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CHAPTER6
Merrick
Iclose my eyes, the sunlight streaming in the room burning my eyes and making my head pound harder.
More pounding shakes the little house and I realize it’s not my head. It’s my door.
Relief pours over me and I run for the door, almost tripping over my own feet, a smile breaking free as I slam the door open.
Only to feel it slip when I see it’s Booker.
“Oh, hello.”
I turn into the room and my shoulders slump.
“What a nice greeting, brother.”
“I thought you were somebody else.”
He snorts, his ridiculously cut jaw sharpening. “You thought I was that woman you slept with. Your vacation fling.”
I whip around and slam into him. “Stop calling her that, dammit!”
His voice gentles. “What would you call it? She left your bed in the middle of the night. That doesn’t sound like a woman in love. That sounds like a woman who was looking for some fun, got it and then snuck it.”
My eyes close and nausea creeps across me.
“She’s not like that. You didn’t see what she looked like before…”
“I know. You said she was upset. But she wouldn’t tell you why. And then she snuck out. Brother, she doesn’t seem like she wants you to find her. I think this was a one-time thing and you need to crawl out of the bottle and go on with your life.”
“ I told my friend about you. The one that runs that little repair shop. He’s looking for help. I know you tinker around when you feel like it. You’re good at that. That’s a damn job, Merrick. Stop playing around with this painting business. Get a job and grow up.”
I slam my fist down and fury rises up in me. “Stop fucking messing with me! I can’t help it, I’m not meant for things like you, Booker! I like my art.”
Although I haven’t touched any of it since Onyx left.
It makes my heart curl up in my chest to think about her sneaking out in the middle of the night and leaving me. Leaving my bed.
I’m going crazy thinking that something happened to her. That she was sick. That she died. That I’ll never see her again.
My gut twists and I close my eyes.
“You can’t go on like this, Merrick.” His rough voice is soft, like he’s afraid to break me.
I snort. Little does he know, I’m already broken.
“Do you know her name?” He sighs.
“Why?”
“I’ll try and find her.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t.”
He groans. “You may just need to stop thinking about her.”
“Easier to make myself quit breathing,” I groan and lean against the doorway to my studio. Then I walk inside and lift the cover on her portrait. It’s finished. That was the one thing I finished. The one time I touched paints.
