Great. The basement. Totally not creepy. “Sure. How do you want me to pose?”
Darius waved him around to a big bare patch of beige tile. “Lie down on your side and try to go completely limp. I’ll grab your shoulder and move you onto your back. Don’t move yourself. Let me move you and stay where I put you.”
This was easier than Kit expected. Darius was completely calm, of course. This was all part of his job. Kit relied on that. “Sure,” he said again, and dropped to his knees first. “Eyes open or closed?”
“Wait, let me take a photo of you two together first,” James joked. “You always look good on your knees, babe.”
“Maybe another time, without the makeup,” Darius said, before answering Kit. “Keep your eyes open for the first couple of photos. Look down and to the side. I’ll tell you if you need to close your eyes or change anything.”
“Got it,” Kit said, and laid himself out on his side. The floor was cold and gritty and gross under his bare shoulder, the side of his face. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. Letting go and relaxing was easy enough. He wasn’t supposed to say anything.
Darius crouched next to him. “Don’t talk or move your face. Just relax and let me move you.” He touched Kit’s jaw. “If your mouth falls open, let it stay open. If your hair falls in your face, don’t blow it out.”
Kit didn’t respond.
“Good boy,” Darius said.
Kit usually liked being called a good boy, except when it infuriated him, and even then, he still kind of liked it. But he didn’t feel any pleasure today. He just relaxed as Darius’s broad, warm hand covered his shoulder.
The pressure was gentle but irresistible, turning him slowly so his head didn’t crack on the linoleum. Kit allowed himself to be moved like a ragdoll, his head still fallen to the side. His gaze fell somewhere around the table legs.
“Hand me the camera,” Darius said. After movement in Kit’s peripheral vision, the camera clicked.
The last of Kit’s anxiety fell away with the sound.
Darius crouched again and moved Kit’s head so he faced the ceiling. His lips parted, his jaw slack. Darius stood over him, and the camera clicked two more times.
“Close your eyes.”
Kit closed his eyes. The camera clicked again in the darkness, and Kit told himself he was fine.
25
“Note to self, you’re still fucked up.”
Kit barely felt Darius’s hand pulling him to his feet. He barely heard James’s stupid joke—just enough to roll his eyes at the right moment. Then Darius led Kit down to the basement to take the same photos again.
This time, Kit lay down on an even dustier concrete floor. A bare yellow lightbulb flickered overhead. Kit followed Darius’s instructions. He didn’t move unless Darius moved him. He stared off into the dim light.
Afterwards, Kit stood up on his own. Dusting his hands off left pale marks on his black jeans.
That was easy.
“Are we done?” Kit asked.
Darius was flicking through the photos on his camera. “We’re done. Do you want to see?”
James pulled the camera over and grimaced. “Shit, Darius. You haven’t even edited them and they’re creepy as fuck.”
“Maybe later. This makeup itches.” Kit headed for the basement stairs. “Is the water running in the bathroom?”
“Should be,” Darius answered.
Upstairs, Kit swung by the kitchen for the hand towels and makeup remover. He clawed the bullet hole off his foreheadbefore he even reached the bathroom. Fake skin and damp paint peeled off with a sting, a mess of tan and black and red sticking to his fingers. Kit flicked it onto the pile of used sponges, then found the bathroom off the hall.
The bathroom was small. Dingy green walls and yellowing tiles closed around him. Kit was calm, but the door was difficult to lock. For some reason, his hands were shaking.
Looking in the mirror wasn’t bad. Ridiculous, sure. There was an uneven patch of bare skin in the middle of his forehead, where he’d ripped off the fake skin, surrounded by patches of red and pink paint. One streak stretched down into his eyebrow. No fake blood on the rest of his face.
