Текст книги "Painless"
Автор книги: Devon Hartford
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Painless
The Story of Samantha Smith – 3
by
Devon Hartford
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to Jenn Hedge, for kicking ass and reminding me how important stories can be.
And, like the last time, I also have to dedicate this book to ALL of my enthusiastic readers. Every single comment you gals made about Reckless factored into my thoughts while I wrote Painless in one way or another. You gals helped make this a better book!
Thank you! :-D
Chapter 1
SAMANTHA
Dread.
The gloom of the deserted Manos Mansion pressed in around me, suffocating me. I sat on Christos’ bed in his empty bedroom, clutching his sketchbook to my chest in my quivering hands. His haunted words echoed in my mind.
“Alone
I must brave this day
Alone
I have sealed my fate
Alone
I will touch the sky
Alone
I must die”
No! I must have read them wrong! Christos would never…
I couldn’t even think it.
My heart rabbited in my chest and threatened to seize as I re-read his lonely poem under the dim light of his bedside lamp. Christos was in dire torment. His heart was breaking. I could feel his pain as if it were my own. He was in trouble, and he needed help.
Panic and a sense of helplessness spun through me. How could I help Christos if I didn’t know where he was? He hadn’t answered any of my calls or texts for over an hour. I desperately wanted to do something otherwise I was going to splinter into a million pieces.
But what?
The heavy silence pressing in around me was broken by the clatter of the front door opening downstairs.
“Christos!” I yelped as I shot up from the bed. I sprinted out of his bedroom and down the darkened hallway. Relief washed over me as I pounded downstairs. I was going to throw my arms around my man and hold onto him and tell him everything was going to be okay. I knew my love would heal the pain and self hatred that had been eating him up from the inside out for way too long.
At the bottom of the stairs, I turned and skidded into the entry hall. “Christos!”
“Samoula?” Spiridon smiled, his keys jingling in his hands. “What are you doing here?”
“Where’s Christos?” I blurted anxiously.
“Isn’t he with you?”
“No,” I muttered, disappointment darkening my voice.
“He’s not in the studio working?” Spiridon asked.
“No, I checked. He’s not in the house anywhere.” For a moment I felt nervous, worried I would have to explain to Spiridon why I was wandering through his house uninvited. Which was weird, because Spiridon had already invited me to move in with him and Christos. He’d even given me a house key. So why did I feel like a snooping criminal? Oh yeah. My parents. The Source of All that is Evil.
Them.
Telling my parents over the phone that I was moving in with Christos had freaked them out. Which led to me hanging up on them and Christos freaking out because my parents were freaked out.
And the worst news of all: Christos’ pending Valentine’s Day trial, only two days away.
Why hadn’t Christos told me until now? Was the trust we’d built together a lie? What else was he hiding? A shudder shook me to my bones. My heart accelerated into overdrive as the stressful events of the last few hours reignited in my mind. My life was unraveling by the second. I felt light headed as my chest tightened, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Was I having a heart attack? Was that possible for a nineteen year old? At that moment, it definitely felt like it. Every cell in my body screamed that Christos was in immediate danger, wherever he was. My eyes flashed panic. I needed to protect him any way I could. “I need to go find Christos!”
“Calm down, koritsáki mou,” Spiridon reassured. “Come into the kitchen, Samoula. Maybe you should sit down. You don’t look well.”
My hands shook uncontrollably as he led me into the kitchen, pulled a chair out from the table for me, and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed a pitcher of water and poured a glass for me as I dropped into the chair.
“Tell me everything,” he said as he set the glass on the table and sat down. He took my hands in his and rubbed the backs of them affectionately. “Whatever it is,” he smiled, “everything is going to be fine.”
My throat closed to a pinhole as I realized the bitter truth. Even if I could somehow find Christos and rescue him from whatever fate awaited him tonight, he faced the likely possibility of going to jail for who knew how long after his upcoming trial.
I rambled, “Christos, he’s…I don’t know…I think he’s…” I was torn between my worry for Christos and the warm, loving way Spiridon was comforting me. His compassionate gaze made me oddly nervous. I wasn’t used to any kind of tenderness from other people, or the way it lowered the walls around my emotions.
Other than the intimacy I’d shared with Christos over the last five months, I’d never opened up like this in front of anyone. Especially not an adult. And never in front of my parents.
I had never let my guard down around them.
The night Damian Wolfram had run over Taylor Lamberth, I’d freaked out big time. There was no way I would have shared my feelings about it with my parents. I’d made sure to avoid them until I’d had a chance to collect myself and stuff my feelings back inside the box I’d built around my heart when I was little.
I don’t know when I’d started building that box. It was never a conscious thing. It was a defense mechanism. Probably one that everyone had. The idea of sharing my naked feelings with my parents had always felt like an invasion of my privacy. They didn’t understand feelings. When I was little and showed my feelings to my mom, she frowned and scowled at me and told me to get a hold of myself like a big girl, or else. When my dad saw my feelings, he pulled out a calculator and tried to solve them like a math problem. If that didn’t work, he tried to sterilize them with logic. That was why I never shared anything with my parents. Not anything that mattered.
But looking into Spiridon’s deeply compassionate eyes, I felt safe. He wasn’t freaked out. He was calm, confident, and loving. I wish he could give my parents lessons. In that moment, I felt like I could tell him everything, and he would understand. He wouldn’t lecture or reprimand, and he wouldn’t measure, calculate or solve. He would simply listen. And in that listening, healing occurred. Christos had taught me that. Had he learned it from Spiridon? It seemed likely, looking at him now.
Sitting in the Manos’ kitchen, I felt comforted, swaddled in the warm embrace of the tangible love emanating from Spiridon, a love that circulated throughout his house, as if it had gently flowed out of his being for decades and soaked into the wood. This home, this kitchen, was a sacred space.
My tears welled. I was about to spill everything, tell Spiridon about the nasty things my parents had said, and the threats they had made on the phone. I knew in my heart that Spiridon wouldn’t judge. He would listen with understanding and love. I longed for that sort of comfort, the kind of comfort Christos had shown me many times already.
But more than anything, I wanted it from Christos.
Christos…
Coiled resolve unwound inside me. My feelings about my parents could wait. Christos was in mortal danger right now. I needed to do something to save him. Could I tell Spiridon that deep in my bones I felt certain his grandson’s life dangled on the precipice of disaster? I would sound like a lunatic. To my parents, anyway.
“What is it, Samoula?” Spiridon asked softly. “You can tell me anything.”
I believed him and trusted him completely. I lifted my heavy head and met his eyes with mine. “Christos is in terrible trouble.” It frightened me to say it, as if voicing my fears might magically make things worse.
“I know, koritsáki mou. I know,” he said heavily as his head bowed solemnly and his eyes darkened.
His words carried such sadness, such poignancy, I felt my heart beginning to shrivel and sink into blackness…
Christos…
Oh no…
* * *
CHRISTOS
In darkness, I stood balanced on one bare foot, my toes curled around the frigid steel of the balcony railing of Nyyhmy Hall, ten stories above cement.
Cold winter wind billowed around me. Far below, a lone car slid silently down North Torrey Pines Road. I was in another world, separate from the invisible people in that tiny car. I wondered if they were happy or sad. No way to know.
But I knew I was on the verge of losing my shit. My trial was in two days. My pre-trial was in less than twelve hours, after which my future would be in the hands of the court and the twelve strangers who would be my jury. Would they convict me and send me to prison, or would I be found innocent and go free?
I hated not knowing. I hated not having any control over the outcome.
Did it even matter?
That was a million years from now.
Right now, in this eternal moment of insane danger, I had total control. Live or die. Fight or fly. It was all up to me. If I wanted, I could relax the tension in my knee. Just relax. Let it go. Everything would be over within a few seconds, all my stress gone. All my worries would become irrelevant.
Fall into the darkness and soar into eternity.
Samantha.
Fists knotted my guts with agony. My face squeezed and twisted with frustration and rage and guilt.
What had I done to her?
I’d made a mess of things big time.
Samantha now knew what a fuck up I was beneath my flashy exterior. While I’d slapped her with the truth, punched her with all the criminal shit I’d done in my past, the conviction I’d seen in her eyes was worse than what any jury could hand me at my trial. So what if twelve strangers decided I was a fuck up and sent me to jail to sweat out my guilt? My heart was already imprisoned in self hatred. For what I’d done to Samantha. For lying to her by not telling her about who I really was, for hiding my terrible past while she innocently fell in love with me.
How could I have done that to her? How could I have jeopardized the trust she willingly gave me by not telling her up front that I was no good?
The cold wind chilled my skin, but my heart was colder, shivering in my chest.
I glanced down at the tempting cement a hundred feet below.
It would be so easy to fly and let all my troubles fall away…
* * *
SAMANTHA
I clamped my hand around Spiridon’s wrist and pleaded, “We have to do something!”
Spiridon raised his brows thoughtfully. “What do you mean?”
“Christos ran out of my apartment earlier and sped off on his motorcycle. I’m afraid he’s going to…” I couldn’t say it.
Worry and recognition weighed on Spiridon’s face. “Have you tried to call him?”
“Fifty times!” My voice crackled with fear. “He won’t answer. That’s why I’m so worried. I hoped maybe he’d come here.”
Spiridon folded his arms across his chest and huffed a nervous sigh. I think my fear was seeping into him.
“Did he tell you where he was going?” Spiridon asked.
“No! I have no idea! He could be anywhere.”
“Perhaps the best thing we can do is wait here. He’s bound to come back sooner or later.”
“But what if…” I was ready to rocket out of my seat through the ceiling with anxiety. I couldn’t sit here and wait. I needed to take action. “Wait, maybe Christos is out with Jake!”
“So call Jake,” Spiridon said calmly.
I didn’t have Jake’s number, so I dialed Madison.
She answered after two rings. She sounded sleepy. “What up, girlfriend?”
“Mads!” My voice was way more panicked than I wanted, considering I was waking her up in the middle of the night. “Is Jake with you?”
“Last time I checked,” she sighed. “Unless the hot guy sleeping next to me is someone else. Hey buddy,” she giggled to whoever was in the room with her, “is your name Jake?”
I heard Jake’s faint, grumbling voice over the phone, “Don’t tell me you’re bored with me already, babe.”
“Men have such fragile egos,” Madison whispered to me. I heard her turn away from her phone again and say to Jake, “Go to sleep, King Dong. Your man cannon is the only one that bombards my baby box every night. Quick! Everyone to the dong shelters!”
Crap. There went my theory about Christos and Jake being out at a bar. “Mads, ask Jake if he knows where Christos is.”
“Why would he know where Christos is? He’s been with me all evening.”
“Can you please just ask him?” I pleaded.
“Jake,” Madison said, “Sam wants to know if you know where Christos is.”
“I haven’t talked to him since yesterday,” Jake mumbled.
Great.
Madison relayed the news, “Jake said he hasn’t seen—”
“I heard,” I interrupted.
“Is something wrong?” Madison asked, obvious concern in her voice.
I didn’t have time to explain everything to her. I needed to go look for Christos. “It’s, ah, it’s nothing.” I tried to sound like it was no big deal so she wouldn’t start worrying. “I just need to talk to Christos. If for some reason he calls Jake, call me right away, okay?”
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong, Sam?”
“Yeah. Everything is fine. Go back to sleep.”
I heard the rustling of covers.
“Mmmm,” Madison murmured, “I don’t think Jake is going to let me. Call me tomorrow, Sam. But if you really, really need me, call me right away.” Madison made a purring noise. “Scratch that. Don’t call for at least twenty minutes.”
I heard Jake scoff, “Twenty minutes?”
“Okay,” Madison said to Jake, “make it forty. But that’s all you get, cowboy. I have class in the morning.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mads,” I said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Okay. Bye, Sam.” She giggled before the phone line went dead a second later.
I envied her in that moment. She was snuggled up with her man, the two of them safe from all the harm in the world. I set the phone down on the kitchen table and looked at Spiridon.
He laid a comforting hand on mine once again. “I know you’re worried, koritsáki mou. Why don’t you try calling Christos again?”
“Okay.”
He winked at me, “Isn’t there an old saying, the fifty-first time is the charm?”
* * *
CHRISTOS
A shadow blurred past the corner of my vision. Something huge and dark whipped past my head from the side and was gone before I could register what it was. I followed the motion as the thing curved out over the ten story drop below.
A lone barn owl had beat wings past my face, only a few feet in front of me. I’d never heard him coming. He was dead silent. Totally in his element.
I watched in awe as he soared out past the distant moon, floating above the canyons between me and the ocean. He sailed through the air languorously, searching for prey. I was transfixed by the hunter in his natural environment. What a simple life he led.
Without warning, the owl’s wings folded and it dove into the darkness. I followed it’s plummeting path, watching intently as its wings exploded mere feet above the ground, the owl landing in a pool of amber beneath a streetlight. A second later, the owl flapped furiously and rose into the air, a mouse dangling from its talons. Then the owl disappeared into the black night with its prey.
I was in awe of the swiftness with which all of that had transpired. One life ended so another could flourish.
I realized I had a choice to make.
My life…or Samantha’s.
I wanted her to flourish.
My face knotted in agony. My chest tightened as jagged knives of regret stabbed me from the inside out. How the fuck had I fucked things up so badly? I inhaled deeply, ready to shout my lungs out in an attempt to release some of the tension ripping my heart apart.
Then I realized shouting would call attention to myself.
Nyyhmy Hall was shaped like a blocky letter H when you looked at it from the top. The balcony was on the top side of the fat horizontal bar of the H. The thick vertical columns of the H held all the dorm rooms, the windows of which faced the balcony where I stood. Because it was San Diego, and it was no cooler than sixty degrees outside, many of those windows were open. Since this was a college dorm building, several of those windows had lights on, and some had their curtains open. If I started shouting, I had no doubt heads would start popping out of those windows like gophers checking for eagles overhead. The last thing I wanted was an audience or someone calling campus security and telling them there was another jumper on the tenth floor. I was enjoying my peace and quiet.
I took a deep breath. My stabbing regret eased a fraction. I took another breath.
That was when I realized I’d been looking at my situation all wrong. Eagles, owls, gophers and mice.
First, the owl and the mouse. For all I knew, that was a mama owl with baby owls back in her nest that hadn’t eaten in weeks. No one wanted baby owls to go hungry. I know I didn’t.
Second, the eagle and the gophers.
We all know which animal I was in that scenario.
No matter how much confusion and pain writhed in my guts, I would never be a gopher. I was the predator in my life, not the prey. I was not going to live my life cringing away from danger, always wondering when the death strike might come raining down from above.
I was going to step boldly into life and dance with danger.
I wasn’t going to give up.
Like the eagle and the owl, I was going to bare my claws and teeth and do what I did best.
Fight.
For myself. For Samantha.
For my life.
No one was going to bring me down and tear me apart. Not even the judicial system. I never took the easy way out. That’s how I’d ended up in this predicament in the first place. Because I liked living dangerously.
I was up here because the day I’d met Samantha, it had taken me less than half a second to decide that Horst Grossman, the fat fuck who was up in her face, was way out of line, and needed to lay off her shit. The easy thing would’ve been to ride away and forget all about her.
But that wasn’t how I rolled. Not that day, not tonight, and not at my trial. If I was going down, I was going down fighting.
I still hadn’t told my attorney, Russell Merriweather, whether or not to accept the plea bargain from the District Attorney. The offer was one year in jail in exchange for a guilty plea. Probably only nine months with time off for good behavior. That was the sure thing. If I went to trial, I risked up to four years in state prison if the jury found me guilty. Fuck it. I liked risks and I liked fighting.
I was going to roll the dice and go to trial.
I grinned and shook my head. I don’t know why I’d been so stressed about all this. Like most women, Lady Luck had the hots for my shit. No reason why she wouldn’t back me up at my trial.
Still balanced on one foot with my knee in the air, I lowered my foot down to the railing and stabilized myself.
As I was about to hop back onto the balcony, my phone rang, startling me.
The sound cut through the nighttime silence.
I hissed and pitched forward, I was so surprised. My arms whirled automatically and my hips thrust back violently, counter-balancing my weight. If I over compensated, I was over the edge of this railing and three seconds later, over with permanently. I strained to regain my balance. Agonizing seconds later, I recovered my center of gravity and hopped onto the cold cement balcony.
Was Lady Luck calling to tell me something?
Before Your Love by Kelly Clarkson continued playing through the tiny speakers on my phone.
Not Lady Luck.
Samantha.
I rolled my head back and chuckled. “Fuck,” I mumbled to myself. She’d almost killed me. Tragic irony was a funny thing, as long as it didn’t happen to you.
I answered her call. “Hey,” I mumbled.
“Where are you?” Samantha begged.
“Out getting some fresh air.” I sat down on the cold cement balcony and slid my socks and boots on.
“Are you all right?” she asked, worried.
“I’m fine, agáp—” I stopped myself short. Calling her that right now felt like an empty promise I couldn’t keep for long. Shit was going to get real when I went to trial. I didn’t want Samantha getting her hopes up if things went bad. If I was acquitted, great. But if the jury found me guilty? Nobody was going to throw a party.
“Please tell me where you are, agápi mou,” Samantha said, her voice resonating with a penetrating fear tempered by her bold, fearless love.
Her confidence peeled back some of my reckless resistance. If I said nothing and kept her completely in the dark, I’d feel like a stubborn dick. “I’m at SDU,” I sighed. “Everything is okay.”
“I need to see you, Christos.”
“Now isn’t a good time.” I shook my head at how lame I sounded.
“What do you mean?” she pleaded. “We were talking about some really important stuff and you ran out. Why?”
Did I tell her I’d run because I felt like an idiot? That I was embarrassed by my past? Shit, I could barely admit it to myself. Or did I talk about how my life still balanced on a knife edge thinner than the balcony railing I’d just been standing on?
If I ended up in jail, I’d end up going back to my old ways. I’d have no choice but to harden up and fight my way through each and every day I was stuck in lock up. I knew from experience that prison would get under my skin and dirty my fingernails no matter how hard I tried to hold onto the life I’d been building for the last two years. What kind of institutionalized prick would I be after four years in prison? Would Samantha want to know me then? Would I want to subject her to whatever damage I was sure to suffer from living like a barbarian?
Who was I kidding?
She needed better options than that.
I stifled an insane laugh as I considered how her parents might feel about the whole thing. I was pretty sure I would agree with them.
I shook my head. “Look,” I said gruffly, “I really don’t want to talk about this right now. I need time to think.”
“Come home, Christos. No matter how bad you think things are right now, I love you. Your grandfather loves you. We’re here for you.”
Why did her words tear my guts apart?
Fuck, I couldn’t deal with this.
“Samantha, I need to go.”
“Christos! Please don’t hang up! Tell me exactly where you are and I’ll come right now.”
Her voice sounded jumpy, like she was running with the phone in her hand. I heard the beep beep beep of her VW’s warning bell and a door chunking shut.
“Are you in your car?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m driving out of your driveway right now. Don’t move a muscle. I’m coming for you.”
She wasn’t going to let me get away. It’s not like I was going to run down to my bike and bolt before she got here. I’d already done that earlier.
I shook my head and grinned. I hated to be predictable. Besides, I needed to talk to her sooner or later. And what the hell else was I going to do tonight anyway? Get some quality sleep before my pre-trial hearing?
Yeah, right.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll meet you at the Adams College parking lot, where the motorcycles are.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Don’t speed,” I said ironically, “I wouldn’t want you getting in an accident.” I meant it. Although my safety was low on my list of priorities, hers was still at the top of my list. “Why don’t we hang up so you can focus on your driving?”
“No!” she shrieked. “Don’t you hang up your phone until I’m standing right in front of you!”
I had to admit, her insistence was endearing. “Okay, I’ll stay on the phone. But at least put yours on speaker and put it in your lap, or in a cup holder or whatever.”
“Okay. My phone is in my lap. Keep talking.”
“Ahh, do I recite poetry now?”
“If you’ve got anything memorized.”
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…”
“What language is that?” She giggled.
“English?”
“Are you sure?” She sounded like she was smiling.
“Yeah. It’s the Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll. I had to memorize that shit in the seventh grade. Wanna hear the rest?”
“Do you know the translated version?”
“No,” I chuckled. “But it’s about some kid who slays a crazy dragon. It’s pretty ridiculous.”
“What, slaying a dragon?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s not ridiculous. Isn’t that what you do all the time? Slay dragons?”
I shook my head. “Not the last time I checked.”
“What do you mean? Remember Big Foot? That hairy biker guy at that coffee shop in Pacific Beach? Xanadu? The guy who tried to kidnap me so he could mate with me and make missing link babies?”
“Oh yeah. That guy was like the cyclops from legend or some shit. If I remember correctly, he only had one eye. Didn’t that guy have a pirate eye patch?” I chuckled.
“No! He only had one eye, in the center of his forehead!” Samantha squealed with laughter. “Can you imagine a cyclops with a pirate eye patch? He’d be blind and running around in circles!”
“I hear pirate cyclops only ever wear ear patches,” I quipped.
“Ear patches?” Samantha laughed.
“Christos?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned to face whoever it was. What a surprise. “Hey, Kamiko. What up?”
“What?” Sam asked on the phone.
Kamiko wore an SDU sweatshirt, sweatpants, and her hair in a sexy knot at the back of her head. A book bag was slung over her shoulder. She looked at me curiously, “What are you doing up here?”
“Enjoying the view,” I said casually, flashing a dimpled grin at her.
“Are you talking to Kamiko?” Samantha asked.
“Yeah,” I said to the phone.
Kamiko asked, “I’m sorry, are you on the phone? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No worries,” I said to Kamiko. To Samantha, I said, “Hey, can you hold on a second?”
I suddenly remembered Samantha telling me about what happened with her and Kamiko when they went to visit Brandon at Charboneau Gallery to show him Kamiko’s work. Poor Kamiko. From the sound of the story, Brandon had been a many-quilled prickupine. I sensed an opportunity to work some of my magic. Helping other people always put me in a good mood.
“How come you’re up so late?” I asked Kamiko.
“I was studying O Chem with my friend. We just finished.”
“Are you going back to your room?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“You want me to walk you?”
“Sure,” she smiled.
“Cool. Let me tell my buddy I’ll call him back.” To Samantha I said, “Hey, I’m gonna walk my friend to her dorm room. Can I call you back later, bro?”
“Christos,” Samantha said in my ear, “tell Kamiko I’m sorry about what happened with Brandon.”
“Yeah, totally,” I said to Samantha, “as soon as I get a new wet suit, we’ll totally carve some waves. Later, bro.”
“Christos!” Samantha chirped in my ear. “Wait! Don’t hang up!”
I hung up my phone and smiled at Kamiko. We walked toward the elevators across the hall from the balcony.
When the elevator door opened, I motioned with my arm, “After you.”
“Thank you,” Kamiko grinned and stepped inside.
After the elevator ride, I walked Kamiko along the dark pathway between Nyyhmy and Paiute Hall.
“How’s the painting coming along?” I asked. “You still working on submissions for Brandon’s Contemporary Artists Show?”
She stuck her tongue out and groaned. “Ugh. I don’t even want to hear that name. Brandumb is so meh.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Brandumb?”
“Yeah,” she shivered. “Just saying it makes me want to gag.”
We stopped in front of the double doors to Paiute while Kamiko dug her keys out of her bag.
I raised an eyebrow. “What happened to you being the gung ho painting ninja?”
She brightened. “Oh, I’m still totally the painting ninja.” She suddenly spun around and snapped a back kick at me, stopping her foot two inches from my chest.
“Look out! Ninja alert,” I chuckled. “Did you study martial arts at some point?”
“Yeah, I studied shotokan when I was in grade school. It was the only way I could stop my brothers from beating me up,” She grinned. “They called me the Kamiko Kid.”
“What, like the Karate Kid? Your brothers called you that?”
“Yup. But I didn’t study with Mr. Miyagi. The guy who trained me was Mexican.” She lowered her leg and pivoted forward, punching me in the stomach.
I tightened my abs automatically. Her tiny hand met solid muscle.
“Ow!” She yelped.
“Don’t be messing with the man of steel,” I joked. I could tell she wasn’t trying to hit me very hard, but she had put some power behind it. “Nice right hand. Much better than your Karate Kid reference,” I quipped.
She wrinkled her nose. “Do I have to crane kick you in the chin, mister? Because I will.”
I towered over her. “You’re going to need an airlift.”
“Fine! I’ll go for your shins.” She snapped a kick at my shins but I hopped back, out of range. “Let that be a lesson,” she warned.
“Easy, Bruce Lee. I apologize.” I smiled at her.
“Don’t try to be cute,” she grinned.
“Hey, I’m using the only defense I have left before you beat my ass.” I winked at her. “But seriously, are you still working on any paintings?”
“Hells yeah! Even if Brandumb is a total jerk, I’m going to get one of my paintings into his stupid Contemporary Artists Show, just to show him I can.”
I nodded approvingly at her. “I take it you’re over him?”
“Screw him,” Kamiko snarled. “I’m too good for that stupid snake charmer! I refuse to live my life as a mopey dick-whipped chick any longer. I am woman! Hear me paint!” She stomped her foot for effect.
I grinned and chuckled, “I’ll tell Brandon to run the other way when he sees you coming or you’ll go Hunger Games on his ass.”
“That’s a great idea! I totally need to carry a bow and arrow!”
“Next time I see him, I’ll pin a bull’s eye to his ass so you’ll have something to aim at.”
“Who are you going to pin a bull’s eye on?” Samantha asked, walking around the corner toward me and Kamiko.
I flashed a conspiratorial grin at Samantha.
Kamiko frowned, looking between the two of us. “Hey! You guys tricked me!” She leered at me, both her eyes turned up to full stink. “That was Sam on the phone earlier, wasn’t it, Christos?” she asked in an accusatory tone.
“Maybe,” I smiled coyly.
