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  It’s the new in vogue color this season, and it’s only a matter of time before models will be flaunting it down the runway. I just hope that I can eventually be one of those fashion designers that proudly walks the runway at the end of a successful show. One day.

  I like purple; it’s probably up there with red and black as one of my favorite colors. I just don’t look good wearing it. I gently lay the fabric down on the desk, thinking. Black suits me better, and it’s probably why nearly all of my closet consists of black and greys. Even now, sporting dark silk slacks, a blouse the color of midnight and a cropped black leather jacket with my dark brown hair pulled up into a sleek ponytail, I look like I’m modeling for the grim reaper.

  I think I need to stop wearing so much black, I tell myself, maybe then I’ll stop being so damn depressed.

  I take a deep breath and shake off the thought, taking the advice from my therapist to focus on the positives in my life. Black may be slimming, but it doesn’t do the spirits any good. I just read a study on colors and the effects they have on the psyche and mood. I huff a small laugh. It was an odd thing to be tested on in my History of Fashion Development class, but it was eye opening.

  Today has been wonderful, though. Actually, the past two weeks have been a dream come true. Growing up, I was heavily intrigued by fashion. Christian Dior, Gucci, Prada, Michael Kors, you name it. If it had a name, I wanted to wear it. I dreamed of cutting fabrics and sewing them into gorgeous gowns. One of my favorite gifts my mother ever got me was a drawing pad and a huge set of colored pencils for sketches. I filled the entire book up in only a month.

  Over time, my obsession morphed into a lifelong dream of wanting to work in the fashion world, and up until several weeks ago, it looked like that fantasy would never come to fruition. But I finally got my foot in the door, and I’m not going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

  Now I’m sitting here with my own office on the top floor of Explicit Designs, working one of the most coveted internships in town, living out my wish. It’s unbelievable. Seriously, I absolutely love this job. I get to see all the latest designs and in-style fashions, meet quirky, interesting people and be involved in the entire creative process that goes into making these magnificent creations. It’s funny how things turn out.

  Especially considering how I’d almost given up.

  A surge of anxiety twists my stomach, and I frown. It chills me to know how close I’d been to abandoning everything, how close I’d been to letting the darkness overwhelm me. Thinking about it makes me shudder, and I try my best to push the unwelcome thoughts away. It’s a constant battle. Dark thoughts always seem to be waiting in the shadows of my mind--stalking me, haunting me, and then pouncing right when I think things are going good.

  But things are better now, I try to convince myself. And I need to focus on being happy.

  A clinking sound pulls me out of my reverie and causes me to look up. I see my boss, established fashion designer Debra Ferguson, through the glass window of my office, gathering her things and getting ready to pack up for the night.

  This is the one thing I don’t like about the floor I work on. The whole area is a large open space with floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the offices, and there’s virtually no privacy. Everybody can see everybody else. I suppose it isn’t so bad, but I do miss my privacy.

  I watch as Debra, who’s clad in a fashionable red dress that hugs her matronly frame, slings her oversized Prada purse over her right shoulder and slides on her Gucci shades. For a woman in her late forties, she exudes the kind of sex appeal you would find in someone half her age, and it’s one of the reasons why she’s so popular. To me, she embodies everything I want to be when I’m her age: intelligent, confident, sexy and in complete control of her destiny.

  As she makes her way out of her office, she doesn’t bother looking my way. For a moment, I wonder if I should step out and tell her goodbye before she leaves. It would be the polite thing to do, yet I stay rooted in my seat.

  I shouldn’t, I tell myself, feeling a sense of self-consciousness wash over me. I’ll probably just annoy her.

  I don’t know why I think that way. Debra has been mostly gracious to me. I suppose I’m intimidated by her. At least that’s what I think it is. I’m new, and still trying to learn my place. There are only a dozen or so people working here, and everyone has their own routines. I need to learn mine.

  Feeling conflicted, I watch as she walks out of the large room and disappears from view. I let out a slight sigh when she’s gone. I don’t know why I get like this, why I let my own self-doubts cause me to miss out. It’s infuriating. And it’s a wonder I’ve even landed this job with all the insecurities weighing me down.

  After gently folding and putting away the purple cloth before making sure everything is in order, I grab my vintage Chanel purse and sling it over my shoulder. The purse is a hand-me-down from my good friend and coworker Carla. We shared a class two semesters ago, and I know it’s only because of her that Debra even considered me for this position. I owe her so much already. But wow, this purse. I run my hand along the plush quilted leather, still in disbelief that it’s mine.

  I nearly died when she gave it to me, as I’d never owned anything so expensive before. Let alone vintage Chanel. For the longest time, I refused to use it, scared I would somehow lose it or someone would steal it… or worse, I’d get wine or lipstick on it. Instead, I let it collect dust in my closet. I only started using it after Carla scolded me and said to stop being so worried about it. In her mind, it was just a purse, and what was the point of having it if I was never going to use it?

  I’m about to walk off when my phone dings. Quick to see who it is, I whip it out. It’s Mom, I think anxiously. She finally responded to my text. Instead, I’m greeted by a message from my roommate Callie.

  Calgurl182: Gonna be studying hard for my exams. Please be quiet when you come in from work. Thx

  I grin at the message. When I need to get a paper done, I study hard, but Callie takes studying to a whole new level. And with exams coming up, I know Callie’s level of anxiety must be through the roof. I can totally relate to her not wanting to be disturbed.

  After making a mental note to be quiet as a mouse when I enter our tiny apartment near campus, I flip over to my last text with my mom and my grin slowly fades.

  Hey Mom, I know I told you about landing my dream job recently, but things are really tough right now financially. I’ve had to pay for so many things, a used car, clothing, rent, tuition… all these things have left me a little strapped and I’m not sure how I’m going to afford to pay for my next semester. I hate to ask, but can you help me out? I’ll pay you back as soon as I get the chance.

  Love you,

  Dah

  Staring at the blank space where her response should be, I feel dejected. I wasn’t expecting much from her, but she could have at least responded and let me know that she cared, even if she can't help me out financially. I’ve had to pay for college myself. Which was fine when I had a job, but this internship doesn’t pay anything, and I couldn’t keep my retail job and also work here. I’m fucked. I was hoping my mother would be able to help me out. But this is the third text I’ve sent about money, and she hasn’t responded to any of them. She sure as hell reminded me that she was going on vacation with her new boyfriend though.

  It makes me feel like I’m low on her priorities. But maybe she just can’t handle dealing with added stress right now.

  She’s been distant lately, and I know even before she started dating this current boyfriend she was having a really rough time. The last few years while I’ve been at school, my mother has grown apart from me. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because I remind her too much of my father. I hope not, because it’ll only make me feel worse, maybe make me resent my father more, if that’s even possible.

  Just thinking about him sends a shiver of apprehension down my spine. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him for ripping
our family apart. For letting what happened to me, happen. Even now, I still can’t fathom it. My father was supposed to be my protector, my guardian. He let him hurt me. That fact shakes me to my very core, and occasionally, I suffer nightmares over it.

  It’s been better lately though. I swallow thickly and grab my coat.

  Stop bringing this up. I’ve had a relatively good day, and I don’t need to screw it up by living in the past. I’m never going to get over it if I keep wishing things had turned out differently. What I need to do is quit worrying and figure out a way to pay for my tuition next semester. I square my shoulders and nod my head at the thought, feeling my confidence come back. I’m going to make this work and have a life I’m proud of.

  Just thinking about my money woes stresses me out. I can’t help but think I’m going to be worn thin by having to work in order to pay the bills on top of doing this internship. That's not even factoring in the time I'll need to study for school.

  I need to figure something out by next month. After finals, there’s the holiday break and I can do something then. I’ll find a way to keep this internship and pay for my classes.

  Steeling my shoulders with resolve, I walk out of the office as I think to myself, One way or another, I’m going to find a way to make some money on the side. Even if it kills me.

  Chapter 3

  Lucian

  My sister loves this part of the city, the hustle and bustle of Main Street with the crowds always walking by. I don’t understand it. We could go anywhere, but she always asks to come to this particular cafe.

  I take off my jacket and sit at a bistro table hidden in the shade, back in the corner. With my back to the stonewalled building, I can at least face the crowd.

  We’re still outside so she’ll be happy, the crisp fall air rustling the newspaper in my hand. I place my forearm on the edge of the page and look out past the crowd while I watch the cars pass.

  I grew up in the city. Only a few blocks from here actually. It doesn’t make me like the city any more though. I huff a humorless laugh. Maybe that’s why I don’t care for this environment.

  Too many reminders.

  “Can I get you anything?” a waitress asks. Her sweet smile stays in place as she waits patiently with her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Coffee black, with one sugar,” I reply, and as I order I hear my sister’s squeal and the loud clicks of her heels on the pavement.

  She looks like she belongs here. Happy and dressed in the latest fashion, she fits right in with the people you'd expect to see in this part of town. She runs up to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders, making the waitress take a step back. She’s the only person I let touch me. I just don’t fucking like to be touched. But Anna can. She never hesitates to do what she feels like doing. I admire her for that.

  She pulls back and takes me in; her cherry red lips make her brilliant smile look even whiter.

  “Lucian,” she says sweetly before turning to her left and finally taking notice of the waitress.

  “Oh! Sorry!” she apologizes, her shoulders scrunching as she backs up and practically falls into her seat.

  “No problem,” the waitress says and laughs it off. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

  My eyes lift to the waitress. Ever since I got that invitation, it’s been more and more apparent how many people call me sir.

  I shake my head and give her a tight smile. She’s a petite blonde, with a cute button nose and angelic face, but she’s not my type. Not that it was on the table… but I’m sure it could be, if I wanted.

  The waitress turns to Anna and before she can even ask, Anna orders while taking off her cream leather jacket, “Can I have a salted caramel latte with cream and four Splenda and an extra shot of espresso?”

  She does not need that extra shot, but I keep my lips closed. I've learned not to give my sister advice, since she’s going to do what she wants to do anyway. And me keeping my mouth shut makes her happy.

  She sighs comfortably as the waitress leaves with a nod.

  “How are you?” I ask her easily. She smiles brightly, pushing her hair over her shoulders and leaning forward.

  “Everything is going so well.” Her eyes soften as she says, “Thank you for paying my tuition.” Her voice is subdued, but sweet. “It really means so much to me, Lucian. I know-”

  I stop her. I know she’s grateful, but she doesn’t have to keep telling me. “Of course, I’m glad you're enjoying your classes.”

  I was honestly worried. My sister is naive, and I wasn’t sure she’d enjoy college at all. She’s never been much of a book person, or the studying type. But if she wants to go, I’m happy to help her so long as she takes it seriously.

  She leans back, silencing her thanks and looks at the paper. “Are you in it today?” she asks. Her eyes are wide with curiosity.

  I shake my head as I say, “No.”

  “Bummer,” she says as she slumps back into her seat and I chuckle at her expression. I’m never happy to be in the paper. I didn’t start this business to be a public figure.

  And up until the last few years, whenever I was in the paper, it wasn’t good public relations. They say any publicity is good publicity, but they’re dead fucking wrong.

  The tabloids were not a fan of my playboy lifestyle. And neither were the stockholders. It didn’t take long for me to change the business over to a privately owned company, but still, my company suffered because of my childish antics. I had to tone it down. No more fucking every pretty little thing who begged for my cock. I thought getting married would solve that problem--fuck, I thought I was in love.

  I was a fucking fool, and I have the alimony checks to prove it.

  If my name is never mentioned in the papers again, I’ll die a happy man.

  I started this company when I was Anna’s age, back when I was only nineteen years old. It’s odd to think that, considering how I still see my sister as young.

  That was the year I split from my family. Realistically, I’d already been on bad terms with my brother. He’s a jealous prick, and I have no intention of ever allowing him to be in my life again. Even back then, things were tense between us at best. At the time, I wasn’t even speaking to him. But at least I still had my parents. Or at least I thought I did. Before I knew what it was like to be stabbed in the back.

  I had to drop out of college. I huff a humorless laugh at the thought. My parents didn’t try to help, and I simply couldn’t afford it anymore, so I left.

  A friend from one of my classes reached out and said he’d front the money for the business I was always talking about, and all he wanted in return was to be a silent partner. It was almost too good to be true. Zander’s been at my side more times than not, even when my family decided to rip me apart and steal every penny from me that they could.

  With Zander’s startup capital, I built the company of my dreams from the ground up. He had the money, and I had the vision. It was perfect. And success came easily and exponentially.

  My expression hardens, remembering how proud I was to give my parents a car. A brand new car. I forget what model, and it doesn’t matter at this point. It wasn’t good enough for them, and they wanted more. I couldn’t though. I needed the cash flow for the business, it was growing so rapidly, and I could hardly maintain the expenses.

  The day my bank account was drained and checks were bouncing was the day I cut those money-hungry assholes out of my life.

  They stole thousands from me. I wasn’t even going to sue them until they tried to do it again and then tried to sue me. I couldn’t believe it. My own parents. We’d never been close, but they were still family. I don’t understand it, even to this day. Had they given me time and believed in me, I would have been able to give them everything they ever wanted.

  And I would have.

  But that’s not how it happened, because that’s not how the world works.

  Years have passed and time after time, I’ve learned it’s better simp
ly not to trust a damn soul. I have Zander and a few friends, and of course my sister. But no one else. It’s better that way.

  The waitress brings us our coffee and Anna’s quick to bring hers to her lips, not caring that it’s probably kissed-the-sun-scalding-fucking-hot.

  She winces, putting the coffee down and bringing her fingers to her lips. I shake my head slightly, a grin slipping into place. I hide it by blowing on my coffee, my eyes on hers, but my amusement goes over her head and she takes another sip.

  She’ll never learn.

  “So,” my sister says as she starts trying to look me in the eye, “I’m going to have a holiday party.” My spine stiffens, and the answer is on the tip of my tongue. She’s been trying to include me in family events and work me back into our family. It’s not happening. I was never close with any of them. I don’t have a need for family. I don’t need relationships in general. I’ll do anything for my sister, but I’m not going anywhere near my parents.

  She holds up her hands defensively and says, “They won’t be there.”

  I’m taken aback and shocked; my brows draw in, and I consider what she’s saying. “Did something happen?” I ask.

  A sadness crosses her eyes quickly. But I see it there, and her lack of a response tells me that something did happen.

  My voice is cold and hard, but not toward her, and she knows that. “What’d they do?”

  “Nothing,” she says softly, her shoulders folding inward. She looks down at the lattice table.

  Usually I’d snap at whoever was sitting in front of me lying, saying nothing’s wrong when there’s obviously an issue, but I wait patiently for Anna to continue. She’s hurt, and it’s showing. I know she’ll tell me what the deal is, but she just needs a moment. She traces the metal openwork design of the table absently. “They were just upset that I accepted your offer to pay for my classes,” she tells me slowly, her eyes finally reaching mine as she visibly swallows.