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Evan is to be credited for the influx of business. As expected, we haven’t met again, talked, or texted. There isn’t any reason for us to. Then, there are those nights I catch myself fantasizing about this man I didn’t know and would never get to know. Reprimanding myself for those actions seems futile; they persistently recur. So, I allow them to come and go. They float through my mind like a bubble.
One day, he’ll stop blowing bubbles in my head. As of right now, I need to finish preparing the room for a client.
Ding!
Glancing at my phone, a message appears from Adrian, the sweetest and kindest young man I've corresponded with.
Adrian
Be there soon :D
He's a follower who trickled in a little late after my sudden wave of popularity. His comments gradually become more frequent until he finds the courage to text me and ask for a portrait commission. Today I'm going to meet him.
“All right, stool, snacks, water cup,” I go over my mental checklist of items, “Everything is in order.”
Now, all that's left to do is wait. I debate in my head whether it's the most or least stressful part about preparing for an in-person client, but I don’t have much time to ponder when I receive another message from Adrian.
Adrian:My sincerest apologies. An emergency arose. Can we move the session to a little later today? Again, super sorry :(
“Aw, damn,” I sigh.
Me:No worries. Not sure how much time you need, but we can move it to four. Is that suitable? I hope you’re okay.It's a little late, but it's not a problem. At least I can get started on it today.
Adrian: Perfect!
Me:Great, I’ll see you then.
Chapter seven
The Unexpected Return
Me:Checkingin.Anyupdates?Ifyou need to, we can reschedule for tomorrow.Do you still wanna come in today?
My fingers hover over the send button, but I opt for saying nothing. He’ll text me when he's ready.
“Hopefully,” I sigh. It's about to be five in the afternoon, and not a single word from him yet. Whatever emergency held him up must’ve been bad; I prayed he’d resolved the issue by now. Or at least that no one was dead. A thin layer of film dried over my paints.
Voicing my thoughts aloud, I rise from the couch. "Ugh, what a disappointment that he can't make it." Meeting him was something I looked forward to, and tomorrow was my day off. With the cup of water and palette in hand, I plan to empty the water and figure out how to keep the paints fresh. Yet, a deliberate knock halts my motion.
“Oh! He must be here,” I place down the cup and palette, smoothing over my appearance before opening the door.
“Hi, welcome in—” In a fraction of a second, I grasp at every logical explanation that flashes through my mind. A hallucination. Trick of the light. Doppelganger. I double-take, but nothing about the smug smile before me changed. His coal eyes paralyze me through the fluff of his brown hair.
“Miss me?” His voice is as grating as always. He takes a step forward, and I open my mouth to scream, but instead, my lip slacks, and the rest of my body goes limp with it. The end of a needle slinks from my neck, “Shh, we can’t make too much noise.”
Too easily, he closes the door with his foot, locks it, and drags me inside. The walls fade to black, leaving his face to be the last thing I see before everything fades into darkness.
***
Grogginess sits on my shoulders, hooking its fingers on my lips and pulling on my face. Sitting up straight isn’t an option as I sway from side to side, noticing the thick, itchy rope strapping me to a chair.
“Good morning,” his slimy voice snaps me from my hazy state, “very early morning, actually; it’s four A.M.,” he conveys, holding up my phone with a gloved hand, the bright screen displaying a digital clock, “you were out for quite some time,” he sighs, relaxing into the couch, arms splayed against the seat’s back and legs spread. I am displayed in front of him, ready for him to scourge.
“Wow…I can’t believe it. Almost three years apart. Those were the hardest years of my life,” his hands cup my cheeks. I can feel his breath graze my face as he connects our foreheads, and my weakened muscles can’t fight to tear my face from his touch.
“Come on, don’t struggle,” there is that cheap, plastic sweetness that so obviously fights to preserve his wild, childish anger. Nails blunted by gloves press into my skin. It frightens me enough to make me still and crumble into a sobbing mess. The makeshift gag—a rag—shoved between my teeth muffles my cries, “Aw, it’s okay, I missed you too, Carmen—I mean,‘Isabella.’Cute name.”
All too fast, my heart is already cramping, stabbing at my insides. He's too unpredictable to expect anything.I am going to die.
