Ink by Jonathan Maberry

Author:Jonathan Maberry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

72

Gayle stood—not sat—in a toilet stall at Tank Girl. Hiding. Wondering how the night had gone this far wrong.

She and Dianna had talked and talked. In response to Dianna’s request, Gayle showed pictures of her two kids and even a vacation photo of her and Scott taken at Disney last year. She also showed photos of herself at the school where she worked in administration four days a week, and more of herself at conventions receiving awards or giving speeches. Then, while scrolling to find a photo of herself at a party, she accidentally stumbled on a couple of photos she had thought long deleted.

Selfies she’d taken for Carrie. One was of her in pajamas with the top unbuttoned but only her sternum exposed, which wasn’t too bad; but the one after that was of her standing in the bathroom wearing only pink underpants. Gayle gasped and yanked the phone back, hastily scrolling away from those.

“Oh my god,” she said sharply, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all good, honey,” said Dianna, laughing. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“No, I thought I’d deleted them and … oh, god, I’m so embarrassed.”

Dianna touched her hand with the pads of two fingers. A very light touch. “I’d like to see them again. One in particular.” When Gayle could meet her eyes, she added, “Please?”

Not cajoling. Not begging. Merely asking.

It took a whole lot for Gayle to scroll back to find the pictures. She hesitated a long time before finally angling the phone to privately display the bathroom nude. But Dianna shook her head and used one finger to move to the previous picture. The pajama one.

“This is so lovely…” she murmured. “Your eyes are full of light.”

Gayle looked at her, then down to the photo. Despite the unbuttoned top, the focus on the image was more than a promise of skin to be revealed. It was a statement of both vulnerability and trust. Not even a promise of more. It said, See me. Me. Not my parts. Me.

Her face was hot again, but not from embarrassment. Gayle couldn’t have put a label on the emotion seeping through her.

That’s when she had exited the image file, excused herself, and fled to the bathroom. She didn’t need to go, but it was quiet in the stall. Gayle leaned against the closed door and tried to remember how to breathe.

What am I doing here?

She heard someone come in. Heard the faucet and then the paper towel dispenser. Then silence.

I have to get out of here, Gayle told herself. I have a husband. I have kids. What if someone from school sees me here?

She banged the back of her head on the door. Once. Twice.

Then she pushed off, straightened her clothes, took a deep and steadying breath, and left the stall.

And froze.

Dianna was right there, resting a hip against the sink, arms folded beneath her breasts, a small and very wicked little smile on her lips.

“I…” began Gayle and once more words failed her.

“As I see it there are three options,” said Dianna casually.

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