Ashley's Bend (41 page)

It felt good to wake up in my own bed the next morning, I thought to myself as I rose up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. What didn’t feel good was the lack of sleep I got and the lucid dreams that my subconscious determined that I needed to have about Ashley. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw hers looking back at me, taunting me in my sleep over what we had and lost. As I sat in bed, I thought back to Knox’s comment yesterday about how he thinks that Ashley didn’t say that we were running a prostitution ring on purpose. Could it be possible that there was a good reason behind what she did, or was it because she just wanted money or something else?

I was brought out of my thoughts as I heard a noise come from the other room. Since I live alone, and I don’t have a dog, it only meant one thing; someone is in my apartment. Reaching under the bed, I grabbed my Ruger 357 and cocked it in place. Slowly, I pulled the covers off of my legs and rose from the bed as softly as I could, trying not to make a noise. With tentative steps, I crept down the hallway from my bedroom with my back facing the wall so that I could see behind and in front of me. I pointed the gun out in front of me as I stepped into the living room, searching for the intruder. The room was empty, but then a bang followed by a curse sounded from the kitchen, and I crept towards it with nervous steps.

“Gotcha you, fucker!” I yelled as I dashed around the corner and pointed a gun at the intruder.

“Jesus Christ!” Knox yelled as the coffee bag he was holding slipped from his hands and spilled out onto the floor.

“What the fuck, Knox?” I berated him as my hands still slightly trembled from the nervousness I felt, “What are you doing here?”

“I spent the night on your couch because I was afraid that you might go off and actually do something stupid, Nic. We need to keep level heads about this situation or it could turn out really bad,” Knox admitted.

When I felt like my heart rate had returned to normal and my breathing not at a hyperventilating pace, I soaked in the words of his statement. Just what stupid things did he think I would do?

“Like going off to confront Ashley, you dickhead,” he said when he saw the cogs turning in my brain. Knox really knew me well, too well in fact. Sometimes, I think he knew me better than I knew myself.

Truth was, I had thought about confronting Ashley. I wanted to know what drove her to tell lies not only about me, but Knox and the club as well. But the biggest question of all had to be why? Why did she do it? How could she take something like what was happening between us and stomp it all to shit?

“That, right there, is the reason I stayed, man. That look on your face. Even now you are thinking about going to her. Listen, you can’t, not yet at least. I want to know just as badly as you do why she did what she did, but we have to be smart about it. If she were out to gain something from it, she could use our confrontation against us. If she…” He trailed off as if he had a sudden realization.

“If she what?” I asked impatiently. The more I thought about Ashley, the deeper I started to sink back into the black hole that I felt inside. Fuck, I need a distraction, and since I don’t have the club to go to, my normal diversion to fuck hard was not an option.

“Have you thought about the possibility that maybe someone forced her to do it, Nic?”

I pondered his question briefly; it was possible, but if that were the case she could have come to me and I would have helped her. She didn’t have to crush my world and my heart at the same time.

“Why are you giving her the benefit of the doubt, Knox? Are you forgetting that your ass was thrown in jail right along with mine? Are you forgetting that both of our reputations are on the line over this shit? I mean...fuck!” I said heatedly as I pulled at the hair at my temples. The sting of pain did nothing to diminish what I was feeling. I looked down and realized that I was still in nothing but my boxers after waking to find Knox this morning. I stormed off toward my room even more pissed off than when I was when I woke up. Why was he defending her? As I threw on some clothes I didn’t know who I was more pissed off at; Ashley, my best friend, or myself.

My face felt like it had been hit with a baseball bat. I was so stopped up that I had to breathe through my mouth the entire night, which caused the awful taste I now had in it. I smacked my lips trying to create moisture to lubricate the desert that had formed in my mouth. Karma is definitely against me because if it weren’t bad enough that my heart and soul were broken; I was now sick on top of it. Trying to muster up all the strength I could, I rose from bed to go to the bathroom to brush my teeth to try and get the awful taste out of my mouth. I fell into the doorframe on my path to the bathroom from my equilibrium being off balance, and I would probably have a nasty bruise tomorrow from the impact with my shoulder.

I groaned as I looked in the mirror at my appearance. The woman staring back at me had dark circles under her red rimmed eyes, puffy face and matted hair from lying in bed the whole day prior. My usual illuminated skin had lost its shine and now looked dull and lifeless. I hadn’t eaten much in the last several days and my stomach grumbled in angry protest. Reaching for some toilet paper, I blew my nose to try and relieve some of the pressure that made my head feel fuzzy.

I took a nice long hot shower to rid my aching body of the dirt and grime I felt from lying in bed all day, as well as to help open my nasal passages so that I could breathe. Methodically, I went about washing my hair and body before I turned off the comforting warmth of the water and wrapped myself in a towel. I padded with heavy feet back to my room in search of something comfortable to wear to my art class. Passing Kelly’s room on the way, I saw that the door was open, but she was not in there and assumed that she had already gone to work.

Robotically, I dressed in an ordinary pink V-neck t-shirt and my favorite pair of bootcut jeans. I didn’t feel like drying my hair, so I left it to air dry as I went to my dresser in search of socks to put on my cold feet. I reached into the drawer, and my hand brushed against a small flat box. I picked it up and lifted the lid to find the submissive in training necklace that I had gotten on my first night as a trainee at The Celtic Knot. I paced backwards a few steps until the back of my knees hit the bed, and I sat down. Setting the lid aside, I brushed the tips of my fingers along the chain of the necklace and felt the coldness of the metal as it made contact with my skin. I closed my eyes and thought back to the night when Dominic placed the Celtic knot adorned chain around my neck. I remembered how his fingers grazed the skin of my collarbone and how goose bumps formed on my skin with the simplest touch.

Holding the necklace in one hand, I brought my other up to rest on the hollow of my neck, only I imagined Dominic’s fingers resting there as I tried to anticipate what his next move would be. My mind recalled how he touched me that night, how when he strapped me to the St. Andrew’s Cross and cut my corset away from my body, that I had never been more turned on in my life. The metal of the knife he used grazed my skin teased me, making my body crave something that I would soon become obsessed with. I reminisced about how his fingers felt as he touched my sex and how I so easily came apart in his hands, coming harder than I ever could remember.

My need to release a deep, barking cough tore me from my memories with Dominic, and I frowned at the disappointment that he wasn’t actually here with me. He would never be with me again, and that is when the tears began to fall. I clutched the necklace so tightly in my hands that it left an imprint of the Celtic symbol into the palm of my hand. It was like I was trying to brand the memories into me with the action, just like Dominic had branded himself into my heart.

Standing up, I put the necklace into my front pocket; if I couldn’t physically have Dominic with me, I would have this one small reminder to carry with me before I put the box back into my sock drawer.

My appetite was still non-existent by the time I had finished dressing and made my way into the kitchen, so I decided to just stick with a good strong cup of coffee. I welcomed the warmth of the liquid as it helped to soothe the burn in my throat. Being sick was not something that I had time for. I needed to participate in every art class in order to keep up with the assignments, and I didn't want to miss any anyways. I would also welcome the distraction of the class, so that maybe for even a few brief moments, I wouldn’t have to think about my misery and missing Dominic.

I locked up the apartment and decided to drive the car the few short blocks to the studio because I didn’t feel like walking. It took all the energy I had just to put one foot in front of the other. I even circled the parking lot several times just to find a closer parking space, so I didn’t have to walk far.

Everyone was seated in at their stations when I arrived, so I hung my coat and purse up before I made my way toward my station. Just as I sat down, the bubbly voice of our instructor came bellowing through the studio. Genevive Fuentes, or Genny as she liked to be called, was a tall, all arms and legs middle aged woman who was eclectic and larger than life. She always had her black curly hair tied up high on her head with some wacky colored or patterned scarf and never wore jeans; instead she always wore long, flowing peasant skirts with a plain V-neck tee or tank top. I chuckled slightly as I noticed all the bracelets and bangles she had on her arms and wrists, and wondered how in the world did she ever painted with all that jewelry in the way.

“Good morning, class.” She said brightly as she scanned everyone in the room. I kept my head low, careful not to look at her directly for fear that she would be able to see right through me and that I would break down in front of all my classmates.

“Boy, do I have a special treat for you guys today!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “Since this week we will be focusing on using live subjects for our pieces, a good friend of mine has agreed to come in and volunteer to model for us,” she said, and she bounced in place clapping her hands together. The door to the entrance of the studio opened and all heads turned to see who was coming through the door. The class was made up of mostly females, ten of us, in fact, and two men all who gasped when they saw our model walk into the room. Genny walked to the back of the room to greet the guest, and I kept my eyes pinned to the front of the room. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in who it was; I just didn’t want to have to look anyone in the eyes because I feared they would be able to see right through me.

Keeping my eyes down, I watched out of my peripheral vision as Genny and the model made their way to the front of the class. Everyone one was whispering about how hot the model was and what they would like to do to him. I chuckled slightly at some of the snide comments the women were saying. My momentary comedic thoughts were soon interrupted when I heard a familiar British accent address the class.

“Hello, everyone.”

I lifted my eyes only to find mine locked with none other than the devilishly handsome Rownan Kleinfield.