25. Soul Stealing
Chapter 25
Soul Stealing
Rafe
I’m sitting on my studio’s hardwood floor, looking up at Bonnie perched on my painting stool. Her brush is poised over the canvas balanced on the easel in front of her. Her lips twist to the side as she observes the beginnings of another skeleton. Even though it’s her favorite subject to draw, she looks less enthused.
“This looks terrible.”
We’ve been at this for an hour now. The shop closed at seven, and we came up here immediately after. She began painting at my insistence while I made us pan chicken and vegetables. Now that the food is settling, we’re back at the canvas.
“You’re doing great,” I say.
She side-eyes me. “Liar.”
I smirk. “We don’t lie here.”
Her painting isn’t perfect. No painting is. Art is subjective like that. But what the skeleton does have is her personality, blended in with saturated colors and bold brushstrokes.
She’s a natural. A fucking natural at everything she does. It’s far from terrible .
“Keep going,” I say.
Bonnie rolls her eyes, dips the brush onto her palette, and leans forward once more.
I focus back on my sketchbook, but from the corner of my eye, I see her peeking down. I knock my chin toward her canvas.
“Eyes on your own work.”
“Such a tyrant,” she teases.
God, I could devour her when she has sass like that. But all I can bring myself to do right now is continue in my own art, just as I instructed her to do.
We’ve strictly stuck with art lessons since the Howling Ravens concert. Yes, there’s a level of guilt I feel for requesting exclusivity, only to not touch her myself, but every time we get close, I find myself turning my attention to something else.
It’s maddening.
I can’t figure out what my fucking holdup is, but this—sitting here, making art together—I definitely like this.
I bring my pencil to paper, dragging it to stroke a vague gesture sketch of her jaw, of her ears with two stud piercings on each side and the little mole just behind it. I outline her hooded eyes as she concentrates on her canvas. Each line is more intricate than the next, a freckled nose and full red lips taking shape.
Bonnie doesn’t know that every detailed drawing of her I create is another fact I’m learning about her. She has a tiny prick along the dip in her nose, and I wonder if she once had a ring there. A small white scar adorns the bottom of her chin. Was it an accident as a kid or something rebellious as a teenager? Maybe a drunken night in college?
I haven’t had a cigarette in hours. I know if I move, it’ll interrupt this peaceful reality we’ve created with dim lights and a playlist humming through my studio. If I take a break, she might think it’s a sign for her to leave. I can’t risk it. I would hate if she weren’t here.
Just when I’m patting the paper with her freckles, my phone vibrates on the floor, destroying the gentle calm. The name MOM shines back.
Bonnie breaks away from her canvas to look. She’s so twitchy, like she’s waiting for a signal she’s no longer welcome.
“It’s nothing,” I murmur, flipping the screen face down. “Get back to it.”
“You don’t answer calls from your mom?”
“I’ll text her back later.”
She tilts her head to the side, as if thinking, then finally smiles. “What’s she like?”
“You’re avoiding work.”
“No, I’m having a conversation. We’ve been drawing for a while.”
“Let’s draw for longer.”
“Rafe.” Bonnie’s lips tip into a small, chastising smile.
I narrow my eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
She shrugs nonchalantly. “Soul stealing.”
A laugh huffs through my nose. “Greedy.”
When I don’t start explaining though, Bonnie doesn’t let it slide. She touches my thigh with an extended foot. “Trust meee,” she singsongs, a cheesy half imitation of the hypnotic python in The Jungle Book .
Too late. I’m entranced already, seductive woman.
“You’re so full of it,” I joke.
She clicks her tongue, tilting her head to the side. “C’mon. Share a little for once.”
I run my tongue along my teeth. She nudges my thigh again. And when I look up at her widened eyes and cute smile, I find myself sighing. A fly caught in her trap.
“All right then. You wanna know?”
She pulls a knee up to her chest and grins, bouncing in her seat. “Please.”
I set my sketchbook aside and lean back on my palms, staring at the dark ceiling above, barely lit from the low lamp from the couch and in the kitchen.
“My mom is … complicated. In the ways only a successful woman can be, I guess.”
“Do you see her often?” Bonnie asks.
“Not really.” My jaw tenses. I avert my eyes. “I should. But … I don’t know.”
“Are you close?”
“Sort of. We used to be closer.” Saying it out loud feels wrong, like airing out my dirty laundry.
But when I glance back, Bonnie doesn’t have a sliver of judgment on her face. She’s squinting, as if trying to decipher me as much as I am her.
“What happened?” Bonnie asks.
“I moved away.”
“Why?”
“To open the shop.”
“Does she ever visit here?”
“Not really. She doesn’t like to. She’s busy a lot. Doesn’t like leaving our hometown.”
“Does she have a boyfriend there or something?”
I choke out a laugh. “God, no. My mom date? She’d rather chop her arm off.”
Bonnie’s eyebrows furrow inward. “Why doesn’t she date?”
I inhale and exhale. “My dad. One heartbreak was enough for her.”
“What happened?” she asks. “Is he … I mean, does he …”
“He’s not in the picture. Cheated on her.” I clench my jaw. “Hasn’t been around since I was nine.”
“Oh.” Her face contorts second by second, mouth downturned in regret. She almost looks panicked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I shake my head. “What? No, don’t apologize.”
She closes her eyes. “Clearly, you didn’t want to talk about that. I’m so sorry?—”
I get to my feet and stand, taking her chin between my finger and thumb and tilting it up to look at me.
“Hey. Get out of your head,” I say, dipping my face down so she’s eye level with me. “We’re just talking. If I didn’t want to answer, I wouldn’t have.”
I suddenly realize how close we are. I’m still stroking my thumb over that little white scar along her chin.
I drop my hand. A shiver rolls down my spine. I spread my fingers wide, as if trying to get feeling back into them from her warmth.
She gives me a lazy smile. I wish I knew what was going on in her head. Does she think I’m a bad son for leaving my mom? Does she think I’ll turn out like my dad?
“Your turn,” I say. “What’s with the scar?”
“What scar?”
Heat rushes into my chest. I’m a fucking weirdo for noticing.
I run a palm through my hair. “The one on your chin.”
“Oh,” she says, bringing her hand up and tracing it with her fingertips. She laughs to herself. “Just me trying to keep up with my brothers, as usual.”
“What happened?”
“They wanted to go swimming out at Skull Rock with some girls. Ma told them to take me along. I was maybe eight or so? Not sure. Either way, they’re … well, they didn’t really want a little sister tagging along when they were trying to flirt, right? I didn’t understand, so I kept trying to sneak up and scare them. One of the girls ended up actually getting spooked, and she pushed me down on accident.” Bonnie laughs. “I’ve got my money on her surviving a horror movie. Anyway, Ma yelled at the boys for days.”
“And the girl?” I ask.
“Oh, she apologized. She didn’t mean anything by it. I was the one being a snotty kid. But, Pete … yeah, Pete wasn’t happy.”
Heat rises in my chest. “With you?”
“God, no,” she says quickly. “With her.” She twists her lips to the side. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think he saw her again after that.”
I reach down, stroking a line over her thigh, gripping right above the knee.
I don’t like stories where Bonnie is ignored by anyone.
“Let’s go out,” I say.
She shifts in her seat, startled. “Where?”
I don’t care where, honestly.
To the moon and back.
Anywhere I can collect more of her.
“Somewhere not in Never Harbor,” I say. When her face falls, I shake my head. “Somewhere nicer, I mean,” I correct. Though, now instead of it seeming like I’m embarrassed about it, it sounds like a date.
Her eyebrows rise.
“For research,” I add.
She smirks. “Research.”
“Sure.” I remove my palm from her thigh and pocket my hands. “I think it’s time we go to a museum for some in-person art viewing.”
“Rafe Cohen.” She mocks my name sarcastically. “Why, how fancy of you.”
She pulls her bottom lip in, batting her eyelashes in an over-the-top way. But it doesn’t look ridiculous. She’s stunning like that, even in her oversize cardigan and jeans. Even from above her, I feel her soft exhales. Minty. Flowery.
The longer I’m silent, the more her face falls. Until her red lips part. Until she’s leaning closer.
I clear my throat, running a palm through my hair once more. “Let’s go then.”
She chokes out a laugh. “Now?”
I grab her hand and lift, making her rise from the stool with a small peep of surprise and a laugh.
“Show a little impulsivity from time to time, Shiv.”
I grab her crossbody purse from the hooks near my door and open the door.
With a small smile, she tugs on her shoes and follows behind me.