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Indie
TWO MONTHS LATER
SIXTY-TWO DAYS OF working for Roman. Sixty-two days of unspoken desire shared in stolen glances and unintentional touches. Sixty-two days where my rent and bills are paid without having to work extra shifts and food is stocked in our pantry and fridge. Although the constant struggle to survive has dissipated, it’s my heart that I have a daily battle with now. The longer I’m in Roman’s presence, the harder it is to breathe. The harder it is to sleep at night, knowing that the man I’m falling for is dangerous for me on so many levels.
The flirtatious banter between us is beyond driving me insane. I’m trying my damnedest to hate this man, yet with every smirk of his perfectly formed lips, he melts my insides. My skin tingles deliciously whenever his hand brushes mine, and his masculine scent lingers around my desk whenever he walks past me, entrapping me in his presence.
Even though I told him months ago to prove me wrong. To prove to me that he is not the man I believe him to be, it’s been more me trying to prove to myself the bad in him far outweighs the good. However, I continue to choose to see the greys of Roman.
Last week he asked me to accompany him to a function. I declined, of course, keeping the lines of our relationship clear. I work for him. I owe him a debt, and life is too complicated enough to blur those lines.
Austin is doing so much better; he’s attending school and making somewhat of an effort. I fear it may be too late for him, though. He’s missed so much and failed too many classes; I just can’t see how he is going to make it all up in time to graduate next month. Maybe it’s the fact I’m home every night now, that he chooses my company over his friends, or maybe, just maybe he’s learned his lesson and finally sees we’re in a good place, and he doesn’t want to ruin things. Either way, I’m enjoying having my brother back. Well, that was at least until he didn’t come home last night, and I've not seen or heard from him at all today. I feel like I should be worried, but honestly, this is so typical of Austin and doesn’t surprise me in the least. I can only hold him back so much without pushing him away. I just hope he’s doing the right thing.
I spend my weekends walking around the city taking photographs. The weather this time of the year is perfect for it with comfortable temperatures and moderate cloud cover. The streets are filled with young couples holding hands, families with their kids and strollers, and groups of young girls on weekend shopping adventures. But that’s not what I capture. Those are the happy shots that you would find on any camera reel on any one of those people’s phones. I aim to capture moments that people don’t pay attention to. The ones where life is too busy for them to stop and see what is hidden behind the beautiful moments. The memories that get pushed deep down because they are too painful to revisit, too real to see.
Clipping a row of negatives that I have just finished developing onto the drying rack, I then unpack the bag of second-hand photography gear I purchased today, thanks to Roman and his generous pay checks. I used a 35mm black-and-white negative and plan to scan them into my computer to digitally enhance the images, adding pops of color throughout. Now that I have some proper tools, it will open a door to so many creative possibilities. I can’t wait to see the results.
A hard knock at the door startles me. My throat dries, and my stomach drops. I look at the clock on the wall. It's seven pm on Sunday night. I don’t get visitors; I have no friends. Who the hell would be at my door, and a better question is, why? I’ve been on edge ever since Austin got himself in trouble and can’t shake the feeling since he got off too easy that, sooner or later, something or someone will catch up with him.
“Who is it?” I yell through the door. In my neighborhood, you don’t just open your front door to anyone.
“Detective Andrew Marshall from Boston Police. Could I have a moment of your time, Miss Johnson? I have some questions for you and your brother.”
“Austin is not home,” I reply with my hands shaking and voice cracking. “Is there a problem?”
I panic, realizing Austin has been out all day, and perhaps something has happened to him. I unchain the door and open it. I’m immediately met by a tall, stocky man in a navy suit. He looks to be mid-thirties, and the nasty scar that runs under his chin adds to his intimidating stare.
“No problem,” he answers. “There are a few young men that Austin has been seen with that I would like to question him about.”
“Look, Austin is a good kid.” I jump to his defenses quickly; I know where this is headed, and it’s not good.
“I don’t doubt that, Miss Johnson. It’s the company he keeps that is questionable.” He opens his jacket and flashes me his badge. “Can I come inside so we can talk.”
“No, you cannot.” I shake my head, feeling more and more uneasy by the second. “Shouldn’t you have a partner or something? I didn’t think you guys do this kind of thing on your own.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Why would you say that? Should I be concerned for my safety, Miss Johnson?”
“Why would you say that?” I quickly snap back. “Now, I’m concerned for my safety.”
He raises both hands in the air and takes a step back. “I’m no danger to you, Miss Johnson. I just have a few questions for your brother, is all.”
“Well, like I said, he’s not home.”
The detective's Adam’s apple bobs in his throat with annoyance. “What time are you expecting him home?”
“He didn’t say?”
Something about this guy is off. I know people get nervous and anxious normally around cops, but this is different. I feel an unsettling right down to my bones, causing them to chill and ache.
“Do you know where he is?”
“No,” I answer sharply.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card, handing it to me.
“Here is my card. Have him call me when he gets home.”
I take the card from him. I don't bother looking at it; I just start to shut the door. His foot wedges into it, preventing it from closing. I look up at him shocked as the door flings back towards me with force.
