Betrayal

Chapter 3

"I don't call people for help. It's not because of the way I was raised, at least I don't think so; it's the way I was made..."

I reread this line in Bag of Bones over and over again, coming back to it, examining it and relating it to myself. So much so that I write it down in my journal in quotations. I was raised that way, I know that. Who was ever there to help me? It makes me feel bitter as I lie on the bed with the book in my hands.

Dominic is out for a run with Warren. I didn't tell him about my walk on the beach with him last night. I'm sure Warren told him about it himself. Maybe he even told him what I said about my parents. It gives me anxiety to think of that. He would surely ask me questions or ask me why I never shared that information with him, but shared it with his father. I would have no answer for him.

I bookmark my place and close it, toss it aside, and close my eyes. The quiet here can be too quiet. Like right now. It gives me too much time to think. I don't want to think. I need to preoccupy myself with something other than reading. I stare at my untouched easel that's sitting in the corner of the room.

I consider my options. I should paint. Or I could tell Dominic I want to go into town, which I haven't seen yet. We've spent every day here, eating what their maid cooks, laying in the sun, relaxing. I think he's been quite comfortable here. This is his long break from school, after all, so I don't blame him. He's just so relaxed. I wish I could be that way. I'm always anxious about something, even if I don't know what the something is.

I pick up my sketchbook off of the nightstand and open it to an empty page. I close my eyes. There's another set of eyes there, in my mind, dark and gleaming. They're Warrens. I open my eyes quickly, go to the area I've set up near my easel with my paints and pencils and grab a charcoal pencil.

I sketch his eyes quickly, fiercely concentrated, while seeing other things. His smile and his face, the way his hair is wild and wavy, the sound of his voice... his body as he walked toward me on the beach. The eyes, not perfect and quickly drawn, look so much like his. I could make them an exact replica if I did it slower. But it's as if I'm staring into them on this paper. It makes me feel strange, as if I shouldn't have done this, while I also feel better for having done it.

"Hey."

I look quickly to see Dominic coming into the bedroom, close my book quickly, and slide it aside. He's shirtless and sweaty, breathing heavily, and gives me a kiss on the mouth.

"Hey. How was your run?"

"Good. Great. I need a shower, though."

I nod and he kisses me again. I watch as he takes his watch and chain off. He only takes that off when he showers, I've noticed long ago. When we fuck it always dangles in my face.

He goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. I can hear the sound of him brushing his teeth with his electric toothbrush, the toilet flushes soon after, and then the shower comes on. For a moment I consider going in with him, but then he'll want to fuck, and I'm not really in the mood. I feel blah.

The sound of water splashing grabs my attention and I get off the bed, walk to the open balcony doors, and step out onto it. It's Warren, swimming laps in the pool. I watch how easily he does it, moving his arms and legs, bringing his face up for air every few seconds. His shoes, socks, and a shirt are on the patio. He must've jumped right in after their run. I try to think of what he would say if he knew I'd just sketched his eyes. Would he be flattered or uncomfortable?

When he stops at the far side of the pool he pushes his hair back, wades water, then suddenly turns and looks to me. My heart jumps as if I've been caught doing something wrong, but I only smile, then wave. He returns both.