CAPITOLO SEI
an uninhibited misadventure
***
IT TOOK A LOT erase the previous few days from her mind. Recuperation was spent with the door shut to her room and her taking two sick days and asking Amber to handle her shifts. Lucien didn't seem to understand her behavior but wandered off and did his own activities.
"Hello? Is Doctor Manning there?" she calls.
"No, Ms. Kaufman, but I do have you in scheduled for tomorrow. Are you calling to change?" the receptionist asks.
"No, that's fine. I just had a few questions but I can hold off until then. Thank you," Rose says briefly and hangs up the phone. She shuts her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ear as she hunches over her desk. The surface is remarkably bare and the only objects on it is her fountain pen and her phone.
The only light present in her room is artificial and she hasn't opened her blinds yet, even though it's past noon. There's absolutely nothing wrong with her but she doesn't care as there's little weight in her obligations. What she finds troublesome is that she's required to attend one of the model's gallery function tonight.
So she finds herself going to The Grove and picking out an outfit for this evening. Her adoptive mother, Jessica, used to take her to the Farmers Market every weekend and shopping afterwards. Jessica Ramirez was infertile and in vitro was unsuccessful so in order to save her marriage, she adopted Rose when she was five. It worked magically, for the first few years, and just like all things, the bandaid fell apart and Robert re-associated himself as an uncle, rather than a dad. He's left for Denmark but calls back every once in a while and what Rose always found magical was how easy her mom and dad fell back into friendship.
Rose ends up looking through Barney's, looking at playsuits. She muses over the prices for a bit before biting down and paying at the register. All would be good in a few weeks time, right? Her job gave her many benefits and hanging out with Lucien would only give her more—she found absolute comfort in that as she walks back to the garage with her purchase.
Once she gets back to her apartment complex, she unties her strappy sandals and goes to her closet to find a suitable bra and a pair of appropriate shoes. Josh is playing music in his room and she—surprisingly—stops at his door to ask him how he's doing.
"Good," he murmurs, focused on his laptop screen. It's been six months and she doesn't know what he does for a living (or his last name, despite it being printed on the roommate contract) but it seems as if he's not busy today.
"Do you want to order something to eat?" she asks.
He pauses what he's doing and slips his headphones off both ears. "With you?"
"Do you have a problem?"
"You're like, I don't know, my tenant. I can't be chilling with you," he says and immediately drops his stare.
"It's not judgement day. Chill," she replies. It doesn't throw her off; she's been known to intimidate every and all of her renters. There are no rules in her household but she's kicked someone out for stumbling in at four in the morning and for slamming their door too loud.
"Alright. Alright. Let's not make it weird," he says.
"Get me a chicken-avocado-mango salad," she says and throws the menu at him.
They settle down on the couch after they've gotten their food and watch whatever's on. Josh sits a few feet away from her and picks at his burger, concentrating hard on the television. Rose discovers that he's into graphic designing and has a hobby for making music. There's little to no room for conversation as he shushes her, too focused on the storyline of Breaking Bad.
***
ROSE WAKES UP A few hours before her event. She's sunken in the couch, throat parched and hands around the fleece blanket she keeps there. Josh has disappeared and Rose adds this to the list of reasons why they aren't friends.
A sudden pang hits her heart. It could be the way her floor-to-window sliding doors next to the living room emits a soft glow, or the way the volume of the television is turned down low, or maybe even the scent of the jasmine candle she lit earlier. There's absolutely nothing like an afternoon nap to have her feeling like she's living in her existential crisis.
After blowing out her candle, Rose hears music coming from the halls and so, she attacks.
"We're leaving in two," she tells Lucien.
"Minutes?"
"Hours."
Very much like his roommate, he has headphones in and is lounging on his bed, looking at nothing, doing nothing.
"Is this you cashing in my I-owe-you?" he asks.
"You really don't have a personality, do you?" Rose says.
"Rosie, if you knew my dad, you'd understand."
"I'm still getting," she leans in, "paid. So."
She leaves once she sees him get up from the corner of her eye and goes to get showered. The material of her pantsuit clings onto her skin and she adjusts her bra carefully so that nothing peeks out of the un-conservative cut down the front.
"You look very...glowy," Lucien says when he sees her.
"And you look very devilish," she replies.
In the dim lighting, he does, with shadows casting over his sharp profile and only half of his catty green eye illuminated. His hair is styled in tumultuous waves atop his head and curls around his ears adding a boyish charm Rose has yet to uncover and he sits lazily, fitted dress pants riding up his ankle when he shifts. The only other thing he's wearing is a white dress shirt—no tie.
"My car came today," he says.
Rose raises an eyebrow, as she packs her phone and keys into a clutch.
"Let me guess. Imported engine, convertible, and high maintenance?"
"Ding ding ding."
He has an insufferable grin on his face.
This is how he has her sitting at the edge of his leather car seat, guarding him from putting the top down, for fear of messing her hair. They're racing to their destination, as if with the blessed appearance of his car, the highways have been unclogged, destined for wild souls like them to have the top down and to have their efforts be untangled by the wind. Another night might do just fine, Rose muses, as she sees the streetlights blur the stars.
***
LIFE OF THE PARTY; light of their souls. Lucien Serafino's name has been heard before. Through what industry, no one knows but they know him, they insist, as they swarm to him. The thing that irks Rose is that they probably think it's his face. It morphs itself into something they swear they've seen, until it has them spilling their secrets at his feet.
Rose refuses to think it's jealousy but can't help looking at him every once in a while, over her shoulder, as she talks to photographers in front of the portraits. It's a black and white shoot, model gleaming in oil and hair slicked back. She barks out a laugh at one of the backstories ("How did you get this shot?") and catches Lucien's eyes. They're almost indecipherable in the ambient lighting but she puts dull emeralds in their place as he raises the champagne flute to his lips again.
A glass shatters and drops at his feet. Rose's eyelid twitches and people jump away in circles, only to be beckoned back, sweeping the shards away with their heels and leather shoes. Lucien's handed another glass.
Soon enough, the chatter sinks and servers have ran out of platters to serve. People have studied, out of boredom, all the photographs there is to exhibit. Rose is impatient, hanging out front of the gallery. It's long past closing time and people are hitting the bars but all she wants to do is to go home. Desperate, she checks the time on her small wristwatch and goes out back, looking for Lucien.
Her eyes zero in on the open door out in the dressing room. It's not a big establishment, the gallery, but there are just enough rooms to lose yourself in.
He's balanced precariously on the dresser. Dress shirt unbuttoned, hair slick to his forehead, rosé spilling out his charred lips. "Suffer little children," he says with a wide grin, calamity waltzing in his eyes.
How long will it take before the entire Bible spews out of his mouth?
"You're drunk off your mind," Rose says. She swallows the bile rising up her throat.
"Come join," he manages to jump onto the floor and slide up to her, a hand on her waist, the other clasping her hand. She gives in for a while, swaying with him. There's far too much heat emanating from him and Rose feels lightheaded against his chest. Halfway through, he reaches around her for his rosé.
"You shouldn't," she says, looking into his piercing eyes.
"And you can? What makes it okay?" he scoffs.
"My life's ruined anyways," she whispers.
"Now I, I don't believe that," he says.
"Why not, Lucien? What's so wrong about you?"
If there's one thing she's learned about alcohol, it's that it either brings out the good, the bad, or the sad. The good doesn't last long, the bad persists, and the sad transcends. Instantly, his mouth gets hard and his hands rough. He lets go of her, she stumbles just a bit, having leaned into him, and he's out the door.
"Don't!" she almost shrieks.
He's walking towards the car, keys swinging on his index finger. But Rose is faster and she races up to him, slamming into him before he can get in his seat.
"What the hell?" he spits, turning on her.
"You can't," she says, still breathless.
"What can I ruin, hm? My life?" he says, giving her a mirthless grin. The keys are still dangling loosely in his hands and he's almost statuesque in his still pose. To Rose, he's unrecognizable in this light and it turns her skin cold.
"What's wrong with you?"
She's trying to give him her hardest stare and she can't help but feel useless against him. After all, he's born from higher places than she is and her height shrinks under his.
"Everything."
"I won't let you do this."
"You'll what? It's not your fault. It won't be mine either," he says but it's incoherent to Rose. He's not making any sense and everything's coming muddled on his tongue.
When she tries to take ahold of his arm, he withdraws swiftly and takes a step forward.
"You can't stop me, Rose, I do what I—"
He stops when she twists the collars of his shirt in her hands and pulls him down to her lips. The response is instantaneous and he pushes harder against her, mouth hot against hers. His hands glide down her waist and slip in through the cutouts of her playsuit. Rose doesn't care until she's drawn out of it when his teeth sink into her bottom lip and he swallows her gasp. They stay silent, breathing heavily and she opens her eyes to see that he's already looking down at her.
Rose can tell he's calmer, despite feeling his erratic pulse on his neck and it takes him a few seconds to find composure. He never does, and slips into lethargy.
"Your eyes," he mumbles, "they look just like heaven."
To this confession, she's speechless but words coming out uninhibited lips aren't worth much when it's this near to midnight.
"Come on, I'll take us home," she guides him to the passenger seat and shuts the door behind him. He willingly gives up the keys and she starts the ignition.
"I'm sorry," he says, reclining the seat and watching the passing view.
"It's okay."
"I'd like to kiss you again, though."
Rose looks to him and sees that he's still staring with apt fascination at the blurry scenes outside. There's no lift to his cheekbones and she has the feeling that if he were to turn to her, he'd be completely straight-faced.
"We'll see," she says and she can't contain the twitch the corner of her lip gives. By now, her lipstick has probably rubbed off and a quick glance in the rearview mirror tells her that they're a bit swollen.
For now, she doesn't mind.
***
dedicated to willow for her wonderful banner!
an: thank you for reading and don't forget to vote + comment! I hope you enjoyed reading this part and I hope you have a wonderful day (: