After donning his clothes, Cosmo sat on the couch, and Micah joined him. Cosmo pulled Micah’s head into his lap. “Your assault broke you.” It was a whisper of a question, neither pity nor callousness in Cosmo’s voice as he ran his nails along Micah’s scalp.
“Quite literally. Fractured my eye socket. But yeah, I feel like a dropped vase. The mess is long gone, but for nearly a year I’ve been crawling around on the kitchen floor, trying to find all the scattered pieces. But one’s under the fridge and a couple got thrown away, and even put back together, you can see all the seams that make me.”
“You’re a beautiful vase, though. I’m glad you exist.”
A lump formed in Micah’s throat. He squeezed Cosmo’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you.”
“I’m an urn with a huge crack running down the side, and all my ashes have fallen out and blown away in the wind,” Cosmo said.
“Then you’re the perfect empty vessel to fill with good things now. Late night conversations, books in bed, graveyard dates… Cookies.”
“You’d fill a funeral urn with cookies?”
“You know I would.” Micah’s nose stung. He sat up and squeezed Cosmo hard. “I’m glad you exist too.”
“I–” Cosmo’s breath tickled his ear, his voice hitching. “I keep thinking about Royce. The smell of his aftershave. His windbreaker. His hands. Telling me I wanted it.”
Micah held him harder. “I’m so sorry.”
“But you know, I do feel better after deleting my Flashbulb account. I think it contributed a lot to me feeling like I’m worthless. Which we both know isn’t true. We’ve already established that I’m your muse – a cracked urn full of cookies.”
“I’ll fill you with whatever you want.”
He expected Cosmo to suggest something dirty, but his eyes were full of hope. “With love?”
“Oh, yes.” Micah trailed a finger down Cosmo’s sternum and stopped at his heart. “So much that the lid is never going to fit back on.”
23
THE KILLING MOON
Cosmo - Snagged Thread
People drifted through the gallery halls with their tiny flutes of champagne, remarking on Eddy Marquez’s vision for his peculiar still lifes of bloody cuts of beef. They mused that he’d surely been going through something traumatic and dark to create such pieces, and hopefully the poor man was getting out of his depressive episode. The truth was Eddy was a butcher and had merely found it to be convenient subject matter. Although that in itself probably spoke to his state of mind.
As Night Gallery’s newest artist, Micah’s exhibit was directly up front by the refreshment table, and for once, Cosmo wished he was the art handler. The handler had done a fine job of mounting the portraits, but Cosmo could have been the one framing and displaying Micah’s art with care.
Pulling the pocket square from his jacket, he rubbed a fingerprint from the glass over one of the drawings.
Someone behind him exclaimed, “Oh, I love these. Wait, they’re of you!”
A cluster of people had gathered, their gazes jumping from the portraits to Cosmo. He put a hand under his chin and batted his lashes. “Aren’t they fabulous?” The only thing these people loved more than art was gossip, and Cosmo had gotten permission to spill this particular secret. He leaned forward, teeth pressing into his lip. “You didn’t hear this from me, but nearly all of these portraits were done over the phone. Micahtalks to random strangers – telemarketers, restaurant hostesses, sex line operators – and gets them to describe themselves for him.”
A woman gasped, and the people around her murmured. “How strange.”
“Isn’t it, though? He’s very eccentric.”
“Is that how he drew you? If so, he did an amazing job.”
“He saw me very briefly during a chance encounter, and was so enamored with my look that he was compelled to draw me. He’s done my portrait over the phone too, and I must say that it was a thrilling experience.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. What a unique way to draw someone. Their own perceptions of themselves must come out in the drawings. Almost like he’s drawing their inner selves.”
Cosmo grinned. “That’s why they’re all so beautiful.”
The woman plucked a business card from the holder beside the exhibit. “He’d draw me this way, wouldn’t he?”
“Well… It’s supposed to be a secret, but I’m sure if you asked him nicely, he’d love to do this sort of commission for you.”
