Page 159 of Rivals
“I don’t want your feet to get cold, so I’ll have socks for you because they obviously will.” He winks, and I cover my face with a giggle.
“I hope you’re at least wearing a jacket, though,” he says.
“I am.” I will probably wear it most of the night since it’s cool and it will hide my bandages. Of all the conversations to have, that isn’t one I want to have with total strangers who will already be judging me and Lachlan.
I lean over and slip my foot into the shoe. I lean down, trying to keep my balance while I put the strap in the buckle. These heels are high, so I have to stand on my tip toes in the other shoe to reach for it. I should probably stretch more. Then Lachlan’s thick fingers are there, putting the tiny strap in the small buckle like he’s done it a hundred times. He lifts my leg from the back of my knee to slide my other foot into the shoe. I lean forward on his shoulders as he does. He taps my foot and rises to his full height when he’s done.
“Thank you.” He grabs my hand and twirls me around, yanking me to him.
“Beautiful. Are you ready?” I nod.
“As I’ll ever be.” He chuckles and kisses my lips quickly so the lipstick doesn’t transfer.
“Well, muse, I don’t think we will ever bereadyto put ourselves in the world like this, but I think it’s important that we do.“ I nod and take his hand. He’s right. The art, the process, is hard to do. It takes a lot of bravery. But who knows what that art could do for someone else? I think of all the cathedrals, the paintings, the statues that inspire me to no end. Those artists created their art and put it into the world, and it’s a source of remembrance or inspiration hundreds of years later. By no means do I think Lachlan and I will be remembered a hundred years from now. My story isn’t extraordinary, and neither is Lachlan’s. Maybe our purpose through all of this was to show that there is light within the darkness. You just have to be willing to walk through it to get there.
***
The anxiety has only increased as time ticked by. I think I would have already taken off if I could run in heels. The muscles and the tendons in my neck are so tight if I turned wrong, they would snap purely out of stress.
Lachlan holds my hand in the crook of his elbow as we walk into the partially tent-covered space in Central Park. It’s a beautiful evening. Lights are draped across the patio, transporting you from the concrete jungle of New York City. You couldn’t smell gas, the nasty alleyways, or hear the general soundtrack of the city. It was quiet, with light music playing in the background, and the air tasted fresh.
“You’re going to cut the circulation off, love,” Lachlan says quietly. I loosen my hand, not realizing I was squeezing him as tightly as possible. “Breathe. I’m nervous, too, but we have to be here. Whatever happens, it’s going to be ok.”
I nod, and we venture further into the space. Professor Tate sees us and waves. Lachlan smiles and waves back. I can’t get my body to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other, going wherever Lachlan leads us. He grabs me a glass of champagne, and I down it right there. He chuckles and hands me another one. There isn’t anything in my stomach, so I know the booze is going to hit fast, but I welcome it. It’s not exactly recommended that someone in recovery consumes any kind of substance, even if it’s champagne. But an exception needs to be made tonight, or I’ll run away screaming. That or puke all over everyone’s shoes. I’m not perfect, so champagne it is.
“Do you want to go look around at the other pieces?” Lachlan asks.
“No, we need to see ours.” He pats my hand and leads the way to the space where the five finalists have their works displayed. The alcohol starts to loosen me up as we approach our piece. Whoever is the temporary gallerist hit the nail on the head. Our submission is first. You have to walk through it to see the others and walk back out of it to leave. No beginning and no end. We put little hooks on the back of each canvas so it could be strung up to each side of the black, almost invisible, poles holding it up. They hang up in the air, and it’s nearly the same feeling I had when we walked into the cathedrals in Italy.
The first piece you see walking under it is the statues of Lachlan and I kissing. He shaded it so it looked like they came out of the canvas itself. Next is the black and white piece representing drugs and everything we’ve been through with them. Taking them at first and then continuing to abuse them. After that is one of my favorites, our time in Italy. It’s the ruins of our love in bright colors. I made it so it may look like ruins, but it could also look like the building of a foundation. Looking back, I realize that’s what Italy did for us. It gave us the chance and the distance from our home to build off of. Something that we wanted for each other. It was the first time I told another human that I loved him. All of that felt inherently and deeply special to me. I know it does to Lachlan, too.
After that, is one of the harder ones to swallow, but I know for Lachlan, it was his way of putting it to bed. There are bright and deep, almost brown, blood-colored reds on the canvas, with a small raven that drips with the color of blood. It looks like it’s painted on glass. For us, it’s obvious. But for others, it could be interpreted as more unusual or difficult to connect with. We reach the middle painting, which is our hands and Lachlan’s form of a proposal. It’s bright and beautiful. It makes me smile looking at it. After that, it gets dark again. There is true black and bits of white and yellow, the bird I saw when I was pretty sure I was about to leave this Earth. After that is the piece we made with our bodies; it’s wild, chaotic, and bold. I love everything about it.
We come to the piece that Lachlan and I argued and argued about. It’s kind of racy but perfectly exemplifies Lachlan’s obsession with me—his words, not mine. The last, or maybe first, is a Gothic cathedral that looks like a burning picture. There are fluffy, pretty clouds, people floating in the fake sky, and edges of orange and fire around the edges.
“I think it turned out perfect, Revna. I think it’s the best of all of them,” Lachlan says, looking at me. I nod and lay my head against his shoulder. We move through the other four contestants’ pieces. There is one that took my breath away. It is a statue, and the workmanship is stunning. Lachlan’s jaw drops and his eyes widen. “Whoa.” He lets me go while he circles the statue. It’s a Roman warrior with a leather skirt and armor. The man’s eyes are focused out in the distance, similar to David’s as if he’s mentally preparing for what he knows he has to do. He holds a sword, and his muscles bulge like he’s squeezing it in his hand for strength. A round shield hangs down in his other hand and hits his thigh. His posture is straight, and his feet have tall, leather sandals climbing halfway up his calf. A helmet is tilted on his side at his feet, and the top piece fans out. You could say he just took it off or is about to put it on.
“How did they do this so fast?” Lachlan says. He glances at me while he leans over to look at the helmet on its side. The stone helmet is carved so well that you could put it on your head.
My lips rub together anxiously. I wonder if I am pushing Lachlan too much towards painting and away from his great love, which is sculpting in all its different forms. “Revna? Did you hear me? How do you think they did this so fast?” I heard him, but I know how they did it so fast. They were a team, and one wasn’t with someone who dragged the other down. My stomach caves, and I take a deep pull of my champagne.
“Hey, what’s that for, love?” I shake my head and lift the glass to take another drink before he swipes it from my fingers.
“That wasn’t directed at you, Revna. No, you aren’t holding me back. And every minute with you is sixty seconds I’ll cherish forever.”
I look up at him and swipe the tear that annoyingly escaped from my eye. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”
He chuckles dryly. “You do the same thing to me.” I nod and shrug. What is he getting at? “I know you, Revna. You are my mirror, and I see you, and I love you. I have made it my goal in life to know every part of you, even the thoughts that fly through your eyes when you think you’ve done something wrong.”
“Didn’t I?” I rasp.
He shakes his head and pulls me into a hug. “No, because we did what we were meant to do, in the way it was meant to be done. I don’t want to question it. We’ve been through a lot in a very short period of time. You’re not holding me back. You’re helping me grow, baby. That’s all a man can ask for.”
I take a deep breath and nod my head against his chest. “It was the power tools,” I mutter.
“What?” He asks. I nod towards the statue.
“It was the power tools, that’s how. I’m pretty sure you told me something like sculptors can cut their time in half with power tools alone.” He chuckles and nods.
