Chapter 25
?
I actually highly recommend power imbalances.
Viktor
“And then she stabs him,” Crisis interjects, while I’m narrating for her to type.
Looking up off my outline, I murmur, “What an interesting detail to include in a kissing scene.” I lower the page. “Very well. And then she ran her hands down his chest to where he kept his array of daggers. Plucking one, so carefully, free, she positioned the tip at his chest. In one strong motion, she would end him.”
“Are those commas or EM-dashes around so carefully ?” Crisis asks.
I smile. This is great. Today’s been great. Almost so great I’ve forgotten how very badly my hand hurts. “Follow your heart,” I say. She types, so I continue narrating, changing my voice for dialogue, “New paragraph. ‘What do you think you’re trying to do, princess?’ he rasped, gripping her hand. Moving the blade tip to his throat, he grazed her lips with his own. ‘Far better to stab me here. Fewer chances I’ll survive if you miss a vital organ.’ New paragraph. Filled with trepidation, her fingers loos—”
“I misspelled trepidation.”
“T-R-E— ”
“I misspelled it as glee .” Crisis, smiling, looks back at me from where she’s seated at my usual desk in our stall bedroom. “Your male lead is dead now. Oops.”
Arching a brow, I rise from the bed and brace myself on the back of her chair, looking over her shoulder at the words she’s typed into my document. “That’s an incredibly vivid description.” She’s slit my male lead’s throat. Rivulets of red careen down his clothes as his weight presses on my poor princess’s body. He’s uttering a broken why as the light fades from his eyes.
There’s sticky red, like syrup, on her hands and dress as the sound of him hitting the floor fills her ears.
The knife falls to the tile.
The clatter—it’s deafening.
I… How morbid. And yet…
“This is very good imagery, Crisis. Have you written anything before?”
She laughs, highlights, deletes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She types trepidation . “What was the next part you said?”
“Technically, I never put a stabbing in my outline.”
Her lip juts. “How else will the readers know they are in love? ”
“By the detailed fade-to-black we’re about to concoct. Together.” This might kill me, but at least I’ll die happy.
Her nose scrunches, and she types: They then proceeded to engage in bedroom activities. Like Minesweeper. Definitely Minesweeper. Does this computer have Minesweeper?
She clicks on the search tab and types Minesweeper into the bar. No results. “My disappointment is immeasurable.”
“I can always take over and type left-handed.”
“No,” she murmurs, deleting the paragraph. “It’s fine. Narrate your filthy bedroom scene, in front of me, a young and impressionable girl.”
“Here I thought you were young and spry .”
“And also impressionable, as well as innocent. But for how much longer? Who can say.”
I run my fingers through her hair before trailing back to the bed and my outline. “Movie night starts soon—”
She closes my laptop, rises, and stretches her arms above her head, effectively stealing my breath as her body just…yeah. “Wow!” she cheers. “What a shame ! We have to go get ready for movie night! I hope there are all kinds of snacks. For a place crawling with newbies, soup night was professionally elegant. My standards have elevated. An entire popcorn and candy bar is not only expected, but also required.”
Smiling knowingly, I put up my writing things and follow Crisis from the barn to the ranch house, then into the belly of it, where an ice cream bar fills the kitchen right outside a private theater.
I knew this place had events regularly. I approve or deny requests to use the facility several times a year…but this spread exceeds even my expectations.
“Can this be an annual thing?” Crisis murmurs as we meld into the forming line. “Look,” she whispers. “They’ve got a dairy-free selection. Selection. As in multiple flavors. How much did this retreat cost per person?”
Five thousand dollars, give or take several hundred.
For two weeks in Sunset , five thousand dollars is a baseline.
It’s why everyone here is so determined to make things work and have something to show for it. You don’t pay five thousand dollars to largely sit alone in a room and write while surrounded by full-service support unless you’re serious.
It’s this kind of passion for the art that I severely lack, considering my reason for being here involves…a different sort of passion.
“Evening!” the woman manning the ice cream bar chirps. “What can I get you, sweetie?”
I lean toward Crisis’s ear. “See? Everyone can tell you’re sweet.”
She swats at me, smiling bright. “Hi! Stupid question: do you have any teeny tiny scoops back there? Like, for making little cantaloupe circles? I’d like a teeny tiny scoop of everything. If it’s not too much trouble. I can wait until everyone else has gone through if it’ll hold up the line.”
“Hm…” The woman’s lip juts. “I’m not sure I have a smaller scoop, but I can absolutely give you a sample of everything. Let me get a spoon.”
I interject, “The roundness is important to her. Can you put the normal size scoops in a popcorn bucket? We’ll share.”
“Yes, of course!” the woman chirps again. “Right away, Mr. Bachelor.”
Crisis turns toward me, looking up at me, incredulity upon her pretty face. “We’ll… share ?”
I lift my booboo hand. “Less for you to juggle, while I’m injured.”
Her nostrils flare. “Viktor. I’m almost positive you’re milking this a little too much. One might even suggest you are taking advantage of my emotions in regard to something that was deeply hurtful and scarring to me in my youth.”
“Do you, or do you not, want the roundness?”
A becoming blush paints her cheeks in the low lights. “W-well…”
“If I’m hurting you, tell me sincerely. My intention is purely to show how little this—” I show my hand. “—bothers me. We can have fun with whatever life throws at us, because even if it feels like a curse, I’m adaptable enough to treat it like a blessing. To me,” I whisper against her ear, “that’s what you are.”
Her breath stammers as the woman lifts the squat, plastic popcorn bucket full of ice cream over the glass shield. “Here you go, dears! Popcorn station is just inside the theater. Feel free to grab some on your way in.”
“Excellent.” I take the bucket with my good hand and hold Crisis’s eyes while she internally combusts. “Thank you.” Moving the bucket into the crook of my elbow, I set my hand firmly on her back and guide her in toward not only the popcorn station…but also the candy bar.