The Protector 2

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Raven

Eventually, I give in. Who knows how much longer we will be stuck together in this wheeled bulletproof coffin, so I may as well tell him about me. A whole lot of good things also happened to me in London, which he has no idea about. Of course, there are certain details that I’d rather keep to myself. For example, I couldn’t tell him about my pregnancy. I have no idea how Rafe would react, and there’s enough drama going on in our lives without that, anyway. This would only create a bigger mess between us, and I don’t think I have energy for more fights. So I leave out the embarrassing details, and only share with him what I feel is suitable for him to take in.

THE PAST SEVEN YEARS

After we broke up, my aunt Nola did all she could to heal my soul, and to keep me entertained. We spent a lot of time together, visited museums, went to the cinema, and shopped. I registered at a local fitness club and began to work out, which was good not only for my body, but for my mental state too. Most of my time was devoted to university, though. I was lucky, as I managed to get on with my studies where I left them off in Philadelphia. I enjoyed studying, and even took up autism spectrum pedagogy along with my logopaedia major. Aunt Claire just laughed, and said that ever since I was born, I’ve had something like a helping-syndrome. Even in my childhood, I used to take home stray cats and little birds fallen out of their nests. Later I learned that the cat-bird pet combo was less than an optimal choice, but the point was I was led by good intentions. Aunt Claire was most probably right, because it does give me pleasure to help. The knowledge that I can do good to someone, releases endorphine into my blood, and I believe this showed even in my career choice.

I consciously kept myself busy, not leaving myself any time for self-pity. I had plenty of things to do, and the activity-therapy seemed to be working. After a year, I was almost completely myself again. Almost.

The first crisis shook me when Nola announced that she was moving back to Northern Ireland. The family home near Newcastle, where my mother and Nola grew up, had been empty since the death of their parents. As a teacher, Nola got a great job opportunity in the neighbourhood, and since the house was there anyway, she decided to move back She was only worried about me, as she wasn’t too happy to leave me alone in London. She kept persuading me for weeks to join her, even collected the brochures of all the nearby universities and the ones in Belfast, just to put me in the mood for moving. We even travelled there, the two of us, to take a look at the house, which, although needed some revamping, was still a breath-taking gem on the shore of the Irish Sea. The two-storey house with wild vine-clad walls is a few miles from Newcastle, on a hilly-rocky area. I almost swooned when I caught sight of the impressive house, half of which was my heritage, due to my mother. A romantic dream, newly weds’ fantasy. I could really imagine myself living there, or at least, spend my summers there with someone, in whose company I didn’t long for the buzz of a city. But this someone wasn’t in my life, and no matter how much I loved the house, I was adamant about staying where I was. It had been nearly a year my life changed completely. I had just grown used to London, I had just found my place among my university mates. I had got to know new people, made new friends, practically, started a new life. I couldn’t just throw away everything I had built up, and start something new again. Relocating was out of the question.

So, when Nola started her ten-hour journey to Newcastle with her crammed car on a cool February day, I was left alone in the Soho flat.

“Are you out of your mind? You think I should do it?” I laughed heartily at Blake’s suggestion.

“Why not? It’s worth a try. There’s nothing you can lose.”

“Do I look like a model?” I stuck out my tongue like an i***t, even crossed my eyes.

Blake, whom I had met at a university party a few months before, giggled, and crossed his eyes at me.

“You actually do, love. It’s not my fault that you have self-esteem issues.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my self-esteem. But to work as a model… that’s a completely different story.”

I looked him over, and for the hundredth time I noted that he actually was a model-type. Blake was 6 feet 2, and, I guessed, 132 pounds maximum. He wasn’t a classic male beauty, but there was definitely something about his face that could not be ignored. He had blond hair down to his shoulders, and brown eyes. His protruding chin bones gave a unique feature to his face. In a positive sense. He wasn’t really my taste, but the model agencies loved this type with a distinctive childlike look. Blake, just like me, was twenty-one, and had been working for all kinds of fashion houses along with his university studies.

It took me a while to convince myself that it was high time I got out of my shell, and it turned out to be a good idea that I went to the party where we met. Blake was hitting on me for a while, but when he realized nothing romantic would unfold between us, he backed up a little, and was pleased enough to be just a friend. We got along well, and once in a while even spent some time together. At the time, I hardly knew anybody in the city. Nola’s circle of friends wasn’t really my age group, so I was thankful to Blake for taking me to new places and introducing me to new people.

Since I was on my own in the apartment, of course, I had to cover all the costs. The Soho apartment was obviously too big for one person, so it also came up that I might move into a smaller one, where rent was cheaper. After some thinking, though, I dismissed the idea. The truth was, I loved that apartment. The morning runs in Hyde Park, the city centre, the buzz of Oxford Street, all put a spell on me, so I stayed. The first few months were not a problem, because the money I had brought from home was more than enough to cover my expenses. Actually, there wouldn’t have been a problem later either, as the Bertone family would have been happy to pay all my costs, but I didn’t like the idea of my uncle financing everything. Not that he ever said anything like that, yet I felt if I depended on him financially, I’d have to be accountable to him about my whole life, and I wanted to be independent. I only wanted to touch the money I had inherited from my parents if absolute necessity. And this is where Blake entered the scene, and offered to take me to the agency where he worked.

At first I only laughed at the idea. I never dreamed of being on stage, never longed to be in the focus. Not that I was very shy, but showing myself off wasn’t something I wanted to pursue. I was aware that I had inherited beautiful features and a pleasant look from my parents, but I also knew a lot of beautiful girls. I didn’t think I would stick out of the crowd. I was thin and sporty, with hardly any boobs to boast of. It seemed, though, the boys liked me, because Blake wasn’t the only one who tried his luck with me – but he still remained a friend even after it turned out that nothing more would happen between us.

An obvious plus for the idea of modelling was the great earning opportunity. Blake, for example, made more money with a photo shot or a single fashion show than he ever would have earned waiting on tables for a month. I was also thinking about taking on a waitress’ job somewhere, or, like in the States, working as a babysitter again, but all of these would consume too much time, and I wouldn’t have made a fraction of what a photo shot paid. I didn’t really believe I had a chance, but I finally gave in, and registered at the agency. First, Blake took me to a professional photographer who made a truly convincing portfolio of me. As I took the finished photos into my hands, my chin dropped. I hardly believed my eyes. In the pictures, I saw a young woman who was sensual, radiated confidence, and had eyes that were glittering. I had no idea all of these things were in me. That’s when I learned the proper combination: a pretty face, professional makeup, good lights plus a talented photographer were enough to do miracles.

About a month after I submitted my portfolio to the agency, I received my first job. I could hardly believe that they really wanted me, but the success of the first photos and the cheque that I received, effectively began to increase my self-confidence. It was never my aim to pursue modelling full time, but as a temporary solution for making money, it worked wonderfully. Initially, I was a bit insecure in front of the camera, felt clumsy and awkward, but with every photo shot and catwalk job, I grew more and more confident. I learned to sell myself in the field of fashion without giving away the essence of my soul in the process. I came to know a completely new world, and enjoyed it.

Nevertheless, I didn’t take on every job. At the London Fashion Week, for example, which was organized biannually, I loved to present the clothes of various fashion houses, but in order to be really big in fashion, I would have had to travel all the time. Paris, Milan, Zurich, New York, Miami… Practically, I could have been on the road all year, visiting all the fashion show venues, but I wasn’t ready for that. Earning my degree was at the top of my priorities, I only considered modelling as number two. I preferred fashion magazine and catalogue shots, where I didn’t have to leave London.

My first photo shot took place on a sunny spring morning for a small, upcoming fashion house called Rebellious. The leading designer was Hannah Hailey, an outstandingly talented young woman, whose clothes’ designes I loved from my heart. We got along really well, maybe for the very reason that, as far as I could understand, Hannah was also very much torn by life. After Rebellious employed me a few times for various jobs, I got very friendly with some of the employees. Sven von Staffeldt, who worked there, told me about Hannah’s sad love story that had real potential of becoming a Hollywood hit, and I listened to it with amazement. We worked together again at the London Fashion Week, and having heard Hannah Logan’s mind-blowing lovestory, I was overcome by some painful memories from my own, not too far past. The memories put me in a bad mood.

My heart was slowly healed, although I didn’t think I was ready to start a new relationship. Not that there weren’t any volunteers. Sven, for example, passionately courted me, but I was cautious. After having burnt myself so badly, I wanted to guard my heart, and emotionally separated myself from boys. With time, though, I realized that it couldn’t go on anymore like that. I couldn’t hit rock bottom every single time I saw a heartwrenching love drama, or someone around me broke up with her boyfriend. I had to move on for my own sake, and for the sake of my future. With a strong will I pulled myself together, and when Sven von Staffeldt asked me out the next time, I said yes.

I had been thinking about looking for a roommate, since there was a lot of space in the apartment, but it wasn’t so easy to find one. I wouldn’t have lived together with just anyone, and although I had been dating Sven for a while, I couldn’t get myself to accept him as my roommate. Moving in together would have made our relationship too intimate, which I wasn’t prepared for. Sven was great, I liked speding time in his company, I even enjoyed our occasional s*x after clubbing, but I wasn’t fond enough of him to say I want you to move into my apartment and my bed.

The girl who eventually moved into my Soho apartment was called Amina, and she studied English literature and photography at the university that I attended.