Someone Exactly Like Me by Debbie Cromack

21

Nicco

My night was restless. Though I’m tired, I’m excited for our drive along SP601. When she comes out of her room for breakfast, the sight of her catches my full attention. Snug jeans encapsulate her long legs, her black top is open across her entire back with a tie that wraps around her narrow waist, and her hair is in a single braid. She doesn’t see it, but she’s so damn sexy.

We eat breakfast and get ready to head out on the motorcycle.

“Nicco.” She stops me before we leave.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind bringing Ana’s letter with us? I’d like to try something if you’re open to it.”

Ana’s letter? I don’t know that I want to have it with me on our day together. “What do you want to do?”

“You said we’re going to a beach, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Do you trust me?”

Unquestioningly. “Yes.”

“Okay. Bring the letter. I’ll tell you more later.”

I get the letter out of my wooden box and tuck it into the pocket of my leather jacket. “Do you have any kind of jacket with you? You might want it for the ride.”

“I don’t. I just have my sweatshirt.”

“Hmm. I have one. It might be just a little big on you.” Getting my other black leather jacket out of the closet, I hand it to her.

As she puts her arms through, the sleeves are too long and the bottom hangs below her butt. She’s fucking adorable.

I chuckle. “Perfect fit.”

Catching her reflection in the mirror, she laughs. “Right.”

We go out to the garage and I turn the key on my motorcycle. The roar of the engine makes me smile.

“Where I’m taking you, the speeds aren’t fast, but I want you to hold onto me, okay?”

She nods, with a look on her face that tells me she’s a little scared.

We mount the bike and she wraps her arms around my waist. I love the way she feels against me. As I drive through the small streets of town, I point out shops and interesting things she might want to see. Then I take her by my high school, as requested.

Once we’re on SP601, I increase my speed on the open road, but not too much. The straight stretch hugs the coastline. Above us, the sky is a clear, bright blue with a few clouds floating by. Ocean water stretches beyond what our eyes can see. She rests against my back and I lay my arm down on her leg. She feels so right. Damn I don’t want her to go.

The wind in my face, a woman who’s sneaking into my heart wrapped around me, and empty road for miles, I ride. About half an hour in, I pull off the road to a spot where we can walk down onto the beach. She unwraps from me and carefully dismounts the bike.

“It’s so beautiful,” she says, taking in the view. “Is this where we’ll go on the beach?”

“Yes. We go down just over there.” I point. “This is a perfect spot because no one really comes here.”

“Okay.” She takes off her shoes and socks.

I do the same. Taking her hand, I lead her down to the sand where we walk close to the water’s edge. Together we stare into the ocean, letting it soothe us. The beach is my sanctuary. Having Destiny here with me, makes it heaven.

She turns to me. “You have Ana’s letter?”

“I do.”

“If you’re open to it, I’d like to do a burning ceremony with you.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a way of releasing things that no longer serve us. I fully respect if you don’t want to. And if we start and you change your mind at any point, we’ll stop. I’ll help you with what to say.”

I’ve never heard of such a thing. But I trust her, more than I’ve trusted any woman outside of Mamma.

“Okay, I’m willing to try. What do I do?”

“Hold the letter.”

I get it out of my pocket and hold it in my hand.

She reaches out and holds my other hand in both of hers as she faces me, the sun lighting her face.

“I’ll say some things and you repeat them.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath.

“These words I hold are not my truth.”

I don’t speak. She doesn’t push. She holds my gaze. I breathe.

Swallowing, I push the words out. “These words I hold are not my truth.” I exhale.

“They are a past I held onto as my truth.”

“They are a past I held onto as my truth.”

“I let them hold me captive.”

I breathe. “I let them hold me captive.”

“But they do not serve me.”

“But they do not serve me.”

“I no longer want to be their prisoner.”

I choke down the swelling lump in my throat. “I no longer want to be their prisoner.”

“I no longer want to punish myself with these untruths.”

I suck in a stilted breath as tears burn behind my eyes. I want to run. I squeeze her hand. Her gaze holds loving space for me. She caresses my hand with her thumbs, assuring me there’s no rush for my words.

“I no longer want to…” My swallow is like a dagger dragging down my throat as I force out the next words. “Punish myself with these untruths.”

She waits a moment before continuing.

“I want to open my heart to love, to joy, to possibility, to freedom.”

I breathe. “I want to open my heart.” I swallow. “To love, to joy, to possibility, to freedom.”

“You have your lighter?”

“Yes,” I say, releasing my hand from hers and taking my dad’s lighter out of my jeans pocket. The rough fabric brushes against my skin.

“When you’re ready, if you’re ready, I want you to light the letter on fire.”

Holding Ana’s letter in one hand and my dad’s lighter in the other, my breath shakes out of my lungs. I flick the lighter, the flame quivers beneath the letter as my hand trembles.

I touch the flame to the corner, watching the letter ignite.

“With these flames, I release these untruths from my soul and set myself free.”

“With these flames, I release these untruths from my soul and set myself free.” I inhale then exhale through my nose.

As the paper turns to ashes before my eyes, my flesh shivers.

It burns. I breathe.

Just like the gray death, smoke floats into the air. I twist the paper and turn it, catching each section aflame. With the last corner lit and dying, I release it, watching it blow away in the gentle breeze.

It’s gone. The words that gave me so much pain are gone. Destiny did this for me.

She has my heart.

Standing behind her, her back against my chest, I wrap my arms around her and she holds onto my arms, resting her head back.

I close my eyes and breathe.

Time passes, yet it stands still as we gaze at the ocean in silence, the sun warming our skin, the grainy sand seeping between our toes. I was dead inside for so long. She unraveled the barbed wire caging my heart, exposing my scars. Pain I hid from the world.

She wrapped my wounds with her healing love.

I’m free.

Destiny

Before we leave, I turn to face him.

“Back in L.A., you asked what my parents do for a living.”

“Yes.”

“My dad is retired from the CIA, and he has connections. I didn’t give him any details, but I emailed him last night to see if he might be able to find Ana and your child.”

He steps back from me, covering both sides of his nose with his hands. “Can he do that?”

“He can try. I didn’t want to go any farther without your permission.” I pause. “There’s no promise that he can find her. Is this something you want me to ask him to do?”

Clasping his hands around the back of his neck, he paces left then right. He stops in front of me, holding my shoulders in his large hands. I can’t decipher if his expression is that of hope or fear.

“Yes, please.” He shakes his head. “I understand if he can’t find her. But I would be so grateful for him trying.”

I smile and nod. “I’ll email him when we get back to your house.”

He takes my hand in his and we go back to his motorcycle. The drive back home is just as stunning. Ocean for miles, the fiery sun blazing in the sky above us, my body wrapped snugly around him.

Together, we agree to eat in again and, since it’s an early night, we decide to make lasagna and garlic bread. We stop by the store on the way home and get only the essentials since the bag needs to fit between our bodies on the motorcycle.

When we arrive back at his house, he turns on some music and starts immediately on the preparations. I go to my room and email my dad. When I go back out to the kitchen, he’s started the water heating for the noodles and is working on the sauce. I grab the cheeses and start on the cheese mixture then the garlic bread. I’ve never cooked dinner with a man before. It’s kind of fun. He’s quite entertaining to watch, the way he dances to the music as he stirs the sauce, stopping every now and then to sing into the spoon like a microphone. I can’t help but smile at him.

My cheese mixture is done and the garlic bread is ready for the oven when the timer dings, telling us it’s time to strain the noodles.

“The strainer is in the cabinet above your head,” he says as he shakes his hips to the beat, stirring the sauce.

I open the cabinet and see it on a shelf above me. Stretching onto my tiptoes, I reach up as high as possible, but can’t touch it with my fingers. As I bring down my arm, he’s at my back, extending his arm easily above me, and taking it off the shelf. A shiver runs up my spine.

He sets it in the sink and dumps in the pot of noodles and boiling water. Steam billows into the air and he ducks his head out of its path. On the counter near the sink, he’s laid out parchment paper. As he goes back to stirring the sauce and gyrating his sexy body, I wait for the steam to settle and lay out the noodles on the paper.

With the last noodle laid out, we’re ready to begin our lasagna assembly. He places a deep dish in front me on the counter then puts the pot of sauce on one side and the bowl of cheese mixture on the other. Then he tucks himself behind me. Every time he’s this close to me, my body heats.

“I’ll do the sauce and cheese layers, you do the noodles.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to ignore how flustered I am.

He spreads a layer of sauce on the bottom of the dish. Methodically, we build the layers, our arms grazing past each other several times. I can’t stop the goose bumps from trailing up my arms at the touch of his skin on mine. He loads on the final layer of sauce then reaches for the parmesan cheese. The stale smell of smoke enters my nose as his torso presses into me. A few sprinkles of cheese and it’s ready for the oven.

I move out of the way and he takes the dish, putting it into the oven. Turning my back to the counter, I suck off the tiny bits of sauce that got on my fingers, fold my arms, and watch him. I love that he cooks, not that it matters. When he rises from putting the dish in the oven, he stands in front of me, resting his arms above me on the cabinet. My inhale quavers and I release my arms from across my chest, laying them on the counter as I look up into his dark, seductive eyes framed by his thick, bent brows.

“What should we do while we wait?” he asks, glancing from my eyes to my lips.

The memory of our kiss shoots to the front of my mind. I remind myself that this is a business trip, as my eyes drop to his full lips and my pulse pounds in my head. Breathe.

I tear my gaze away from him and look at the mess on the counter. “We, uh, should probably get this cleaned up.”

“Mhm.” He nods slightly, but doesn’t move. After a few breaths, he takes a deep inhale then moves back from me. “I’ll have a cigarette first.”

He grabs his pack of cigarettes and goes out to the patio. Blowing an exhale, I start cleaning up. I’m not sure how much longer I can resist his subtle seductions.

When he comes back in, he puts the garlic bread into the oven and helps me finish cleaning up the kitchen. I wash the dishes and he gets a towel and dries them.

“When you’re not busy flying around the world, making films and singing in concerts, what do you do for fun?”

“I paint.”

“You paint?”

“Yes. You seem surprised.”

“Not surprised, impressed. You’re very talented. What do you paint?”

“It’s abstract. Beautiful monsters.”

“Beautiful monsters? What does that mean?”

“People are beautiful, but sometimes we also have monsters inside. When I paint, I bring the monster to light,” he says, putting away the last bowl. “Many of the paintings in my house are done by me.”

“Really?” I’ve wondered about his choice of wall decor.

For me, it’s dark, ominous, sinister. Empty faces atop distorted bodies, debauched features of a face entangled with devil-horns and hair that drips like blood. Hearing this explanation, I’m starting to understand the artwork now.

“Yes. Some are gifts and a few I purchased. But most are my creation.”

I wander through the living room with a renewed perspective, taking my time as I examine the pieces. Though they disturb me, they also reveal his pain, which makes me hurt for him. Once I’ve circled the room, I sit next to him on the sofa.

“Was Ana one of your beautiful monsters?”

“She was. She haunted me every day. She was a reminder to me that I’m a monster.” He pauses. “Now, because of you…” He takes my hand, encapsulating it in both of his. “My chest is lighter and she no longer haunts me.”

Eyes locked on mine, he raises my hand to his lips and kisses it.

The timer chimes on the oven.

“Will you paint with me tonight?” he asks, releasing my hand and getting up from the sofa.

“Oh no. I’m not artistic in that way. I’m better with words.”

“You’re brilliant with words. Come on, I’ll help you.” He turns, looks back at me, and smiles.

I’m not prepared for his compliment. “Okay. I’d like that,” I say, getting up and joining him in the kitchen. “How about we sit out on the patio tonight?”

“Of course.”

We dish out slices of steaming lasagna and he puts the loaf of garlic bread onto its own plate. Before we head out to the patio, he changes the music to something less pelvis-pumping. His patio is peaceful with shrubbery that must be twenty feet high. Pulling out cast iron chairs, we set our plates onto the mosaic tilework that tops the table. As we eat, we talk about our trip over to Ponza Island tomorrow and he tells me about a few things we can do.

After dinner, we clean up together and he takes me down the hall past his bedroom to a fully dedicated painting room. Taking an easel from the corner of the room, he sets it up, back-to-back from one where he’s in the middle of a piece. He grabs a blank canvas from a stack and sets it on the easel then walks over to a long table that houses dozens of colors of paint. Taking a paint brush out of a large carousel of brushes and a wooden painter’s palette from a small pile on the end of the table, he comes over and hands them to me.

“Create anything you like. If you get stuck, tell me. I’ll help you. Use any of the paints you want.” He gestures to the table of paints, then walks over to a music tower and turns it on.

I stare at the blank canvas, a little intimated. It reminds me of the days my cursor blinks at me on my screen, begging me to do something. Then the vision comes. I know exactly what to paint. Palette in hand, I walk to the table and squeeze paints onto it: red, orange, yellow, white, black, several shades of blue, brown, and a tan color. I also grab a few more brushes of different sizes.

Though I have no idea what I’m doing, I allow the vision to guide me. He’s busily painting away. As I swirl the paints together on my palette and brush the colors onto the canvas, I get wonderfully lost. More than an hour passes.

Consumed by the scene I created in front of me, I don’t hear him approach me.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, standing close to my back, looking at my canvas over my shoulder.

“It’s the beach from today.”

“Our beach.” A sentimentality washes over me as he says the words. “May I add something?”

“Of course.” I step aside and he takes the palette from my hand, dipping his brush into the black paint.

Delicately, he dabs the canvas, creating two shadows, one taller than the other. Setting down his brush, he stands behind me and wraps his arms around me. “Us,” he says, kissing the top of my head. Ugh, my heart.

“Now it’s complete. May I see yours?”

He releases me. “Of course.”

The image is representative of a female with a large face and huge blue eyes, but no other facial features. Her breasts are lopsided and her torso sensually curves down to her spread, feet-less, legs. Some kind of white ring is above her head.

As I gaze at the picture, he trails his finger lightly down my back. My shoulders squeeze together at his touch on my bare skin. I suck a quiet inhale.

“Does it frighten you?” His breath is hot against my ear.

“No.” I breathe. “It confuses me. My eyes want to see the face.”

He traces his finger back up my spine and again, my body responds, slightly arching, as I close my eyes. He presses his lips softly into my neck, just below my ear. My chest rises and falls with my labored breaths.

I wrap my arms around my waist, he follows with one arm, pulling me to press against him. Laying feathery kisses, he moves slowly down my neck, holding my jaw gently up and away with his other hand, elongating my neck. I can’t stifle my gasp when his hot lips reach my collarbone.

Pulling away from him, I heave an exhale, and try to catch my breath. I glare at him.

“Why do you resist me so much?” He shoves his hands into his pockets then tilts his head down and to the side, looking up at me.

“To teach you that you can’t just take what you want.” My momentary desire shifts to frustration.

“I know you feel something. I can see your body respond to me.” He looks down at my nipples that I’m sure are poking through the fabric of my top without a bra on.

Whether or not I feel something, right now I’m mad. “I’m not a prize you get to win just because you’re intolerably hot,” I bark. Shit. That flew right out.

A devilish grin turns up the corners of his mouth. “So, you do think I’m hot.” He steps toward me, closing the gap between us, scorching the air.

I don’t move. I want him close. I want him to fully feel my next words. “The only reason you want me is because you can’t have me.” I turn on my heels to walk away.

He grabs my arm, pulling me to him. Holding my shoulders in his hands, he stares down at me, nostrils flaring, eyes boring into me. His eyes move from mine down to my lips like he’s going to devour me. Curling his lips inward, he sucks air in through his nose.

“I’m not one of your conquests, Nicco,” I say softly, holding his gaze.

“I know that. You’re —” He pauses. “You could never be.” He pauses again. “You’re unattainable on every level.” Stifling what sounds like a growl, he releases me.

Going to my room, I close the door and throw myself onto the bed. This is agony. Why did I agree to do this? What was I thinking? While refusing to have sex with him, all I want is for him to consume me in every way possible. Just the thought of having his hands on me, his lips on my flesh, his body pounding into to me is enough to give me an orgasm. And the more we’re together, the more I learn about him, the deeper he seeps into my heart. I’m falling for him. But I can’t. I just can’t.

I won’t.