Page 37 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
?CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NATHAN
“I’d be lying if I kept hiding the fact that I can’t deal and that I’ve been dying for something real.”- 13 Beaches by Lana del Rey.
THE WARMTH I FOUNDWITHIN BENICIO’S HOME SURPASSED ANYTHING LOS ANGELES EVER OFFERED, MAKING IT FEEL LIKE MY OWN.So, when the sky lightened to a clearer gray and the humid sun finally peeked out, I could perceive it in its most peculiar form. It wasn’t until I saw the shredded wood—all that was left of the front yard’s frame—that I understood the storm’s impact on everyone else. My fear intensified as I draw nearer.
However, one look at my side is enough to calm me down. Or try to do so, at least. The frizz from the weather couldn’t tame the wildness of her curly hair, which is pulled back but still unruly. Veronica, moving forward with resolute calm, becomes my source of stability, showing no fear of what lays ahead. Part of me needs to know that Benicio is alright, but another portion of my soul is telling me I wouldn’t be able to cope if that wasn’t the case.
A backward glance reveals an outstretched hand and the question, “The keys?” Veronica’s brown irises trace the outline of my features, which must look like I had seen a ghost, clasping that hand she had extended around mine to interlock our fingers before bringing our palms up to her mouth.
“What if he’s injured?” I question, voice a mere whisper, but Veronica shakes her head before that thought could fully settle within me.
“He’s there. That’s all we can hope for.”
“How do you know?”
Right as I hand her the keys, she turns and says, “Sometimes hope is more important than knowledge. Humankind is not meant to be smart; it’s meant to know how to dream.”
I’ve learned to lose everything that is non-tangible. Friendships, my sister, people that I cared about. My concern lies solely with the memories within these walls, even if the house itself were to fall apart. The sight of darkened walls and the stench of mold now fill me with worry. I move without command, digits turning on the lights and panicking when looking around the room.
“He’s not here.” Those words fall on me with the weight of a skyscraper, landing on my weak shoulders, but once my voice reaches the air, I realize some motion from the corner of my eye. A body stands from the couch in the middle of the living room, a blanket wrapped around his frame.
Benicio’s eyes are so swollen and raw, the whites almost entirely consumed by a furious red from his tears. Then, as his gaze finally lands on me, a small movement from beneath the blanket between his legs reveals Opal, who greets my arrival with a soft meow. But I have no time to truly register Benicio’s state before he propels himself towards me, his embrace a sudden, fierce wave of pure relief that etches itself into my memory the moment his skin meets mine. He buries his face in my shoulder, his sobs shaking us both as he finally speaks.
“I thought I had lost you, child.” And perhaps that’s who I am to him. A friend, a child, the first person he truly got to know after his partner’s loss. I hug him with just as much force, placing a hand on his head, my own tears pouring from my eyes. “God, I’m so happy you found that motel.”
“I couldn’t get a hold of you soon enough. I’m sorry.” As I explain, I pull away so I can really see him. The shadows beneath his eyes and along his cheekbones are stark, and the thin layer of sweat and grease that sits on his skin makes me think he hasn’t had a proper wash. “What happened to the house?”
“I—” Fresh tears gather in his eyes, his fists twisting the material of my shirt, leaving it heavy and wet. Benicio cannot bring himself to meet my eyes. “I came back here as soon as I could. Locked myself up in my room and waited for you to come back. I even took care of your cat, but...when I got out...” His voice shakes, lifting his head to spare me a glance. “The room, Nathan, the room is gone.”
Benicio maintains a locked-off section of his house; his current room isn’t his true place. He used to share a bed with the man he loved, and since losing him, he finds it unbearable to change the sheets or touch the belongings left behind. He explains that on his lover’s birthday; he goes in simply to feel the texture of his clothes under his fingertips. At the very back of the house, almost a separate dwelling, that room remained unused, waiting for a time that may never come.
“What do you mean?”
“We built that room after we moved in here, so the materials weren’t the same. The house stood upright, but the room was destroyed.” Benicio explains, tugging at my hand and bringing me forward. “Just check it out for yourself.”
