Chimera by Stephie Walls Read Free Book Online Page A

admit. I don’t recognize the man in the mirror. No matter what I do to try to find some semblance of who I used to be, I just look haggard. Or maybe it’s old. Fuck, I don’t know.
    The familiar beating signals Nate’s arrival. I open the door and find him standing there in slacks and a button-up shirt. He has a bouquet of flowers in his hand, which he promptly offers me with a smirk.
    “You’re a douche, Nate.” I sneer, taking the flowers.
    “They aren’t for you, asshole. I figured you wouldn’t have thought to bring her flowers, so I got them for you.”
    “You don’t take flowers to a gallery opening.” His ignorance never ceases to amaze me.
    “Why not? She’s a girl. It’s a big day for her. Why wouldn’t you give her flowers to congratulate her?” The confusion clouds his eyes.
    “Where’s she going to put them? In the pocket of her dress? Buying one of her pieces is how I say congratulations, not flowers. Especially not cheap shit with a Publixsupermarket sticker on them.” I smack him upside the head. It’s a gentle swipe, but he gets the point.
    “Can you afford to buy anything?”
    “No, but I will.” I don’t have the financial means to buy anything, but not buying a piece tonight will ensure there will be no “real” date after this.
    “Have you thought about telling her the truth?”
    “Nope. Women don’t want to hear that you’ve spent every nickel you had since your wife died because you’ve been too depressed to work. Suicidal tendencies aren’t a huge turn-on, and neither are poor ass bastards.”
    “She’s going to find out, Bastian. You can’t hide the last five years from her. You realize she could Google your name and find out everything you’re trying to cover up?”
    I don’t respond. I’m winging this shit as it is. I don’t have a clue how to date. I sucked at it when I was a teenager. I’m sure at some point, I’ll have to be upfront with her, but hopefully, it will be later rather than sooner. “You ready?”
    He opens the front door and ushers me out with a sweep of his arm. Taking a deep breath, I exit, lock the door behind me, and head toward my future.

    W e arrive at the gallery around eight. The place is full. Her work appeared to be quite good in the pictures I saw online, but I had no idea she was this popular. Nate and I have been wandering around looking at each displayed object. I keep coming back to an angel that has an uncanny resemblance to Sera herself.
    The woman stands about two and half feet tall on top of a large black display block with a glass top and lights shining up the angel’s silhouette. The lighting creates an ethereal glow and casts shadows at all of the appropriate angles. Her head is bowed in what appears to be sorrow, or maybe it’s defeat. Her long, flowing locks cast in fired clay cascade down her back, covering her shoulders and hiding bits of her arms. The tattered hem of the dress on her body catches my attention; the detail so intricate it’s as if Sera had dipped a torn piece of fabric in clay before allowing it to harden. The wings are surreal. They span a solid fifteen to sixteen inches, outstretched as though at any minute she might take flight, yet somehow, you see in her body language she doesn’t have the energy or the will to move. The ashen-gray tone of the clay adds to the depression. This angel exudes pain. Her face shows lines of worry, her eyes trying to hide a sadness that seems to haunt her stone soul. My heart aches to rescue this tortured creature.
    “That’s the one, huh?” Nate questions me, tilting his head from side to side in an effort to see what has attracted me to her. I nod, continuing to peruse every delicate line and elaborate detail Sera captured in this fallen being. “It’s kind of feminine, don’t you think?” He’s asking rhetorical questions he knows I won’t answer. Squatting down in front of her to get a better view, I see Nate wander off from the corner of my eye.
    I