Drying off, I slipped on a pair of sweats and returned, exhausted but unable to sleep, to my current work in progress and began chipping away at the little boy’s face… the young, torn face crying bullets… bullets that I’d made him fire when he didn’t want to… ruining his damn life.
As I pounded the hammer against the head of the pointed chisel, I pushed Aliyana’s smiling face and haunting eyes from my mind.
I had to forget what had happened between us. There was no way I would fucking ruin her too.
Chapter Nine
Ally
Two weeks later…
So this is it? This is where he stays? I thought to myself, looking at the sculpting studio from my car. The address Vin had given me led me to the waterfront, not too far from Pike Market.
The night was dark and beside me on the seat of my rental was a box filled with the draft text boards and titles. I’d called Vin to ask him to sign off on them, but he’d insisted he was too busy on the East Coast and that I should take them to Elpi himself… at his studio… the studio overlooking the Puget Sound… after two weeks of hearing nothing from him.
As always, the skies were overcast, a slight breeze in the air, but the day was dry. Checking the address in my email from Vin again, I sighed. This was the right place…
I was procrastinating.
A large white square building stood before me. It looked like a small factory, the windows were large but blacked out on this side. It was tucked away down a small pathway, offering beautiful sea views. Vin had said this was his studio, the one he’d used for years, but he gifted it to Elpidio for this exhibition.
My heart beat faster as I watched the wooden double door for any signs of life. There was nothing, meaning I had to get out of the damn car and knock, show Elpi the text boards and get him to give me permission to use them.
Taking a fortifying breath, I opened the car door, shivering at the cold chill seeping through the thin material of my lilac maxi dress and short, fitted black leather biker jacket. My hair was straight and loose, the light breeze causing it to drift across my face.
Reaching across to the passenger seat, I pulled out the box housing the boards and, locking the car, slowly walked across the street to stand at the large wooden door.
Loud music was pumping from inside, and my stomach tightened with nerves. I wanted to see Elpi more than anything in the world, but I doubted he really wanted to see me. My knees shook as I lifted my hand and knocked on the door.
As I waited, I glanced round the small street, noting it was deathly quiet. It suited Elpi completely. A lonely studio on a lonely street for a loner sculptor.
The music continued to blare inside, and there was no sign of Elpi. Trying again, but knocking harder this time, I waited about five minutes before it sank in that he couldn’t hear me.
Feeling colder and colder by the minute, I glanced up the empty street again before shifting the box under one arm and tried the doorknob.
It turned.
The door creaked open, betraying the age of the studio, and revealed a long empty hallway leading in only one direction.
Taking the heavy box in both hands, I edged into the hallway, kicking the door shut with my foot, and called, “Hello?”
My voice was no contender against the blaring heavy rock coming from a room at the end of the corridor. Straightening my shoulders, I forced my feet forward and suppressed my nerves. The closer I got to the end of the hallway, the more I doubted my decision to come here. It was his private space. He most definitely would not want me intruding.
But as I thought to leave, I heard the poetic sound of a chisel chipping away at marble and I stilled.
I wanted to see him work. To observe an artist at work was a rare privilege. And more than that, I wanted, no, needed to see Elpidio again.
I couldn’t help it. I felt a pull within me that refused to let me turn round and leave.
Rubbing my lips together, I bent to place the box of text board drafts on the ground and crept forward to stand in the door-less doorway… And the sight that greeted me took my breath away.
Elpidio stood in the center of the room, dressed only in a pair of black ripped jeans, his top half bare, every inch of his olive skin covered in what looked like thousands of tattoos. There wasn’t one bit of naked skin showing. I’d never seen anyone so covered in ink in all my life. But aside from the tattoos, which had me gripping the doorframe with rigid fingers, were the thick defined muscles protruding over his shoulder blades, the cut pieces of flesh damp with the sheen of sweat, flexing with every blow from the hammer in his hands.
His bulging thighs were rigid as he stood his ground, carefully sculpting the back of a marble slab which looked to be the image of a young boy with a larger boy at his back whispering in his ear.