Maybe he loved his family.
Maybe they loved him just as much.
Maybe he was the golden boy son who drank up all the proud parent moments.
Maybe his mom and dad honored their bond instead of chastising it out of him.
I had to compartmentalize loving my parents and the trauma they stuck me with.
Stripping out of my business casual clothes, I slipped into the hot water with a sigh escaping my mouth. There was nothing better than a bath. My bath tray was set up with a candle and book, begging me to relax.
Gliding my thumb over the mechanism, I watched the lighter produce a flame and set the wick on fire of my custom-made Wick Wish Candle Co. (also a California resident and local business owner) work of art. Rachel was an angel who hand poured these candles and wax melts that made reading a full sensory overload… in the best way.
The essential oils infused in her voodoo magic filled the bathroom instantly as I melted further down into the steamy water. I hadn’t even picked up my book yet, and I could already feel the day falling off of me.
No phones.
No boys.
No problems.
The bathtub was my safe space. Really, it was the water. That’s how California truly seduced me out here under the guise of modeling.
I just wanted to be surrounded by the water, letting the waves crash against my eardrums, and the constantly beautiful weather, making sure I’d always enjoy the view outside.
Grimm had the perfect view of the ocean with his house up a hill and sitting nudged into a cliff overlooking the whole ocean.
My pull to the ocean was exactly how I got caught in the first place. I was there before the sun even came up. I wasn't sure how that mattered to a guy like Grimm; he looked like the darkness was his friend. Sneaking was easy, I was wearing tie up shoes instead of heels in case he had hardwood floors.
None of that mattered, because I got sidetracked looking out his floor-to-ceiling windows with an ocean view. I felt hypnotized for longer than I meant to be, before I made my way upstairs with his garment bag.
The shower was running, and I knew I had to be quick as I unzipped the bag, fixed any wrinkles, and hung the suit up on the hook that Vic told me would be here.
It didn’t matter how quick you were. If someone like Grimm pulls out a gun, it’s due to how slow you were; it’s a silent alarm that someone is in their space.
Privacy always seems to be big with guys who look and act tough. Not to say he isn’t. I’m sure he would have shot if I was anyone else.
Privacy is a bubble you create for yourself to keep all of the parts of you that you don’t want people to judge safe.
I get it. I have parts of me better left in Chicago.
My mind was still stuck on Grimm. I giggled to myself thinking how different our nights were right now.
He was at some lavish event, rubbing elitist elbows and drinking champagne, while I soaked off the day with my mundane things. It made my mind drift, thinking about what could possibly be the things he deemed mundane, what helped him clear his mind… Did he feel the pull of the ocean too?
After I soaked until my skin wrinkled on the surface, I stood up feeling the cold hug my body from the clear difference in temperature. Reaching for a towel, I wrapped it around me and continued with my robe over the top when his words echoed in my head: …find out who you’re really working for.
I always wondered what we actually did. No one could tell me beyond financial advising, and even our website seemed shrouded in mystery. It was all black with only our logo centered on it; there was no company motto, morals, ethics, bio, or even contact information. You even needed a password to get past the logo.
After I got transferred off the front desk, where I greeted everyone, I was promoted to working for Vic, and I stopped questioning things out loud, just silently in my head now.
It was hard not being loud when every good documentary on Netflix is a mystery waiting for you to solve it in 12 episodes or an hour and a half. Soon you start to see in only mysteries and motives.
This world made us experts at collecting clues and dramatizing everything.
There were habits of being model material I couldn’t leave behind: skin care regiment, clean diet, being ultra-aware of my reflection… I wasn’t holding out hope of a dream that had long sailed away, but I had grown accustomed to people seeing me as the success of that dream coming true.
People were always shocked to know I was an assistant for someone in power and not the one wearing angel wings down a televised runway. That’s power and attention rolled up into one. That’s someone who can make decisions, not just take phone calls.
Okay, maybe I held out some hope.
Jus knocked on my bedroom door with a light set of knuckles. My bathroom was the shoe box inside my room, with paper thin walls, so it wasn’t hard to hear her knock.
“Abi? I’m gonna order Thai from DoorDash… you want anything?”
Jus had surprisingly slipped into the lap of luxury from couch surfing when I first met her. After we met up for coffee and stayed in touch, I didn’t think twice about telling her about my position that opened when I left it.
A few weeks later, they sent her a detailed email telling her to cleanse the colors from her hair, cover any tattoos, and invest in a new wardrobe.
Jus, being Jus, didn’t comply with any of it. She still rocked combat boots and pink hair.
I loaned her some clothes and offered her the spare bedroom I was already trying to rent on Craigslist anyways.
That’s how our beautiful friendship started.
“Sure… sticky noodles?” I shouted back, without making my way to the door as I pressed the serum into the ends of my hair.
Feeling empowered, which I always did freshly rinsed and after some self-care, I texted Grimm before it faded.
Me: Monday, what time should I be at work?
It was marked read, but he didn’t reply right away. He didn’t seem the type to text, call, or communicate at all...
Grimm: Kind of busy.
Me: You’re my boss, and I need notice of any schedule changes.
Grimm: Didn’t we go over this? Do what you want.
Me: Well, maybe you should talk to Vic and get me reassigned.
I dropped my phone on my bed, leaving a mystery in his answer, because I knew it wouldn't work out in my favor, no matter how brave I felt.
My life was in shambles, and I didn’t really have anyone to blame. It was easier to blame someone when life went wrong, and when you can’t, it creates a small monster—a monster that eats away at your confidence, motivation, self-worth, and all the things keeping you up right.
Grimm wasn’t going to be the reason I grew another monster under my complexion—one I worked hard on. It was an eight-step Korean regime to be exact.
I was choosing to blame no one and not taking that bait either. It is what it is.
GRIMM
“Jason, be social, son. Everyone is here to meet the horsemen.”
My dad had been gray since I could remember—not salt and pepper, but a kind of light gray that covered his whole head. His age didn’t hinder the power you felt when he walked into the room.
Every man in the room was upper echelon, powerful in their own right, and then you saw my dad. He was the essence of power.
It made you mentally reconsider what you knew as power before you laid eyes on him.
The only thing my dad was proud of was me being the same horsemen he took honor in. The rest of me could be complete shit, and that wouldn’t matter. I could rape every girl I had been with, and he would turn a blind eye if I was still grim and rode the horse of death.