Heartaches Knocking on Her Door

[March 6, 2014, Los Angeles]

“Ah, fine American cuisine” Gas laughed unwrapping his whopper, delight in his eyes.

Ville leaned out from his bunk, eyes jokingly narrowed in Gas’s direction, “you guys are reeking up the whole bus with that shit.”

“ah!” Mige exclaimed next to Gas, a fry between his fingers, ketchup dripping from the end, “someone’s in a half decent mood today!”

Rolling his eyes, smiling, he ducked back into his bunk, calling out, “fuck off!” as he pulled in the curtains.
They’d just settled into the tour bus after getting off the flight to America, an exhaustingly long flight. It had made him oddly uncomfortable, seeing the familiar landscape of LA as they touched down, he couldn’t quite place the feeling, or at least, didn’t want to.

Though the cities nightlight was abuzz, they’d all been too exhausted to go out, preferring to spend the night in the bus as it sat parked behind The House of Blues.

Ville shut his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to cars going by on the nearby street, the rustle of fast food wrappers, the dull sound of a DVD Linde had put on. He hadn’t been hungry, hadn’t felt social either, it was the city.

Should have eaten, shouldn’t be having another beer, should be trying to sleep. Ha! He thought to himself. He never slept, sleep was like a faint memory, a tiny snowflake you saw one instant, falling from the sky, one hour of rest, then suddenly it would be whisked away by the wind, he would awake.

He turned around in the cramped bunk that would be his bed for the next few months, pressing his forehead against the wall, back to the curtains. He kicked off his shoes, letting them fall off the edge onto the floor below.

His rings clinked against the edge of his beer bottle, where it sat nestled against the wall, as he strummed the notes in his head, eyes closing.

“Asleep?”

Prying open his stinging lids, Ville turned around. What was that? Ten minutes of sleep?

He pulled back the curtain to a smiling Mige, beard longer than ever, beanie on his head, and his coat on too? The inside of the bus was dark and almost silent, except for the sound of Janne’s snoring coming from his bunk.

“Going somewhere?” Ville smirked, leaning up on one elbow

“Couldn’t sleep, you’re usually awake, come for a walk, can’t stay up wanking in your bunk all night.” Mige smirked, holding up Ville’s converse.

“I think you’ve got an obsession with me and my wanking” Ville laughed quietly as he let his feet slip over the edge of his bunk, careful not to wake Gas who slept beneath him.

“You just seem a lot better today.” Mige said as Ville slipped on his leather jacket and followed him silently out the door of the bus.

He shrugged at the comment. Things had been strained between him and Mige for a while now. He had only tried to help as time and time again Ville had become consumed by his emotions, memories of the past. Mige was the one that would take it, take the blunt force of Ville’s harsh words, the others too hesitant to step in, impede on Ville’s life. Even Bam, far away, usually so outspoken, was hesitant to say anything though he knew something wasn’t right, I’ll see him soon though, Ville thought, both their tours would cross in a couple of days. But they were better now, him and Mige, after that one night.

Ville walked silently next to Mige as they strolled down Sunset Boulevard, enjoying the calm night, a little past eleven. He thought back to that night, a few days after they’d returned from Australia. The memory was hazy, he’d drunken a lot, spent all his money, had somehow managed to call Mige for a ride back to the tower, blurting it all out in the process. How much he missed her. How much he hated her. The child lost. And somehow, things had just been better, in a way. Someone knew, someone else knew.

“kahvia?” (coffee?) Mige asked, breaking the silence as a Coffee shop appeared up ahead.

Ville shrugged, I’m not going to sleep anyways, “varma” (sure) He replied as Mige pulled open the door to the small shop, tan couches her and there, tables with crumbs on top, a couple sitting in the back talking closely, a young woman with long brown hair slowly packing up her things to leave, large intimidating textbook in front of her.

“I’ll grab em” Mige smiled, motioning for Ville to take a seat at the only clean table, near the woman. “You like your coffee like you like your Sabbath right?” He laughed aloud, getting in line.

Ville slumped into the small single tan couch, laughing at Mige, tapping his fingers against the edge of the arm rest, tapping notes.

“Excuse me” He looked over, it was the woman, still nervously seated at her table, textbook and notebook neatly piled ready to go, “you wouldn’t happen to be Ville Valo would you?” Her fingers nervously played with the pen between her fingers as she look wide eyed at him.

“I would” He smirked, crossing his legs.

“Oh shit” The girl let out before she suddenly shut her mouth, placing her hand over it. She looked away than back at him, causing him to chuckle, before she got up, ripping a blank page from her notebook and bringing her pen with her. “Um, if it’s not too much trouble, could you sign this?”

“Of course” Ville grinned, accepting the paper from the girl, curls falling over her shoulders, eyes still wide in shock, framed by long lashes looking down at him as she stood next to his table. “What’s your name darling?”

“Dalia” she said, her eyes taking him in, causing him to chuckle again.

He finished off the short message he wrote. “So Dalia, are you going to the show tomorrow night?”

“Of course she is” Said Mige, placing their steaming cups on the table and taking a seat next to Ville, who slid him the paper to sign as well.

“Oh. Mige.” The girls smile grew wider. “I um, yeah. I’m dragging my friend along with me, I’m really excited.” She paused, looking as if she wanted to say something but unsure if she should. “I wanted to go down to Wonderland too, see your old photographers exhibit, Liv Manning, but the timing conflicts, they both start at the same time.”

Ville tried to cover up the shock he had gotten throughout his whole body, clinging on to the smile he had had plastered on before, fingers gripping into the armrest.

“Well you chose well.” Mige laughed, handing her back the paper with his signature added.

She accepted it, grinning all the while as she thanked them, before gathering her things and heading out the door, giving them a few happy glances as she did so.

A silence fell over there table as Mige waited for Ville to say something, anything other than stair into his cup of coffee.

He’d waited long enough, tortured for too long.

‘when she’s read’ I’ll just have to make her ready, not a fucking for too fucking long, Ville thought angrily, gripping his cup with a little too much force.

“You don’t have the time” Mige finally said, leaning an elbow on the table as he ate the muffin he’d bought himself.

“The hell I don’t”

***

She sat in the dim glow of the full moon, cigarette slowly turning to ash between her fingers as she stared off into space, one hand resting unconsciously on her stomach.

Another nightmare, things were getting better, but the nightmares, the nightmares were getting worse. Fast processions of her mother, falling to the ground on that hot day, the screeching of tires, breaking of glass as she swerved than tumbled down, the soft beeping of hospital equipment, her name being called in the distance.

The sound of a car honking below brought her out of her reverie and she looked down over the edge of the glass railing at the street below, flicking her cigarette with her nail and bringing it to her lips. A year ago today I was here in this city, blocks away, I had a roommate, I had a mother, I was going to school, had my life together.

Now? Now things are different, better in some ways, worse in others. Her fingers unconsciously held tighter onto her stomach. She looked down at her stomach removing her hand, there was nothing there, not anymore.

Liv turned, chewing her bottom lip to fight back tears, looking into the darkness of the small living room of her apartment.

After another few months of living with her grandfather and dad, Liv couldn’t take it anymore. That city wasn’t her home, she had missed Los Angeles, missed being busy with her photography, being near what little friends she had. Therapy was done, things with her father, who began working in a Harley repair shop, were better than they’d ever been, there was nothing left there, so Liv moved back to LA. It had been strange, being back home, living alone in an apartment, and still was. There had always been someone there. Her mother, Marcus, Him, and then her grandfather and father, but now she was truly alone, truly independent. It frightened her.

She brought her legs up, resting her cheek against her knees, eyes stinging , when am I ever going to sleep again? Her mind ran over the large list of things she had to do the next day.

Putting out her cigarette in the ashtray she got up to grab a blanket, pulling open the glass sliding door, and stepping in, bare feet against the hardwood of her living room. She ran her hands through her still wet hair as she walked in the dark, back to her bedroom, turning the bedroom light on and taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

There’s no use trying to sleep here is there? She sighed, looking at the comfortable black bedding. Liv ripped off the blanket, flicking off the lights and dragging it back to the balcony. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept the whole night through, or at least didn’t want to remember, knowing full well it had been in His arms.

***

[March 7, 2014]

She breathed in with a heavy sigh, running the back of her hand against her sweating forehead, her bracelet tinkling with the motion. She looked up at the centerpiece of the exhibit wincing, before she turned “Alright so the prints are ready? And the security is ready with the wrist bands? And the guides all know what to talk about?”

“Yes, yes, and yes”

“Honestly Sam, I couldn’t have done this without you, best curator in town.” Liv smiled, giving Sam a half hug before he left to work on some last minute preparations.

Liv closed her eyes, trying to breath, wiping at her forehead again, when she heard the sound of heels approaching.

“Nervous?” Came a smokey chuckle next to Liv.

She opened her eyes, smiling at Kat, bottom lip between her teeth, “incredibly, and tired as hell.”

“You’re always fucking nervous” Marcus laughed, nudging Liv in the side. “and what? Did you wake up on your balcony again?” He had an arm wrapped lovingly around Hanna.

Liv nodded taking a deep breath before turning in a circle around the beautiful gallery. White squares of fabric hung from framed pictures on the yellow and red walls, her pictures. Hidden away but soon to be revealed. Liv checked the time on her phone, about an hour left. How did I get here? To this place? My photography displayed in a gallery, Kat Von D’s gallery, Wonderland.

I should really be asking myself how I survived.

Kat threw her beautifully tattooed arm around Liv, giving her a hug, “Chill, have some champagne or something, you look like you’re going to throw up.”

“I just need a minute” Liv smiled, resting her head on Kats shoulder for a moment before making her way to the washroom.

It was beautiful, as one could imagine, obviously designed by Kat. Candles on the slick black countertop, a shell sink, dark paintings on the wall.

Liv rested her hands on the counter, looking at herself in the mirror. Eyes instantly closing shut with a short burst of pain as she saw the pink scar on her temple, peaking out. She re-adjusted her black hair, professionally curled, longer than ever. Collecting herself, Liv opened her eyes, smiling slightly, looking at her makeup. Kat had thrown a fit after Liv had arrived with only mascara on, insisting that Liv let her do her makeup, and so Liv wore winged eyeliner, long false lashes, black and red ombre lips, the whole shabam. She had been forced into the tightest, black, lace, peplum dress by Hanna, who bullied Liv in to dressing up for her ‘big day’ whatever the hell that means, Liv thought. The only thing she had on that she had picked out herself were her black Jeffrey Campbell’s, tattered black clutch, and worn black leather jacket.

She let her hair fall over her face as she looked down at the black counter, her breathing becoming quicker. They’ve got it wrong. I’m not nervous, not about this. Months, it’s been months of doing fine, doing alright, why today? Why do I have to, to, why am I so, so afraid.

He’s here.

Only blocks away.

There was a soft knock on the door. Liv gathered herself and opened the door. Marcus stood frowning. He had dressed so handsomely for the occasion, dark gray button up, black skinny tie, and black jeans.

“I see right through you Liv Manning. Like hell you’re nervous about the exhibit. You know, it’s alright to still be upset.” He reached up a hand and gently wiped away a tear Liv hadn’t even known she’d shed.

“I’m fine, honestly.” Liv smiled, stepping out of the washroom. “He’s just, I’m afraid that, that He might come.” She could feel the nervousness intensify in the pit of her stomach. Six months without Him, running from Him, and she still wasn’t ready.

Marcus raised a brow, crossing his arms. “I shouldn’t have told you they were in town for their tour this morning.”

Liv wiped at the sweat on her face again. “No, no. I would have found out. Look, I know this sounds incredibly weak and childish of me but, Marcus, if He shows up, I don’t think I, I can’t. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I just can’t do it.”

Marcus held up his hand, cutting off Liv’s rapid procession of words. “Are you really trying to tell me that after months of working on this exhibit, one which you put your heart and soul into, one which Kat went out of her way to accommodate in her gallery, one which Bam helped you get the gear, crew, and models for, you want to skip out?”

Liv looked away, ashamed. Marcus was right, he was always right.

After returning to Los Angeles she’d immediately called Bam who enthusiastically made a few calls, and had her all ready for a series of shoots she’d slowly been planning out the months before. Marcus had urged Liv to call Kat, who was all too willing to set up a show for Liv’s work. It was more than that in fact, the two had actually become friends. Two months of finding locations and props and model s and crew to help, of precisely setting up the shoots, of editing, I can’t just leave.

“I shouldn’t.” She sighed.

“Good.” Marcus curtly nodded, grabbing Liv’s hand and wrapping it around his arm. “And so what if he does come? You finally apologize to him for avoiding him these past months. All is forgiven. And you can finally go back to normal.”

Liv gulped as she walked back out with Marcus into the main gallery space where Kat had popped open a bottle of champagne and was pouring Hanna a glass. There is so much more I would have to apologize for. “You know that’s not how things work.”

“Yeah I know, I just want you to be okay again.”

Liv stopped walking, narrowing her eyes at Marcus, “I am okay, I’ve been okay, at least since I’ve moved back, haven’t given Him a second thought until you said He was in town tonight, alright. I’m fine.” She let go of Marcus and marched her way over to Kat.

Kat stood next to a long, narrow, beautifully ornate black table situated against one corner of the gallery, bottles of champagne and glasses set up. She had dressed up too, wearing a red plaid, short, sleeveless, tight dress with a black peter pan collar, her hair in a messy bun atop her head, oddly beautiful shoes on her feet. She thrust out a sparkling glass of champagne as Liv approached.

Liv hesitated for a moment, she’d only recently starting drinking again, since her dosage of antidepressants had lowered. Liv took the glass, bringing it to her lips.

“Somebody’s feeling better” Kat laughed as Liv set down the empty glass. “Good thing you know cause the photographers are here for the promo shots.”

“We’ll start deflowering the pictures.” Marcus smiled, unphased by Liv’s anger, he was use to it, any conversation involving Him usually ended the same. He threw an arm around Hanna who had on a black, high waisted, sequin skirt, dark green tank, black blazer with the sleeves rolled up, and black wedges. The two began gently taking off the squares of white fabric from the photographs. Camera flashes from outside began going off as the crowd of wrist banded guests waited eagerly along the sidewalk for the opening.

A throng of photographers for different websites and magazines came in as Liv and Kat posed together in front of a few of the photographs, Liv nervously smiling all the while. Just because she had grown accustom to being in the spotlight a few times being on tour, didn’t mean she liked it. She’d kept away from the internet the month or so following the crash, but as soon as she’d gone on, she’d been flooded with pictures, stories, speculations of why she had left the tour, of the crash itself, of her and Him. And since befriending Kat, going out for lunches or shopping, or heading over for the next shoot, the ridiculous paparazzi were always lurking around, it disgusted Liv. Now she was willingly putting herself out there, a frightening prospect.

A half hour later the photographers were done, half of them having stayed to get shots of the crowds coming in, Kat was thoroughly excited, Marcus had had too much champagne and Liv was sweating more and more out of nervousness, her bottom lip almost stripped of lipstick and on the verge of bleeding.

“come out for some air and a smoke before you faint.” Kat chuckled as she watched Liv nervously look up again at the centerpiece photograph. She put a hand on a flustered Liv’s back and guiding her out the back door into the breezy night. The sun had just gone down, ocean breeze rustling the leaves.

Liv pulled out a cigarette from inside her clutch, accepting Kat’s light.

“The models and other special guests should be arriving soon.” Kat said, her cigarette between her lips as she checked her phone.

Liv turned to look at Kat, leaning her back against the wall. “Kat, w, would you, would you be mad if I left? I could be like, like a ghost photographer or something, I just, I feel so overwhelmed.”

Kat laughed, “Well there’s no hope of being a ghost photographer, you’ve already done interviews and taken promotional shots. But, uh, no, I guess not. You’ll be missing out though. You won’t get any praises on your work, or meet other people in the business, or even see the people who loved your work so much they bought prints.”

“I’ll come back, if anything I’ll be out for an hour.” She felt like shit, it was incredibly rude to leave, but the pit of her stomach ached with fear and worry. Most of the problems that led her into that psych ward back in Brooklyn had been smoothed out, eased, except Him, and that was her own fault. I’m not, not ready, she thought, biting her lip, looking into Kat’s eyes for understanding.

“fine fine fine, just come back here cause I’ve got a cab coming to take us all out for dinner” Kat said, suddenly grinning.

Liv raised a brow, “dinner?”

“Oh fuck” Kat laughed, “Hairless cats out of the bag. Alright well it was supposed to be a surprise but since you wouldn’t let us take you out for your birthday last weekend, we thought we’d force you out today, since you’re already dressed up. Don’t decide to not come back though, or we’ll come find you.” She smiled, pointing a menacing finger at Liv. “Now go, clear your head, get some peace of mind” She shooed Liv off, smiling at her odd friend.

Sticking her hands in her jacket pockets and cigarette between her lips, Liv walked off, cutting across the parking lot that ran behind Kats shop and the gallery, no direction, just letting her feet take her.

***

“Puoli tuntia. Siinä kaikki pyydän.” (Half an hour. That’s all I’m asking for) He pleaded. He couldn’t take one more minute there. He couldn’t take one more minute of looking into the faces of his friends and knowing they knew, knew why he was on his third beer since arriving, they knew, staring up from behind their books, iPad’s, phones, as he begged Seppo to leave, if only for a little bit.

“Hyvin poikani, hyvin.” (Very well my boy, very well.) Seppo nodded. There was no arguing, not when it came to her, they had all come to accept that in time.

Without another word Ville ducked out of the small room they sat in, band posters on the walls, a wooden table full of snacks and drinks, where once she’d crept in, shy young thing. He rapidly walked past the hall she’d gotten lost in, little red straying from the path.

The back door of the venue creaked as he walked out, away from the déjà vu that threatened to bring him under again. Fine, I’ve been abosulutely fine until I stepped foot into this fucking venue.

The back lot was empty, the two tour buses, HIM’s and Anathema’s, a few securities gaurds walking around, but clear of fans who had all gone into the venue for the show. The cab he’d called already, before talking with Seppo, waited for him. Ducking his long legs into the car he was off, a short ride, but the increasing nervousness began eating away at him until he finally asked the cab to stop, still a block away. Air, he needed air. Tossing the driver a few bills he stepped out. I’m acting erratic aren’t I?

With a heavy sigh, lighting himself a Marlboro, he took off. He knew the city well enough, knew where he would find her.

He was on his fifth cigarette as he spotted the gallery up ahead. He only had less than twenty minutes now, to get in and get out.

Ville wondered as he walked what Mige thought. One night here, would anything have stopped him from going? From trying one last time, making one last effort when she was only blocks away?

He couldn’t help himself.

The months following the accident had been torture, he couldn’t think straight, ever. Furiously working on lyrics for the new album, melodies flowing in and out of his mind, working, a new show all the time, drinking, the only form of sanity, the only thing that could ground him. He had gotten better, much better, since telling Mige everything, they never spoke about that night, nothing was ever brought up, but someone knew. He was getting back to normal, and was succeeding in many regards except for his drinking, that and the letters.

He wrote to her, every day, stacks of letters, with no address to send them. Some had tear stains blurring the ink, some simply said how his day had gone, how little things he’d seen had reminded him of her, and some had been taped together having been ripped apart in anger, he was trying to let her go, it was hard though, without closure, without a word, but today he would get it, what he needed to move on. Today he didn’t write a letter, today he would see her.

Ten months and four days ago, here in this city, he’d first met her. Ten months and three days ago, at the very same venue he’d be playing at tonight, he fell in love with her. Six months and twenty five days ago he’d first told her he’d loved her, and only two months later it was all done, and he’d been haunted ever since.

He turned off the sidewalk, seeing the back lot to the gallery. Kat had usually let him in through the back of her shop, he was sure someone would be there behind the gallery.

He hoped he didn’t smell like alcohol, he hoped he looked well rested, he hoped he looked fine without her as he walked up to the back of the gallery, night wind swaying his loose curls, piercing through his thin black vee neck and unzipped leather jacket, chilling him.

The back door suddenly opened and out stepped a smiling Kat, unlit cigarette between her lips, a tall man with short cropped hair, beanie and bowtie, walked out with her. She was turned, looked at the man, “yeah, I’m definitely going to have to ask her for,” Kat suddenly stopped as she saw him approaching. “Ville” She said quietly at first, squinting to get a good look at him until he’d come closer, “Ville!”

Ville grinned, accepting Kat’s hug then introducing himself to her friend. “I thought I’d come down quickly before the show tonight and see the exhibit.”

“Of course!” She said with her raspy voice, urging him in. He put out his cigarette and let her push him through the door.

She led the way down a short hallway and into the large gallery space, crowded with guests. Glimmering chandeliers shining light upon vibrantly colored photographs hanging from the red and yellow walls. The photographs, which came in many sizes, were beautifully framed in intricate black frames. His breath caught in his throat as he looked around.

“How have you been? It’s been so long?”

He could barely hear her, he was too mesmerized. All this, she had done all this?

“Miserable.” He replied truthfully, without sarcasm as his eyes took in all around him.

“I can tell. Well, we can catch up another time, don’t just stand there” Kat chuckled, handing him a glass of champagne, “go on, admire her work.”

Too dazed to instantly start looking for her, Ville crept up to the nearest photograph. It depicted a young man, half crazed eyes, sitting in a rotting room, cob webs in the corners, dust covering the Victorian style furniture, holding up, triumphantly, a large candle, as a thin woman sat on the ground next to a taxidermy owl, her long hair covering her nakedness, wicked smile on her lips, large black rams horns protruding from her head. He smiled, ignoring the small explanatory paragraph next to the photograph, whispering, “The Imp of the Perverse.” It was beautiful, everything staged perfectly, the angle excellent, lighting ideal, she was far more talented than he’d ever expected.

He turned away from the photograph, trying desperately to look through the crowd of people to find her, I was always good at that, finding her.

He spotted Marcus at the other end of the room with his fiancé staring up at the largest of the photographs. Finishing the contents of his glass and setting it down on a small table, Ville squeezed past guests, some of whom looked up at him with recognition.

Before he could say a word to Marcus, the photograph stopped him in his tracks. Larger than an arm span, it hung alone, taking up most of the left wall. It was the only photograph in black and white. His fingers unconsciously moved to his mouth in awe as he stared up at the beautiful photograph. A young woman, beautiful, long black hair, dressed in a white corseted night gown, held back forcefully by police, clutched a floor board. Her fingers bleeding as she looked down, her face contorted in pain at the figure beneath the floorboards, herself. The same woman lay in a hole framed by bloody boards, deathly pale, under the floor, her corset ripped open, a bloody heart sitting atop her chest. “The Tell-tale Heart” He whispered.

Ville heard Marcus scoff in front of him, “Haven’t given him a second thought my ass” He laughed, holding up a hand and pointing to the photograph to show Hanna what he meant.

Ville followed the point of his finger. Not many would notice it, but Marcus had, and now he himself saw it. Beneath the dead woman’s hands, which lay clasped delicately atop her body, was a photograph, a polaroid. Her fingers covered most of the figure in the photograph, but as he stared harder, he could see his own eyes looking back at him from under her fingers. He felt his heart give a pull as he struggled for breath. Where is she?

“He’s in every fucking picture. I mean for fucks sakes, she named this one ‘Bury Me’ after his fucking song. Who does that girl think she’s fooling?” Marcus grumbled, taking a sip of champagne, still angry that Liv had left.

“Marcus” Ville finally managed to say.

Marcus and his Hanna turned instantly with surprised expressions, recognizing Ville’s voice.

“V, Ville.” Marcus managed to choke out, spitting some of his champagne back in the glass. “Y, you came.”

Ville smiled, running a hand through his loose hair, “Was I expected?” He laughed. Do I seem alright? Am I overplaying the friendliness? The last time he’d seem Marcus he had been forcefully dragging him out of the hospital, utter pity in his features.

“She’s uh, she’s not here.” Marcus suddenly exclaimed as if it involuntarily had burst from his lips.

“oh” Ville silently mouthed, looked away, up at the photograph. He felt crushed. She was supposed to be here, be here so I could get some fucking closure, some release from her. I shouldn’t have come.

“She was here, but then uh, she uh left.” Marcus scratched the back of his head nervously.

Ville’s hands balled into fists at his sides as he continued looking up at the photograph, at his eyes, at the photograph of him that she had taken, that morning so far away. “She left cause she was afraid I would be here didn’t she?” Marcus began mumbling a frantic response but Ville cut him off, “Just, just tell her I came,” His lips began to quiver, he needed to leave, get back to the show, get away from this place, surrounded by her, “tell her that” that she broke my fucking heart? That she’s a fucking coward? That after all these months I still fucking love her? my tragically beautiful “that uh, she did a very beautiful job, that I’m truly proud of her.” He turned to look at Marcus again, giving him and his fiancé a nod of goodbye before he left them.

He wanted to stop and admire the rest of her work, but he couldn’t take it. He quickly called a taxi to take him to The House of Blues, and made his way through the throng of guests to the back door.

“Going already?” Came a familiar voice. Kat leaned against the side of the till, overseeing the success of the prints being sold.

His eyes locked on the young man with shoulder length black hair tied back in a bun who eagerly handed over some cash to the woman working at the till, on the counter lay a wrapped print, under the see through plastic covering he could see a photograph of two young men in front of a stone wall, one dressed in finery, the other in rags wearing a bloodied mask, the two embraced each other in a kiss. The Masque of Red Death.

“I’ve got to go, I’m sorry, it was nice seeing you.” He said listlessly, moving towards the back door once again, pushing open the door and stepping out.

“wait!” Kat called after him as his shoes crunched on the gravel of the small back parking lot of the gallery, he could see his cab approaching. He stopped, turning around. She looked sad in the dim moonlight, staring at him from the doorway, “She’s Liv isn’t she?”

Ville’s eyes lowered as he remembered the brief conversation they’d shared when Kat had gone to the show in September. “She was” He called back. The cab pulled up next to him. He reached out, hand on the door, but he looked back at Kat who still stood out, watching his departure. “Katherine, could you please to me a favor?”

***

She wished she had her camera, she hadn’t needed to take a picture of something that pained her for a long time now, but the sight of this place, the feeling in the air, her shoes crunching against the gravel, cigarette smoke in the air. She leaned her back against the brick wall, turning her head to look at the side door, the same door she’d nervously stepped through as a meek child, what seemed like years ago. Would Jarno still be behind that door waiting to let me in?

Liv reached into her purse pulling out her cellphone and turning it on. Three missed calls from Marcus. She stuck her cigarette between her lips, letting her head fall back against the wall behind her, and called Marcus back.

“He’s gone, I tried calling earlier but someone conveniently left their phone off.” Liv rolled her eyes as she looked up into the twinkling stars of the night sky. “Anywho, he left a while ago, it’s safe for you to return now.” He was still mad that she had left, stole away like a coward.

“Alright, I’ll head back soon.” So He had come. She bit down on her quivering lip.

“Liv, he uh, he told me to tell you that you did a very beautiful job and that he, he’s truly proud of you.”

She had told herself months ago that she wouldn’t cry over him anymore, cry over what had been lost, and she’d managed, managed to keep it together through the shoots, business meetings, moving into her new apartment, living without Him, she’d managed, but not now, not when after six months that was the first she’d heard of him. It wasn’t an ‘I love you’ no, he would never say that again, but it was something, anything. She hung up before Marcus could hear her cry, the tears coming down in half sobs. “Fuck!” Liv exclaimed angrily. Why couldn’t he have just, just stayed away. And yet here I fucking am, back at this place.

From behind her, within the building, she could hear the roar of the audience rise up. His voice chattering over the roar of the crowd. Linde’s heavy guitar cut into the cheers, Burton chimed in with Gas and Mige. Liv could barely make out the lyrics through the walls, but she knew exactly what He was singing. She pulled her back off the wall, lighting a new cigarette as she walked away from the building, ignoring the tear stains running down her face as she silently sung to herself, “In the grace of your love I writhe in pain.”