Iris Blaire - Dark Frame

I feel so betrayed. Even though I shouldn’t. There wasn’t romance between us, not really. He initiated his usual game. It was me who decided to finally play along.

I wipe my eyes and straighten my dress, heading out into the foyer.

Dallas’s and Evan’s set is the foyer staircase. The other models find seats on the stone floor. I stand next to Jaime in the corner, trying to remain calm, like nothing’s wrong. The last thing I can handle right now is confronting him during this shoot. It’s like the atmosphere around me is seconds away from exploding.

“Who was that?” Jaime asks.

“Cameron,” I respond blatantly, waiting for his reaction. He says nothing, but his expression turns stiff.

Evan and Dallas stand on the staircase. They whisper feverishly back and forth to each other as the crew builds up the lighting around them, and the photographer adjusts his camera. Finally A.J. enters the room holding his iPad in front of him and carrying a loud conversation on his Bluetooth.

What a douche.

When he finishes, he waves his hand at Dallas and Evan. “Strip,” he says bluntly.

They both pull off their robes, dressed similarly to how they were earlier before our secret shoot.

“What are we doing?” Evan asks.

“All the way. Strip all the way, all clothes off.” A crew member opens a folding director’s chair for A.J., and he takes a seat.

Evan crosses her arms over her push-up bra. “What. Are. We. Doing?” she enunciates.

A.J. sighs impatiently. “Who’s in charge, here?”

“I don’t really care who’s in charge, Mr. Harrison,” Evan says dryly. “I have always known the agenda of my director and photographer. That’s how I prepare to model.”

“Fine!” A.J. barks. “You’re going to get on all fours on those stairs and spread your slutty little cheeks for Mr. Whitley. Is that enough of an agenda for you?”

Everyone in the entire hall falls silent, except for Jaime, who whispers, “Oh, fuck.”

My mouth falls open. Dallas’s expression instantly shifts from complacence to rage. In fact, the only unsurprised expression in the whole room belongs to Evan, who keeps her calm demeanor and her hand pressed to Dallas’s chest, like she’s urging him to do nothing drastic.

Like punch A.J. Harrison square in the jaw.

Evan sighs, “Well then, Mr. Harrison.” Slowly she bends over and picks her robe off the steps, tossing it over her shoulder. “I have an agenda for you as well.”

She struts her way right up to the director’s chair and leans in close to his face.

“Blow me.”

Evan

I’ve never fallen asleep in a library before. Then again, given all of last week’s distraction, I practically live here in order to get caught up in all my classes.

Well, here and the lab.

I wake to someone gently pushing on my shoulder. Before I open my eyes, I know where I am. I know I’ve fallen asleep on top of my cellular regulations textbook and drooled all over the open page.

My eyes flutter open. Dallas kneels next to me, biting his lip and looking like he’s about to bust up laughing.

“Eff off,” I mumble, pushing him away and sitting up. I look down at the wet page of my textbook and blink, my eyes finally focusing. “Eww.”

“You look kind of adorable when you’re drooling everywhere.”

I rub my eyes, glancing at my phone next to my book. Seven text messages. “How’d you find me?” I slur.

“Took me a few hours, but I finally managed. Luckily I got an early enough start.” His eyes sadden, and it dawns on me what he’s saying.

“You’re leaving,” I say.

He nods solemnly.

Our last conversation was an argument. There was no yelling involved, but a storm brewed between us as I refused to let him give up his research for me.

You’re going to Costa Rica. This isn’t a discussion.

I need to be with you, Evan. I can’t get over the fact that I almost lost you.

Fine, then. If it makes it easier, you don’t have me yet. You don’t have me until you go back and finish your work—what you love. You’re almost done. Don’t give up on your dream because of a girl.

You’re not just a girl.

You know what I mean.

And you’ll wait? You’ll swear on your life.

You know I will, Dallas.

He traces my hands as they rest in my lap. “I’m sorry that I came here and got you fired.”

I snort. “You can’t be serious. I would have gotten fired anyway. He would have tried to make me have sex with someone else. You know that. Plus, Britain said that nearly the entire team has dropped from the magazine. Everyone was thinking the same thing. It was destined to crumble.”

This doesn’t seem to comfort him. His eyes grow deeper—more intense. “That money, Evan. You needed it.”

“I’m going to be fine.” I reach out, my knuckles gently brushing his cheek. “Trust me. Don’t worry.”

When he leans in, I inhale. He smells like spice and rain. Before he can kiss me, I press a finger against his lips.

“Kiss me when you come home,” I tell him, even though it kills me. “Kiss me when there is nothing else keeping us apart.”

He defies me, gently kissing the side of my finger. He pulls back and tells me, “I’m not saying goodbye.”

“Don’t,” I say.

He stands, and as he leaves, he reaches down, hand brushing the back of my neck. A shiver trickles down my spine.

I don’t watch him leave the library.

Instead, with newly found determination, I turn the page of my textbook. I glance over at my planner. Thumbing through it, I find May 27^th of next year and write across the entire rectangle one word.

DALLAS.

And then I uncap my highlighter.

Evan

Seven Months Later

Waiting for Dallas at the airport is the most self-conscious I’ve ever been.

I realize now, standing right before security in jeans, my glasses, a zip-up Harvard sweatshirt, and the keys to our new Cambridge apartment tucked in my pocket, that over the past year and a half we’ve been separated more than we’ve been together.

This terrifies me.

It terrifies me because I might be more in love with him now than when he left back in October. I don’t know why. Maybe I’ve just built up a fantasy of the perfect man in my head because I’m delusional and can’t remember what it’s like to really be with him.

And maybe it’s not the same for him.

We’ve had a handful of Skype calls. Even fewer phone calls. His means of communicating with me in the field were next to nothing, and when I was able to talk with him when he was back in California, he sounded anxious, stressed, and overloaded with work. Maybe our time apart made him realize how trivial our romance is compared to a career. Maybe this is the last summer I’ll ever spend with him.

You’re thinking too much, Evan.

His flight is delayed. I go pee and get a coffee, realizing coffee is a terrible idea with my jitters, but I can’t help it because coffee reminds me too much of him, and I’m about to lose my mind before finally—finally—I see him at the end of the hall.

Reunions in busy airports are a strange thing. I can’t run to him because I’m not allowed to. He can’t run to me because he certainly can’t just abandon his luggage in the middle of the airport unless he wants to get arrested. His walk is relaxed, even when he sees me, the faintest grin on his lips.

I try to mirror his calm state by crossing my arms nonchalantly, even though my entire body is shaking.

I can see the electric-blue of his eyes from here. Against the new tan of his skin, he’s even more beautiful than when he left me. If that’s even possible.

As he approaches, his face grows solemn—serious. When he reaches me, he drops his duffel and cups my jaw in both his hands.

“I came here all this way to tell you,” he begins monotonously, “that I’ve fallen in love with a Costa Rican woman. Tomorrow, I will fly back, and we will ride off into the sunset together, get married on top of a mountain, and perform missionary-position intercourse on our wedding night with the lights off.”

I frown. “And your eyes closed?”

“Of course,” he says blatantly. “I can’t handle seeing a woman naked all at once.”

“And you’d rather tell me this than kiss me,” I say, hurt lingering in my voice.

The corners of his lips perk up. “I have the rest of my life to kiss you.”

“You have the rest of your life to tell me bad jokes, too.”

His hands glide from my jaw to the back of my neck, and his lips crush mine. My knees give out, but he holds me steady against him, refusing to let me fall. He pulls away and whispers, “Baby, are you crying?”

A tear drips from my chin. Forehead pressed to his, I work to memorize every fleck of his irises, hoping that one day I will have stared into them long enough to know them by heart.

It seems that every time I look into them, they astonish me just a little more.

Fingers tangled in my hair, he presses his lips to my forehead.

I whisper to him, “Let’s go home.”

Britain

Me: Don’t be mad at me.

What did you do now? Evan types back to me over IM.

Me: Can I call you?

Evan: In class. Supposed to be paying attention. Final tomorrow. Whatevs.

Me: Well, I decided that it was a shame to let all of those photos go to waste, especially after the models quit on AA and there was never a Halloween issue.

Evan: Are you saying that you’re putting out one last EPE?

Me: Can’t. Those fuckers still own the rights to the mag. But I let Andrea see the pics and she came up with a story. Like, a fucking great story, Evan. Way better than that raunchy professor one with you and Dallas.

Evan: What are you saying?

Me: Well, she wrote it and it ended up being really long. So I just went for it and pitched it to a couple publishers as a horrormance novella with photographs. Figured we’d self-publish if there were no bites.

Evan: OMG… did you FUCKING SELL IT?

Me: For money, bitch. Lots. An editor read my credentials and was a fan of EPE… can you believe it?

Evan: Shit. Class just ended and I have lab. I’LL CALL YOU IN LIKE FOUR HOURS OKAY?

Evan C. has logged off.

I wanted to tell her that she and Dallas were going to end up with fat commission checks, but I figure that surprise can wait. Quickly, I scan through the emails with my new editor, reading through the contract and the messages containing her high hopes for the book and its series potential.

My photography days might not be over yet.

When Delilah comes home from class, I close out the email. I haven’t told anyone yet, except for Andrea and Evan. The news is still fresh, and after the AA fiasco, I don’t really feel like spreading it just yet.

Although there is one more person I’d like to tell.

I walk out onto the concrete pool deck barefoot, the warm breeze grazing my skin. I call his cell. Of course, he doesn’t pick up.

He never picks up.

The last time I saw him was when EPE dismantled itself. Evan stormed out, and as the chaos and gossip arose from the other models, A.J. screamed at me to get her back. I threw my hands in the air and told him I couldn’t do anything—I no longer worked for him.

We had the manor booked for the rest of the week, but after most of my models quit, including Delilah and Adam, we all decided to rent a suite together. When I was packing my things and leaving Veda Manor, I couldn’t find him.

I called him once when we were at the hotel. He didn’t pick up.

I can only assume that Cameron contacted him and threatened him to leave. I never confronted my brother though. The entire situation was too surreal for me to even know where to begin.

“Hey, it’s Brit. Listen… I have news. I know… I know you probably don’t care. Fuck, Jaime. I know Cameron contacted you, so you know that I know what happened between the two of you. Well, between you and my entire family. But it can’t be over like this. I need to hear what happened from your mouth. I know we… we weren’t together long or anything. Maybe your feelings for me were never more than—you know—wanting to hook up. I just… I wish I knew for sure….