees that I’m hard, she’s going to know that she turns me on. And if she knows that, we can’t just go back to being friends. It’ll either be awkward or we will fuck. There’s no in between once it’s out there.

  “Are you ready for this?” She smiled in a way that captivated me. Pure, unadulterated happiness for me and directed at me was irresistible.

  My heart started thumping against my chest. “I don’t know,” I replied, unsure of if we were talking about the same ‘this’.

  Closing the gap between us, Bianca pressed her body against mine and I couldn’t resist wrapping my arms around her. In that moment, I didn’t care if she felt how much she turned me on, I just wanted to feel her happiness, her warmth, her soft curves.

  Bianca’s head rested on my chest as we hugged for a couple of minutes. I was almost certain she could hear my heart racing because I could hear it. The silence of the house intensified the sound.

  Moving her head from my chest, Bianca looked up at me with her beautiful, brown eyes and I stopped breathing momentarily. I felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her. But it wasn’t just because her lips were full and pouty. It was something more carnal than that. I didn’t just want to kiss Bianca, I needed to kiss her. I needed to feel her. I needed to taste her.

  “B…” I breathed, trying to control myself.

  Angling her body so that she was pressing directly against my dick, she licked her lips. “Yes?”

  My eyes traced the contours of her face, memorizing each curve and each line. “I need…” I started, failing at my attempt to physically restrain myself from kissing her. Her hands were clutching my shirt.

  My lips were inches from her face before a memory of the time in my life immediately after the breakup with Tia flashed in my mind. The memory of two days in that hotel was the wakeup call I needed.

  “I can’t see you anymore,” I choked out. My voice came out strangled and my arms fell limply from around her. The heel of my right hand immediately covered my heart and pressed into the pain that erupted.

  Bianca’s face seemed to register what I said slowly. The happy glow that had lit up her eyes only moments before quickly changed. In their place, dark and stormy eyes stared back at me.

  “What?” Her voice broke as she backed away from me.

  “I need some space,” I said quietly, unable to look at her anymore.

/>   Guilt seized me and it was unbearable.

  “I don’t understand, Roman.”

  Creating some distance between us, I walked to the refrigerator. With her behind me, without having to see her, I explained. “Our friendship was—This was a mistake. I take full responsibility for it and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, B, but I need you to leave. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Just go.”

  “Look at me. Please, Roman. Look at me,” Bianca pleaded, sounding close to tears.

  I moved the carton of orange juice from one side of the refrigerator to the other, pretending to be busy so I could effectively ignore her.

  “Roman!”

  “Just go. Please.”

  Why won’t she just leave? It would be easier for both of us if she just left. I’ve asked nicely, I’ve demanded. I don’t know what else to do. But what I do know is that I can’t take hearing the hurt in her voice anymore. This is the best thing for both of us. She has to go.

  “Roman.” She paused and it sounded as if she were moving closer to me. “Is this about what you told me last night?” Her voice was laced with hurt. “Because I—”

  “Bianca, go!” I barked, harshly.

  “Just like that? You just decide that the friendship is over and you end it just like that? Without even discussing it with me?’

  I didn’t respond and the silence between us was lethal. I could almost feel her eyes burning into my back.

  “Say it to my face. Don’t be a coward! If you want me to leave, turn around and say it to my face,” she challenged me. The anger and hurt made her voice sound broken and throaty.

  Taking a deep breath, I turned around with the orange juice carton in my hand. Without looking into her eyes for more than a second at a time, I lied, “I don’t want you here. Get out.”

  Once the words left my mouth, an audible gasp left hers.

  I looked at her just in time to see her wiping a tear away. Everything in me broke at the sight of Bianca crying and the knowledge that I was the cause of it.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from explaining myself. If I told her, she would convince me that we could still be friends even though that ship sailed.

  Anytime I feel like I need someone, that is the time to end it, I thought as I turned back around to the refrigerator.

  When I heard her leave the room, I sat down at the kitchen table. I stroked my beard as I heard her stomp up the stairs. With my eyes closed, I imagined her in my room and thoughts of us sleeping in the bed together flooded my mind. I remembered the way her body molded to mine in the middle of the night. When she stomped down the stairs, I braced myself for one last altercation. Putting my head in my hands, I resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t get any sleep for at least a few days due to the conversation that had just happened.

  The front door slammed with so much aggression, paintings on the wall shook.

  “Fuck!” I yelled, throwing the almost empty carton of orange juice across the room. Standing abruptly, I started pacing. My head was throbbing, my heart was pounding, and my mind was racing. An unfamiliar feeling of emptiness settled over me in the silence.

  I just lost my best friend.

  Pushing the thought away, I went through the other two packages that Meredith had brought over. The bigger box was the size of a cereal box. Carefully opening it, I pulled out three tubes of paint. I’d used a lot of black, white, and red when preparing for my showcase and ordered more.

  Even more of a reason for me to go to the studio today and not come back home for a few days, I thought, stuffing the paint back into the box. I needed to clear my mind. I hadn’t been to the studio in days.

  I absentmindedly opened the smaller box and found a piece of paper. Unfolding it, I saw a smudged charcoal portrait.

  It was a decent drawing of a man. His hair was dark and short. His face was constructed of a number of sharp lines. The jaw, the nose, the eyebrows, and even the smile were all just a bunch of interconnected lines that didn’t quite look realistic enough to be a portrait, but not cartoonish enough to be a caricature. The words ‘MY HEART’ in capital letters appeared on the t-shirt of the man.

  If I was still teaching and this was from one of my introductory students, I’d give it a B. If this was from one of my intermediate students, I’d give it a C, I thought, assessing the work.

  I looked on the back of the paper for a name. Nothing.

  I looked at the box for a name or return address. Nothing.

  I looked at the drawing again and shook my head, puzzled.

  But since I’m not teaching this semester, there’s no reason I’d receive a student drawing. Maybe a former student who was at the showcase thought they would be able to get a foot in the door by getting their work in front of me? Maybe someone from the showcase was inspired and dropped it off? Maybe—

  My mind went blank as I realized what I was looking at. I’d been distracted by the sloppy composition of the face so I’d missed the eyes; downcast, conveying sadness, the one truly well-constructed part of the drawing. The eyes were an unnatural shade of green, but the golden brown starbursts in them were familiar.

  Holding the paper arm’s length away, I realized that the man in the drawing was me.

  Scanning the paper slowly and carefully, I looked for a clue or something to let me know who could’ve drawn it. Hidden in the curve of the shoulder, I saw small white lines going against the sloping streak of the charcoal.

  The letters M and E embedded in the work gave me a chill.

  “What the hell?” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t think it was cute or flirtatious and it wasn’t turning me on anymore. It had gone too far. The drawing had officially creeped me the fuck out.

  This had to be dropped off, I realized, noticing there wasn’t a stamp on the box. Monroe or Meredith had to have seen whoever dropped this off.

  Feeling as though I had gotten my first lead, I grabbed everything I needed to take with me to the studio and rushed out of the house. Happy for the distraction, I revved the engine of my Mustang and sped off in the direction of Art House.

  _____

  Chapter Twelve

  I have to play it cool. Monroe is too fucking nosey and Meredith will do whatever Monroe tells her to do so I can’t let too much information out, I thought, pulling the earbuds out of my ears as I walked through the front door.

  Giving a nod to the man who had a studio on the second floor, I waited while Meredith gave him his mail.

  “Thanks, Meredith,” he said before giving me a nod and walking toward the elevator.

  “So I guess you didn’t hand deliver everyone’s mail today,” I teased her, folding my arms across my chest.

  Her face flushed instantly and she looked down into her lap. “I’m sorry about that. Monroe just—”

  “I’m just playing with you Meredith. It’s no problem,” I interrupted, afraid I was going to embarrass her and not get any information. “I appreciated it. Really.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears and I could see her cheeks lift as she smiled. “Oh okay.”

  “I had a quick question though.”

  Her face was still flushed, but she managed to lift her head and look me in my eyes. “Okay?” Her voice was hesitant.

  “I received a package and I don’t know where it came from. It didn’t have a name or address or anything. You don’t happen to remember who dropped it off do you?”

  “I assumed a courier. If it’s not the post office or one of the major shippers, I always assume it’s a private courier.” She gave a little shrug. “That’s not much help is it?”

  And there goes my lead.

  “How many private couriers came by today?” I asked, glancing at the stack of packages on her desk.

  Shit. That’s a lot of packages.

  “These are just the packages that came in the last hour or so. There are a few more back in the mail room,” she informed me quietly, clearly having read my expression. She pushed her rectangular fr
amed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “But three came by today.”

  “How many were women?”

  Her eyebrows came together momentarily before she looked down again. “One.”

  I took a breath. I wanted to ask Meredith if the courier was a blonde or a brunette, but there wasn’t a way for me to ask without making her suspicious.

  “Maybe that was the courier who dropped off the package.”

  “Maybe,” she answered, looking at her computer screen intently. “You said it didn’t have a name or anything on it so I would imagine it would be one of the three private ones. I could get Monroe and ask if she remembers the names of the couriers. She remembers random stuff like that all the time.”

  I rubbed my beard thoughtfully. “No, it’s okay.” I smiled and backed away from the desk a little. “Oh,” I started as if the thought had just occurred to me. “Was her hair light or dark?”

  “Dark brown,” she answered, looking at me warily over her glasses.

  Allie.

  “Oh okay. Hmmm, I don’t know who it could be,” I mused audibly. Pulling the small canvas that I’d worked on at home out of my bag, I handed it to Meredith. “Well anyway, here’s a painting that Grace and Renee won at the showcase. Here’s the information that was listed on their cards. One of them should be by to pick it up sometime today. Thanks Meredith!” I said, backing away from the desk.

  “I’ll make sure they get it.”

  I made it a few steps away before I heard Monroe exiting her office noisily. “Roman! Roman!”

  I don’t have time for this, I thought as I pushed the elevator button. I need to find Allie, confront her and stop her.

  Running over to me as the elevator doors opened, Monroe trapped me inside of the elevator car.

  She put her hands on her hips and glared dramatically at me. “I know you heard me calling you, Roman Harper!”

  “I have a lot on my mind, Monroe. What’s up?”

  “What did that package that Charlotte sent over say? Why was it urgent?”

  “It’s a private, time sensitive matter.” Swiping my card to get off on the fifth floor, I waited impatiently for the doors to open.