Killing Kate(43)

“Birds born in a cage and released would probably die if they were released in the wild,” Justin says.

“Probably,” I agree, suddenly feeling sad. “But who would know or care?” We both consider that for a bit. “So give me the tour,” I say, breaking the silence. “Or is the rest of your house too messy to show me? Did you stash stuff under beds and in closets for company?”

Justin grins. “I can show you around most of the rooms. Do you need to use the bathroom or anything? It’s right there.” He walks me out of the kitchen and into the hallway where the bathroom is. “This door is my bedroom,” he says, opening the door and showing me a very basic bedroom with blue walls and grey bedding and curtains. The boy has curtains, I think, though I’m not sure why it shocks me. Part of me is wishing the tour would end in the bedroom, but Justin leads me away to another door. He opens it to reveal stairs leading to a basement. “Down there is my studio,” he says.

“Can I see it?” I ask. He nods and leads me down the stairs. The basement is partially finished with tiled floors and white walls on one side. Behind a wall with a door on the other side is for storage of Justin’s artwork and supplies, he shows me. He has several works in progress including a huge six foot painting of a smiling geisha, a series of small paintings of different parts of a tree that he tells me will look really cool when they are hung up in pieces on a large wall, and a portrait of an old man sitting on the El looking sleepy. “You paint a lot of different types of stuff,” I say. “But you’re really talented.”

“Thanks,” Justin says. “I’m hoping to get the tree into an exhibit coming up this fall, and I have plans to do an underwater scene similar to that. Maybe I do a bunch of birds instead.”

“Funny,” I say, feeling his eyes bore into me as he watches for my reaction.

“Or,” he continues, “I could give you a tattoo right now. How would you like that?” He walks to me and I let him kiss me again, feeling lightheaded. His hands pull me toward him by my waist and I let my hands come up to his hair. It’s thick and a bit long in back, I notice. I push his mouth down to my neck and moan softly as his lips move against it and down to my shoulders. He moves the strap of my linen sundress away to uncover the rest of my shoulder, and then stands back to look at me. I meet his smoldering gaze and feel my heart pounding. “Can I take this off?” he asks me, hooking a finger into the strap of my dress. I nod and let him pull it over my head, and I am standing in my bra and panties in the middle of his basement. He looks me up and down, but not in a creepy way, but more in the way that artists tend to view things, assessing and studying. “I think you’re beautiful,” he finally says.

In response, I take off my bra and toss it aside. Justin’s eyes widen but he doesn’t move. “Stop,” he says before I can remove my panties. “I’m going to paint you.”

“Now?” I say. “Are you kidding?” I watch as he sorts through his materials and tubes of paint. I didn’t really come by to model for him, I think, but what the hell.

He finds a blanket and spreads it out over the floor. “Sit down,” he tells me, gently pressing down on my shoulders. I do as I’m told. He kneels down and kisses me again. Then he pulls away and silently appears to consider something. “Do you trust me?” he asks me. “I promise you with my life I would never hurt you, Jenna.” I nod, feeling the conviction in his voice. I do trust him, completely, though perhaps I shouldn’t. At this point in my life, I couldn’t possibly experience much else I haven’t experienced in terms of pain and disappointment. I watch as he produces a black scarf.

“Are you going to tie me up?” I ask hesitantly.

“No,” he says, and I feel somewhat relieved. “I am going to blindfold you, though, if you’ll let me.”

That was actually a new one. I didn’t expect him to say anything like that. “Okay,” I agree. “As long as you promise not to walk away from me and leave me down here half naked for a week with no food or water.”

“Maybe only a few days,” he says, grinning. Then he looks serious again. “I promise I’ll put your clothes back on before I leave you down here blindfolded.” My heart starts to pound a little bit harder in my chest. When I don’t say anything, he continues. “I’m joking. I’m not tying you up, remember? You can push the blindfold off it it’s too much for you, okay? I’m not going to leave you by yourself. I’ll be touching you the whole time. And if I’m not, I’ll talk so you know where I am.”