Page 22 of Finding Grey
TWELVE
______
DANTE
Black ink consumed blue lines as the torrent of words fell out of me. Bilious and uncomfortable, they spilled across the pages like vomit. Every line stank of desperation, of repression and abused cravings. My hand cramped from overuse, and a deep ache crept into my shoulders as I hunched over the table. Ignoring it all, I kept writing.
Memories crowded around me, too numerous to count. Times I’d allowed my hand to run the length of a male arm before it fell away. Dark clubs where loud music provided an excuse to lean in close to a male ear to speak, and then linger long enough to breathe in the spicy, masculine scent. I’d courted male desire at every turn, dared men to come after me, only to abandon them the moment they reached out.
When I decided to explore these secret parts of myself, I’d expected to feel inspired, liberated. But the shackles of my self-restraint had bitten too deep, and instead the journey inward was met with confusion and distrust. Those hidden places I’d thought to consult were quick to voice their disgust at my behaviour, at my cowardice in ignoring them for so long.
Still, the words kept coming and I followed where they led. In the past, the writing process had always provided a sense of catharsis. This time, it seemed, I sought absolution.
“Dante?”
My head snapped up at the sound of my name. Sean had pushed open the glass door, but lingered there as if unsure whether he’d made the right move by disturbing me. The patio lights cast shadows over his face and I turned to look beyond the roof line to see darkness had fallen. “What time is it?”
“Dinnertime, actually.” A host of tempting aromas wafted from inside, as if conjured by the words themselves, and my mouth watered. “If you’d prefer, we can eat together another time,” Sean added. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“Please, interrupt.” Flipping my notebook closed, I dropped the pen on top. “I need to get the hell out of my own head. It’s too damned messy in here.”
Sean smiled. “I think I have the perfect cure for a messy head.”
“Yeah?” Standing, I lifted my arms up over my head as I stretched the kinks out of my back. “What cure?”
“Pizza,” he declared, before disappearing back through the door.
I followed him inside with a quiet chuckle. “Add a glass of red wine to the pizza and I may have to agree with you.”
Sean paused in the act of sliding on a kitchen mitt, casting a wary eye in my direction. “I can manage that, but I thought—” He seemed to think better of his words, and instead turned to open the oven door and pull out a fully-loaded pizza.
“You thought what?” I asked as I watched him slide the pizza onto a wooden platter.
He shook his head, refusing to meet my gaze as he cut the round into slices. “Nothing. Never mind.”
I’d never seen him so uncomfortable, and I mentally replayed my last words in an effort to figure out why. It didn’t take long to solve the mystery. “You think if I touch alcohol I’ll turn into some rampaging arsehole and trash the place. Is that it?”
“No, I don’t think that.” Picking up the platter, he headed back out to the patio. I grabbed the plates and cutlery off the counter, along with a small basket of steaming garlic bread, and followed.
“I get it,” I said as we pushed my writing implements to the far end of the table to make room for the food. “Everything you know about me comes from magazine articles and gossip websites. Those stories have followed me for years. They must be true, right?” It didn’t help that most of the rumours printed about my so-called drunken tantrums had been peddled by my own father in a bid to make my star shine brighter through sensationalism. What did I expect people to think?
“Dante.” I looked up to meet Sean’s steady gaze. “I’m sorry I made assumptions.”
“About the drinking problem I don’t have?” I gave him a shrug. “It’s fine. Just don’t go believing everything you read. Not about me, not about anyone else. Deal?” I waited for his nod before sitting at the table. “Let’s eat,” I suggested, hoping to put the whole conversation behind us. “This smells amazing and I’m famished.”
Backing away, Sean gestured over his shoulder. “You start. I’ll be back in a minute.”
True to his word, he returned before I managed to finish a single piece of garlic bread. Carrying a bottle of red wine in one hand and a couple of goblets in the other, he presented the bottle with a flourish as he reached the table.
“I believe this shiraz will provide the perfect pairing for pizza.”
Chuckling, I accepted the bottle. “You’re a good man, Sean.” The seal cracked with a single twist of my hand, and I poured the wine before adding, “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Don’t thank me too soon. I’m not sure I do trust you yet.” Sean took his place on the other side of the table and served himself a few slices of pizza. “But I’ve decided to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“It’s a start,” I said as I eased a slice onto my plate.
We settled in to eat and I groaned in bliss as I bit into the cheesy goodness. “Damn, this is delicious,” I said a few minutes later. “Does it come with a long-winded fancy-pants name?”