Chapter 17
EVERY brEATH YOU TAKE
Cosmo - Snagged Thread
It was clear this sweatshirt wasn’t Cosmo’s.
He stood in front of the mirror and pulled the collar up to his nose. After three days, the scent was starting to wear off. It wasn’t perfumed with the sexy notes of jasmine and amber of that cemetery cologne, but smelled like fresh linen and Micah’s skin. Cosmo inhaled deeply.
It was slightly too big. The neckline gaped, sleeves swallowing Cosmo’s wrists.
He rolled up the cuffs, but that made the ill-fit even more obvious.
And it was so slouchy and casual. It didn’t go with anything in Cosmo’s closet.
This powder blue number pulled from a department store athletics section.
Micah had probably owned it for years. Oil paint in various hues crusted the cotton, and there was a small hole in one cuff that Cosmo needed to stop touching or he’d worry his thumb through it.
His hair was behaving today, his eyeliner was perfect, and the dusky pink lipstick picked up the cool tones in his skin.
He’d found a pair of earrings in the back of the jewelry box that he’d forgotten about, and that pimple that had been on his forehead was finally gone.
He looked chic and beautiful – and the sweatshirt ruined his entire aesthetic.
With a grin, he opened the camera on his phone. Pouting his lips, he turned his head until he found the angle that most perfectly showed off his jawline. Wait, no. The sweatshirt wasn’t enough. He needed a shot where the purple hickey on his throat was also visible.
He arched his neck and gave the camera a smoldering gaze, then snapped a dozen photos. They all looked so good.
Instinctively, he hit the Share button, and nearly tapped Flashbulb before realizing what he was doing. But what was he so afraid of? Zedd might have scared away his past loves, but Micah had already proved he wasn’t going anywhere. Cosmo was happy, and he wanted the world to know.
After selecting three photos, he added filters and loaded them onto Flashbulb.
Comments popped up immediately.
Whaaaaa. So pretty! Looks like someone had fun.
Omg. Who???
I want to be that sweatshirt.
Damn, baby. Are you trading outerwear for hard smooches? Because I have a leather jacket that would look great on you.
Normally these sorts of comments gave him a boost, but a needle of irritation pierced through the enjoyment. He replied: Tempting offer, but I’m only stealing one man’s clothing right now. And maybe if he’s verrrrrry nice, I’ll give his sweatshirt back.
Leaning back against the door, he pressed the phone to his chest and sighed. It vibrated, and the notifications bar filled with more comments.
Slut.
Whore.
Zedd was nothing but good to you.
I hope you fall down the stairs and break your neck.
Cosmo made a noise in his throat. He’d expected this, but not so quickly.
What asshole was stalking his Flashbulb?
He squinted at the profile picture. It was from one of Snake Milk’s concerts; green light burned through smoke machine fog as Zedd wailed into the microphone.
The drummer held his sticks aloft in the background, and the bassist looked like he was about to trip over a power cord.
Zedd had been blocked for a long time, but this account was set to private.
It could be any one of the band members.
Screw it. He had more pictures on his phone – ones from the afternoon spent watching Hellraiser with Micah, and he was going to upload all of them.
Micah - Snagged Thread
Thank you for submitting your portfolio to Wegmann’s Gallery. While your art is beautiful, it isn’t the right fit for our current collection, so we’re going to pass.
Micah thumped his head against the desk.
He was going to have to take on more commissions of barns so he didn’t completely max out his credit card.
Either that or cave and tell prospective clients that yes, he could draw their kid from a photo for fifty bucks, and yes, he promised that it wouldn’t look at all “disturbing” the way some of his portraits did.
A knock came at the door, and he startled.
Speaking of. That landscape painting hadn’t worked to summon Beelzebub, but Micah still knew what Hell felt like.
It was finally finished and dry enough to the touch to let the client take it home.
He would get his second chunk of the commission money and never have to squint at tiny blades of grass again.
He’d told the client that he could bring it to her, but she’d insisted Micah’s place was on the way.
As he stood, adrenaline engulfed him. His mind screeched warnings of danger. He stopped, feet rooted to the carpet. His heart hammered against his ribs, eyes wide as he tried to understand where this feeling was coming from. He hadn’t even opened the door yet.
She was going to step inside. He’d turn his back to grab the painting, and she’d walk inside without being invited.
Though that fear always lurked in the back of his mind, this wasn’t paranoia. It was that sense of what Cosmo called “presque vu.” It had already happened to Other Micah in his universe.
The knock came at the door again, and Micah broke from his trance.
He grabbed a nearby easel, propped it near the door, and set the painting on top.
Sensing when something about the future wasn’t quite lining up the way it should didn’t seem like much more than an interesting party trick, but if it saved him a panic attack, he was going to relish in the power.
Shaking out his hands, blew out a slow breath and opened the door. The client stood on the balcony, smiling sweetly with her purse clutched in her hands.
“Hi. How are you?” Hopefully his grin didn’t look as unsteady as it felt.
“I’m fine, thank you. Is that it behind you? I can’t wait to see it in person.” She put a hand on the doorframe and stepped on the threshold.
Micah’s nerves vibrated, his mind shrieking out a chorus of No! Bad! Go away! “I’ll bring it outside. It looks so much better in natural lighting.” He picked up the landscape, then tried to angle it to fit out the door, but the corner bumped into the wall. “Shit. Hang on, I–”
The woman stepped onto the carpet, reaching. “Let me help.”
“No!” The edge of the canvas rammed against the doorframe as he widened his stance, trying to block the doorway with his body.
The woman recoiled, pressing herself into the balcony railing.
He turned the painting and slid outside with it, then he strained to reach his doorknob. The canvas slipped from his grip, and he fought to catch it before it hit the ground. The client yanked it from his hands.
God, this whole ordeal was terrible from start to finish. Micah snatched the knob and slammed the door shut, then turned to the client. “Sorry about that. It’s a little unwieldy. I didn’t damage it, did I? If I did, I can fix it.”
She held up the painting, angling it from side to side. “It looks okay. But that’s why I was going to help you.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m only halfway done chopping up my neighbor and fitting him into a duffel bag.” The laugh that came out of his throat sounded deranged. “It’s a real mess in there right now.”
Color drained from the client’s face, and she tightened her grip on the painting.
“That was a joke.” Cosmo would have been amused. But Cosmo wasn’t a soccer mom who commissioned paintings of barns in grassy fields. Micah cleared his throat. “Sorry. My humor is getting a little too in the spirit of the season.”
The tension in the woman’s face relaxed. “Right. Halloween is coming up.” She forced a chuckle, then pulled a wallet out of her purse. “I bet you’re great at scaring the trick-or-treaters.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been disfigured that long.”
“Oh, no.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He really needed to get better at self-deprecating jokes. “That was a–”
“I just mean because you’re an artist, and creative people always have great costumes and decorations, right?
” She pulled a stack of hundreds from her wallet and furiously counted through.
“And if you like Halloween, then you probably get really into it. But if you’re embracing how you look for a costume, then that’s great.
I think that’s commendable. Uh, not that you look scary.
You look… You’re very talented, and the painting is beautiful.
” She pressed the hundreds into his hand.
“There’s one extra there. It’s a tip because… You’re very talented.”
She hefted the painting, waving off his offers of assistance, then hurried down the stairs.
That went well.
After heading back inside and locking the door, he stopped at the bathroom mirror and forced himself to look at his reflection. He’d never been great at selfies, and the only pictures of him after the assault were taken by the police.
This look had worked for Bowie, though. Micah pulled off his sweatshirt, tamed his hair, then held up his phone. He snapped a few photos, then cringed as he scrolled through the gallery. Delete, delete, delete.
Opening Flashbulb, he navigated to Cosmo’s profile.
His stomach fluttered at the sight of the most recent photos.
They were taken when he and Cosmo had watched Hellraiser.
Micah’s face wasn’t in the Flashbulb pictures, but there were his fingers, intertwined with Cosmo’s.
There was Cosmo, his head resting on Micah’s shoulder.
He scrolled down and sucked in a breath. Cosmo had posed in Micah’s sweatshirt, pouting for the camera with a hickey clearly visible on his neck. Three hundred likes and so many comments.
As many lewd replies populated the post as Cosmo’s others, and he left just as many kiss emojis in reply, but his comments had taken on a viciously snarky edge.
Someone wrote: You’re taking up too much room in my spank bank. Cosmo replied, Consider this a cease-and-desist, darling. Give your poor meat a rest.
Micah snorted.