I almost smiled at that, but the words brought a tiny bit of anxiety to the fore. I had designed all my tattoos myself. It would have to be a stunning design for me to really want to put it to my skin.
Then he trailed the paint over the tattoo on the inside of my arm, a leaping koi fish done in the Japanese style. I felt the bristles move over the numb spot there, and I gritted my teeth.
Malcolm paused.
I couldn't help myself. I looked up, and I saw that the solid color of the paint had obscured my tattoo, revealing what lay beneath.
A long, angry scar.
"Stop!"
The word burst out of my mouth, and Malcolm froze, startled. He glanced down at my face, and whatever he saw there told him I was serious. He withdrew the brush and backed away.
I sat up.
"Sadie?" he said. "Are you—?"
"I'm going," I said. "I just remembered. I have to go somewhere. I'm sorry. I have to go." My hand was already on the paint, wiping it away, until my leaping fish emerged again and I smeared the paint on the drop cloth beneath me.
"Sadie..."
I was on my feet. I didn't care if my clothes were ruined. I hurried over to them and pulled them on, my bra, my shirt, my cardigan. My jacket, my jeans. My boots. Each layer soothed me, hid me, and when I was done, I grabbed my purse, my breathing so fast I thought I might faint. "Sorry," I said. "I have to go." And without looking back, I jogged across the floor and took the steps down the stairs two-at-a-time. I sounded like a herd of buffalo, but I didn't stop until I was outside, breathing in the icy air.
I paused on the sidewalk and looked up. I couldn't see Malcolm looking down at me, but I knew he was. What I had just done was exactly what he had done to me after our first session. Run away. I was a coward.
I started for the subway station, but my breath wouldn't slow down. I was hyperventilating. I knew I should stop, bend over, but the only way to stop was to breathe less or use up that extra oxygen. My feet picked up the pace, until I was barely skimming the ground with my toes, dodging and weaving through other people. Yells followed me whenever I bumped into someone, but I couldn't stop.
Great. Now I really am the one running away. But I couldn't make myself slow down. I couldn't make myself turn around. I just kept on running.
Time passed. I don't know how long. I just wanted to escape, but I couldn't run away from the things inside. I thought I'd run the whole way home even though it wouldn't have done any good, and I would have done it if a sleek black car hadn't pulled up next to me and kept pace. I glanced over, and saw Malcolm through the open window in the back seat. I slowed down.
"What do you want?" I said.
"Sadie, please, get in the car."
"No thanks. I'm out for a jog."
"I crossed a line. I didn't know it was there."
I looked away. "It's fine. You didn't know. And now you said sorry. So it's all hunk dory now. Is that why you just ran me down in your car?"#p#分页标题#e#
"I hardly think I ran you down. And yes, that's partly why."
I slowed to a stop, waiting for him to finish the thought, but he didn't. Fine. I'd bite. "And why else did you want to talk to me so badly you couldn't call me on the phone?"
"You wouldn't have answered, and I want to take you to Dubrovnik," he told me.
I'd never even heard of Dubrovnik. I stared at him.
He smiled. "Let's get out of Manhattan. Let's go. I'm sick of this place. I want to take you out. I heard its warm in Dubrovnik this year."
"I don't even know where Dubrovnik is."
"I want to take you there. You are an artist. You will love it."
I'd told Felicia I'd see her tomorrow.
But this was Malcolm Ward, offering to take me somewhere else. If I went home, I knew I'd spend the rest of the day drinking wine and washing away the paint, running my thumbs over my tattoos, shivering and shuddering and afraid to go to sleep.
If I went with Malcolm, I'd end up on another planet. At least, that's what I was assuming Dubrovnik was. It was warm? I'd kill for the warm. I was cold, inside and out.
"Fine," I said, got in the car, and away we drove.
Chapter Seven
Dubrovnik, it turns out, is in Croatia. I did not know this. I didn't even really know where Croatia was. I only stopped long enough at my apartment to grab my passport before running back down the stairs and throwing myself into the car. Malcolm smiled to see me frantically buckling up and throwing my hair out of my face. My little blue book, unstamped but for a trip to Barbados I'd taken with Felicia last fall, sat in my hand, its slick cover slightly slippery with the nervous sweat that I didn't want to acknowledge was seeping from my palm.
“You didn't pick up clothes,” Malcolm said. “Good.”