There’s not much I can say to that. This situation sucks no matter how you look at it. I sit next to him on the couch. “Come on. We need to get you back in bed.”
“I was waiting for you for a reason. It's about Josie. She’s decided on the subject of her next photo series.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. We went to her first gallery show a few weeks ago and I was blown away. Gabe had told me that she was taking erotic pictures but I hadn't been prepared for how intense the photos were. They weren't so much about sex as they were about vulnerability. Fear. Longing. Looking at her photos was like taking a peek into her most private thoughts and the experience left me completely gutted.
I want to support her but I’m not sure how much I can take. Standing in a gallery while random people looked at her work felt like letting others see her naked.
God help me if she ever decides to do a self-portrait.
“Another show like last time? I’m sure her parents are thrilled.”
“No. Something different.” His voice is rising as he speaks and I can tell how agitated he is. “She says she wants to focus on the male body. I already told her no fucking way.”
Suddenly my skin feels too tight. All I can see is Josie taking pictures of some guy, talking to him, touching him and it’s killing me. But after my initial surge of rage and jealousy then I circle around right back to where I’m sitting. On a couch with the only person Josie really wants.
"Gabe, she's a big girl. If she wants to take nude pictures, you can't stop her."
Not to mention that he has a girlfriend. It drives me crazy that he still has this weird sense of ownership over Josie, like she belongs to him. I stand and he struggles to his feet as well. I immediately put my arm around his waist, holding him against me as we walk.
He grunts in pain as we ascend the stairs. "The crazy woman is thinking about hiring some random guy to get naked for her. You really want her spending hours at a time with some naked dude? What if this guy hurts her?"
His words are like being dunked in ice water. Josie alone at the mercy of some guy? Oh hell no. Every muscle in my body tenses simultaneously and Gabe immediately tunes in to my distress.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. You don't like the idea any more than I do. You have to stop her, Zack."
It’s so incredibly ironic that he’s passing the responsibility off to me when he’s the one that Josie would do anything for.
"How the hell am I supposed to do that? You're the one she listens to, not me."
"Talk to her, please."
By this time we've reached his room and Gabe looks absolutely destroyed by the effort it took to climb the stairs. As much as I want to wash my hands of this entire situation, I can't. Because if I don't agree, he'll wear himself down trying to handle it. He's in no condition to deal with this right now. Once again I find myself in an impossible position, held hostage by my love for the both of them.
"Okay, I'll talk to her. But you know it's impossible to make Josie see reason when she's got her mind set on something."
"Just try." Gabe sinks down slowly onto the bed and lets out a ragged sigh of relief as he collapses against the pillows. "You're the only one I trust to take care of her. Jo is special, you know she is. I just need her to be safe."
"I've got it, bro."
His eyes are already closed and I doubt he heard me but there's a sense of peace on his features. Gabe and I have always had each other's back so he's counting on me to fix this since he can't.
†
By the next day I’ve worked myself up to go see Josie. Gabe has asked me to talk to her as if that’s an easy thing. But Josephine Harlow is notoriously stubborn. I’m already anticipating that I’ll be leaving with claw marks after our conversation. Want to know the really sick thing?
I’m actually looking forward to it.
How pathetic is it that my twisted heart is happy with any scrap of her attention, even the negative kind?
Just the thought puts me further into my cranky mood.
When I reach the stately white Victorian home that she’s recently moved to, I park on the street right in front of the house. As I get out, I look around curiously, taking in the well-manicured lawns and expensive cars in the drives of most of the other homes. Fancy.
I should have expected this since Jo’s parents live in the kind of hoity toity community where everyone looks like a plastic doll. I would have thought that her new neighborhood would be different since she’s been so determined to get away from that world. Then I remember that she lives with her friend Isabelle. I’ve met Isabelle a few times but my mind brings forth only a vague recollection of a gangly girl with long blond hair and braces.
I didn’t think I looked that bad but an older man getting out of his car a few houses over stares at me openly as I walk up the drive to the house. I guess bad is relative. Where I’m from I wouldn’t get a second glance but in this neighborhood, I look like a walking felony. My dark hair is gelled up into spikes today and the sleeveless black shirt I’m wearing exposes all the tattoos on my arms. No doubt I’ll give her neighbors something to gossip about over their dinner tables tonight.
Just before the gawking grandpa reaches his front door, I raise my hand and wave gaily. “Nice day, isn’t it?”