Night falls and we fuck.
The portfolio is growing. Post crime photographs from Leonard Avenue, a body discovered in Japatul Valley, an overdose in an abandoned building in the East County. Environmental death studies from forgotten places like cemeteries. Sketches of sad people in diners and bars, showing the human suffering that exists in plain sight.
Roxy's work is extraordinary. It really hits you with how unsanitized it is. Uncomfortably real where there is nowhere to hide.
And nobody will know who she is, or who I am. Wanted murderers who thrive on the thrill. They don’t know we died and reincarnated, but now we're invisible. Ghosts journalling reality and calling it art.
A few days later brings a complication.
We're at a crime scene in Ten Park. It was a domestic violence incident that ended in a shooting of the abusive partner by the police. The victim has been taken to their family. The police have cleared the scene and the body's been removed. Roxy is doing her thing as I keep watch. It’s then that I see him.
A man in his thirties, expensive camera around his neck, tech-bro aesthetic with designer jeans, vintage band t-shirt, carefully styled hair. He's photographing the same scene, probably for some urban exploration blog or Instagram account.
And he's noticed Roxy.
"Hey," he calls out, approaching her. "Nice camera. You shooting for a project?"
Roxy looks up, startled, her eyes quickly find mine, but before she can respond, I'm there as I step between them.
"She's not available for conversation."
The guy blinks, taken aback by my tone.
"I was just…" he starts to say, a look of confusion on his face as he looks to Roxy before looking at me.
"I know what you were doing. And I'm telling you she's not interested."
"Dude, I was just being friendly."
"Be friendly somewhere else, before you don’t have a tongue to talk with."
His eyes widen before he looks at Roxy again, maybe expecting her to contradict me or tell me to shut up. But she stays silent, pressed against my side, snuggling into my neck, understanding the dynamic. I can feel the itch under my skin, the temptation to take a knife to this guy’s smug face. It’soverwhelming and the only thing stopping me is having Roxy pressed against me, bringing me the calm I need to control the urge. I can’t do that shit anymore, especially here in daylight. But, fuck, am I tempted.
"Whatever, man, I don’t want any trouble," he says finally, backing off with his hands up in defeat. "I didn't mean to intrude."
He walks away and I watch until he's out of sight, picturing things I would love to do to the asshole. When he’s gone, I turn to Roxy.
"We're done here. Let's go."
"Dom…"
"Now."
We walk back to the car in silence, holding hands. I can feel the rage building in my chest, not at her, but at the situation. It’s not even the fact he may have been trying to hit on her, it’s the fact she has been noticed, that a stranger has spent long enough in her presence to remember her.
Once we're in the car, I turn to her.
"Don't talk to anyone about the work," I say, my voice hard. "All of it stays between us until we're ready to share it."
"I wasn't going to, baby."
"I know, but I'm telling you anyway. No one gets to know what you're doing. No one gets to see the work, you’re mine and I don’t share any part of you with anyone."
She's quiet for a moment, studying my face. Then she reaches over and puts her hand on my thigh.
"Yeah," she says softly. "I'm yours."
The anger starts to fade, replaced by something this toxic possessiveness and obsession I have for her. I hate that he spoke to her, and how he looked at her. Jealousy is not a good thing for someone like me, as it will lead to dead bodies left in my wake.
