All He Asks 4 by Sparrow Felicity

Author:Sparrow, Felicity [Sparrow, Felicity]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-04-19T07:00:00+00:00

4

I don’t follow Erik when he leaves.

Alone, I am left staring at the blinking cursor on my word processor, gazing at the words that we have created together.

And I am numb.

My mind has detached from my body, which still trembles with Erik’s touch. The wingback chair in which I sit smells of him. It doesn’t smell like Fletcher Durand and his old cigars anymore. My father’s space has become Erik’s space.

Our space.

Our book is waiting on the laptop.

It’s unquestionable that Erik Duke is a literary genius. He is brilliant, and what we have written together is brilliant. But it is dark. Clearly the work of a horror author, and unappealing to the kind of people who will surely buy books from a Moonlight Sonata release.

They won’t admire the psychological elements, the powerful themes, the window into the darkest parts of our heart.

This puts my reputation at risk.

As an artist, I don’t know what to think.

But as a woman, I am a little proud, a little frightened, and more than a little ashamed.

I work on our book as the sun continues to creep across the sky. I work for hours, rewriting what we have rewritten, making subtle changes to tone. It is my fingerprint on Erik’s work. I make it a little more appealing, a little less frightening.

When I catch up to the pages that we wrote together—which are surprisingly many—I continue for a few more chapters, weaving Erik’s notes into my draft.

He has inspired me. The work flows easily.

Insane as it might be, he has really brought something special out of me.

Only when the room is so dark that I can no longer see the bookshelves and my hands are cramping do I stop.

I stand, pressing my hands into the small of my back to pop my spine. I shouldn’t have been sitting for so long, but I was lost in the work. My first book—at least, the first book that will have my name on the cover. It’s a strange feeling. Stranger still because even though my name will be on the cover, in many ways, it will be Erik’s words on the inside.

He is the one who has been pushing me through this.

Scrolling through the many pages, I am stunned to realize I’m already halfway through rewriting the entire book to suit Erik’s notes. Even so, it is a collaboration. Not a work from my heart.

I don’t know how to feel.

But I do find myself wondering what has become of Erik.

I am sleepwalking through my father’s summer home, searching for Erik. I almost expect to find him hanging from one of the rafters in the attic upside down, like a bat. Nothing would surprise me from him at this point.

Instead, I discover him on the balcony, looking over the steely ocean. His shirt is unbuttoned and hangs open to expose his chest. He is scarred underneath the hair that mats his muscles. I have never seen him in such a way before. It makes him look vulnerable—a silly thought, since “vulnerability” and “Erik Duke” are not concepts that combine well.

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