Shacking up with my Convict

Chapter 3

Morning comes with bright rays that invade the room without my permission but without the songs of birds. Everyday the reality hits that I'm no longer in that house, beneath that man or walking on ice. And everyday it feels like a dream that I'm too terrified to wake from soon.

I toss the covers to the side, deciding not to stay inside today. Grabbing my computer, I checked my emails while heading out to brew some tea and toast a beagle. I needed to clean inside the kitchen too and the living area but one struggle at a time.

The street is already bustling with people I recognize staring through the kitchen window and I halt my gaze, finding a rather unexpected guest gazing my way. He's tall with bulges at places that seem rather ironic, as if he pumped his system of steroids or swallowed a few things whole. A towel wraps around his lower torso, covering up what would be the mother of all curses had he flashed me anything this early or any time for that matter.

The stranger smiles, something I guess akin to subtle seduction, if him licking his lips as if he's found a delightful snack to feed on was anything to go by. I should look away but I don't. I wasn't peeping, you couldn't call it peeping when I hadn't intentionally gone to oggle the man. And oh my lord doesn't he like the attention.

My face heats when he flashes me a smile, blonde hair that's messed from probably running those thick stubby fingers of his through it lays atop his head.

He mouths something, one that I'm unable to decipher but I attempt to be sweet, lifting my mug to him before placing it at my lips.

I cough and sputter, doing my best not to drop the hot mug of tea that's left, after I've spued everything unto my window. My eyes bulge from the mere sight before me, my brazen neighbor having dropped his towel, declaring his naked glory. I haven't a clue the expression that reigns on my face as he watches in amusement, pointing to his rather erect c**k that salutes me from across our glasses. My fingers tentatively reach for the curtains, pulling them together before I back-pedalled into the living room seating myself unto the sofa.

A laugh bursts from within me as I wipe tears, my feelings conflicted. I'm not sure if I should be horrified or impressed at his tenacity. My phone rings and I fumble to reach it across the small table, hitting the answer button sloppily before it falls from my hands. Curses fall from my lips grabbing it.

"Hello?"

"Viven? Is this Viven?"

"Speaking"

"Oh thank goodness" the woman gushes with relief. "I know this is short notice but my photographer cancelled just a few hours ago and I'm bending backwards as it is getting this party off the ground without a hitch. Is it possible for you to fill in within an hour?"

"An hour?" I quickly swipe at the screen gwaking at the time. It would take a miracle for me to get ready with that deadline.

"Are you booked?" She asks in horror. "Dear goodness, you're my last resort"

"No, no, I'm available" I answer quickly lest she had a panic attack on her end of the line. "I'll be there in an hour so you can go do what you do best"

"Oh my goodness you're a life saver, I can't thank you enough"

I laugh eerily to myself. Don't thank me yet, hopefully I can pull this off without looking too shabby.

"It's no problem"

"I'll text you the address okay" she squeals in delight and I blush, wanting to curl into myself from the attention. "It's no problem really. Photography is my job"

Not to Watson.

I shake my head warding off those negative thoughts. Enough of him.

Watson isn't here.

Watson doesn't exist.

"See you in a little while"

I scramble from my seat running into my bedroom that's unmade, tossing clothes from my suitcase in search of the perfect outfit before just grabbing jeans and a peach blouse. I'm supposed to look professional but to hell with that. Grabbing my wedges laying haphazardly at the door, I did one final sweep, bolting back to grab my new lens and spun back through the door.

*****

Fours hours later with my face stretched and tender from all my smiles I stand on the turquoise grass reviewing the photos I've taken for the day. I'm pasted from head to feet in frosting from all the toddlers that grabbed cake and decided to share with me. Well a few things couldn't be helped when chasing kids all over. Especially when their convinced you're playing tag and they think they move absolutely fast, but in reality you just have to play nice and not catch them instantly.

"Okay everyone time for the final act of the evening"

Children gather from every direction possible, some tugging their parents along covered in glitter, others rugged and dirty but filled with mirth.

"Okay Patrice maybe we could have everyone make a half moon or semi-circle, since the lovely Layla" The sweet little fairy princess waves her wand around, doing a dramatic bow. "Is such a fan of the moon"

A few steps back and roughly a dozen snaps later, the kids scamper away once more and I'm left chatting up the parents.

"Viven you've done such exquisite work, thank you so much again" Patrice says as she glances through a few photos with the other mom's.

"Oh like I said it's no problem"

"I don't think I've ever seen a photographer work like this" Another mom comments gushing. "Normally their all affronted, you know but look at you. Soiled and everything"

"Yeah, I think my Jeffrey is to blame for that, the little champ saw her camera and was determined to have it"

We all laugh while I wring my hands.

"Well I don't blame him, boy knows pedigree when he sees it"

We're all startled by a male voice that joins our conversation, the only male figure of the day joining in.

"Greg" he says extending an arm and I smile shaking it.

"Pleasure to meet you"

"The pleasure been ours actually. Patrice keeps Layla's birthday every year and I don't think we've ever seen a photographer actually participate in the potato race"

My face heats at his comment. The kids literally tugged on my jeans to join, it's not like I could ever break those tiny weenie hearts.

"Ah, I'm sorry about that" I blush.

"No, no love, that's why we love you"

Oh.

"So Marie's having a pot luck in a few days, you should definitely come. Have a girls day out"

The mom's nod in consensus and I wither internally. I should be happy to find new friends but with Brean on my case I don't think a dramatic meltdown is what I need.

"Um" I glance between the expectant mothers and dad. "I'll think about it"

"Do you have kids of your own?"

I get the feeling these people like to be too close for comfort but I hid my snide thoughts and shake my head.

"Planning to?" Greg asks and I wonder about the eagerness I've picked up on in his voice.

I glance at him from the sides of my eyes gaging him. Maybe he had a crush on me. yeah right, not 'ol plane Jane.

"No, uh that's not in the wood works right now"

My answer is more or less accepted and they leave me alone to attend to their little monsters running around. I'm now exhausted, only glancing at my soiled clothes and groaning inwardly. I want to crawl home and bury myself beneath waves of warm water flooded with scented petals and sip a glass of champagne. I think better of it, opting to have a night out instead. I still remember this quaint little bar that Morgan had taken me to. A little sea breeze would do me some good.

"Aren't you Mr. Colquohn's fiancee?"

My back stiffens at her question and fear circulates in my mind that some recognized me. Found me.

Would she tell him about me?

That she saw me?

For a moment I take in the neat tailored look of an upper class woman, neatly groomed hair, perfect dress, pearly white teeth, and the manicured nails that flash their expense at me. She seems familiar but I can't place her, which makes my nervousness attack me once more. Breathe Viven, breathe. Don't forget to breathe. I paste a fake smile, curling my fingers inwards behind my back.

"I'm sorry I think you've got the wrong person"

Miss Prissy takes a second look at me, thinned eyebrows furrowed as she shakes her head.

"Really?" she asks second guessing herself or maybe questioning why I'm choosing to fib right now. "she looks so much like you. I'm almost sure. I'm his assistant"

Ah s**t, I knew her face looked way too familiar to be a coincidence.

"No, I'm sorry. You've got the wrong person"

"Oh, okay then. I'm really sorry to have bothered you"

I stuff the remaining items into my bag, breathing relief beneath my breath.

"It's okay, I have one of those faces"

I scamper away desperate to be within the confines of my apartment where I'm sure behind those small bolts and bars I'm safe. That there's one more barrier between Watson and me.

The fear I feel is palpable, brimming in the air all around me. All plans of having a night out is thrown through the window. It won't kill me to spend the next few days sprawled across the infested couch with a bottle of wine watching The Note Book for the millionth time.

I wave goodbye to the kids, reminding the mom's to leave their reviews on my page, hurrying away to be lost in the bustle of the crowd as I head for the bus.

Digits brush the ankle of my feet and I yelp, jumping back on another passenger that's unimpressed from just now being crushed beneath my wedges. He moves to glare at me, before pushing me to the side continuing his evening staring through the window. My heart hammers against my chest wildly but I attempt to contain my fright, watching as a man is bowed on his knees seeking a toy, that had somehow fallen to the ground while the child at his side wails petulantly.

I know I shouldn't be this riled up, on edge and teetering on the cliff like some crazy woman, but everytime I think of Watson, I see my freedom slip through my finger tips.

It isn't when I'm behind locked doors, out of my clothes and chowing on junk food that my anxiety dies away. The walk over was horrible, I kept glancing beyond my shoulder, kept whining to myself everytime I heard a crunch of feet behind me.

This was no way to live. No way. I had to do better, be better. I couldn't allow Watson to invade my life and force me to be a hermit. I couldn't.

Wouldn't.

But then I sink back into myself spooning another mouthful of chocolate ice cream into my mouth.

Maybe tomorrow.