Page 9 of Surrender to Me

Chapter 6

The next week passed by slowly, like a cobweb blowing in the breeze. I decided to keep my deferment and to focus solely on building my new portfolio. Bobby gave me my old job at No Doze with a full-time schedule. As for my housemates, Clay tutored, worked at the cafe, was a full-time student, and had a high energy girlfriend. He barely had time for anything else, but still agreed to a photo shoot with Misty. And Misty made sure she stayed occupied, whether it was designing costumes or studying her lines for the next production, or dragging me out of my room to make sure I got one daily hour of sunlight. I was always glad for the distraction.

After I developed the film, I stood in the darkroom, looking at the dripping black and white photographs clipped to the hanging string. Clay and Misty sitting on the park bench; Misty inside of Clay’s arms, Clay leaning against a light post; Clay kissing Misty’s ear, her eyes closed in bliss; Misty tumbled to the ground after jumping off of a swing, Clay catching her. It was simple; they loved each other, and they were together. There was nothing stopping them. It was the kind of love where I wouldn’t have been surprised if Clay ended up proposing to her; they just worked. I had never wanted to be with someone like that until a couple of months ago. Owen made me feel appreciated, understood, and safe. Even when he was hurting me physically, I knew he wouldn’t take me farther than I could go. I trusted him. But he didn’t trust me, so why should I trust him, or even pine after him?

In the backyard, I threw empty beer and wine bottles at the concrete ground, taking out my anger in a physical form. As I watched the pieces shatter, an idea dawned on me. I kept breaking the bottles, but I started collecting the shards with a broom and dustpan too. Misty peeked her head out of the window, and I waved to her, then continued breaking the glass. She shrugged, knowing it must’ve been something to do with my art. Combining resin and the glass pieces, I planned to make a sculpture based off of the picture of Clay and Misty falling on the ground. As lovers, they were complete, but as models made in shattered glass, they would represent what I felt.

As I looked at the photo the next to the garbage bin full of shards, I realized Clay and Misty weren’t quite right as models. Screw it, I thought. I went to Surrender, knowing there was a good chance that Owen would be there. Even though we had agreed to be friends, we hadn’t spoken in days. To some people, maybe ‘friends’ meant you had months when you might be too busy to talk to each other. But to me, if we were friends, then we would have conversations like two consenting adults. Because we had consented to what we did, hadn’t we? And anyway, I had a favor to ask.

I knew to be unsurprised that the security guard was at the club even in the daytime. He waved me through. I walked straight to the library and used the lion head knocker.

“Miss Glass,” Owen said. He opened the door. I rolled my eyes.

“Owen. You know my first name. Use it,” I said. A smile crept across his lips, and I looked away. I couldn’t melt seeing that face, not now. I had a mission to accomplish.

“Riley,” he corrected. “What can I help you with?”

I wrinkled my nose. It was like I was a client he was working with. I decided to play along. “Well, Mr. Owen, there are some things you can’t help me with,” I said. I sat on his desk and crossed my legs. He was wearing a suit, a dark green tie complementing his eyes. The cuffs of his sleeves came out slightly at the end of his jacket; it made me think of how thick his biceps were, and how his soul was even more powerful. Intelligent and forceful in his line of work, dominant and predatorial in his sensuality.

“As in what?” he asked. He stepped closer. Perhaps it was the way he moved like he was hunting me, narrowing in, that made me want to shy away like prey. I stopped myself from shrinking away, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking down. After I didn’t speak, he added, “Riley?” His voice was cool, like water dripping from a faucet. Damn it. I loved the way my name sounded on his tongue.

“As in things we said we wouldn’t do, as it is in our best interests not to pursue each other,” I mumbled.

“Our best interest?” I looked up at him, eager to decipher the emphasis he had placed on the word ‘our.’ The force of Owen’s half smile was unavoidable this time. A gnawing sensation crawled through my stomach, making me feel almost dizzy. “I believe it is in your best interest, Riley. As for me, I know what’s in my best interest.” He waited a half beat, then stepped closer again. “I know what I want,” he said.

“And what do you want?” The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. He was like honey, drawing me closer, making me lick my lips. I couldn’t resist. I wanted to hear him say it.

This time, when he stepped closer, his breath was hot on my ear. “You know what I want,” he murmured.

I flushed. On queue, Owen stepped back. The smirk on his face showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew he still had total control over me.

“Now, what is it that I can help you with?” he asked. He was containing his amusement, but poorly. The bastard. I wanted to smack him for being smug and I wanted to fuck him for knowing that he wanted me, all at the same time.

After I caught my breath, I said, “I need you to hold a party where I can photograph people in action. Masks are fine, but the more people that don’t care about their faces being shown, the better I’ll be able to capture the emotions for my newest project.”

He took a seat behind his desk. “What is your next project?”

“Glass sculptures,” I said.

“Blown?”

I blushed. The word ‘blown’ made me think of crawling under his desk and unzipping his pants. I shook my head. “Shattered glass. Cast in resin.”

“Do you have enough glass for this project?”

I wasn’t sure we could drink enough wine and beer in our house under the time constraint. “If you have a source, I wouldn’t be against asking to collaborate this time,” I said.

“I’ll have Phillip contact you. As for the party…” He sat up and grabbed the edges of the desk, angling himself so that he took up even more space, crowding me, making me feel small. “Are there particular activities you’re looking to photograph?”

I blushed again. The hold he had on me was unreal. How was it that sitting up in his chair, slightly increasing his proximity, could make me turn red? Wasn’t I supposed to feel more in control, sitting on the desk, looking down at him? “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess restraints would be nice. And pain.” The heat in my cheeks was like a curling iron forgotten on the bathroom counter. This is for your art, I reminded myself. Your art, your art, your art. Not what you wish that beautiful, smart, charismatic man in front of you would do to you. “Whatever the members are okay with. I’ll work with what we’ve got.”

“We,” Owen repeated softly. I had to resist the impulse to coo at the fact that he noticed my word choice. “I know what we can do. I have a proposition.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

He gestured towards the couch that overlooked the dungeon. I sat on the sofa, gazing out at the room full of equipment below us. It was like a jungle gym and slaughterhouse in one; chaos, play, objectification, violence. Owen handed me a whiskey on the rocks. I sipped it, watching as he took a drink of his own neat whiskey. This time, he sat on the arm of the couch above me. He looked down, locking eyes with me.

“You need a muse,” he said.