Page 41 of Rivals
Nerves sizzle in my fingers, and I shake with the pencil in my hand. I don’t want to mess this up. Regardless of whatever sits between Lachlan and I, we still have a competition to win. We still have to make a name for ourselves in the art world. I can’t mess this up.
Then maybe you should ask for help.
I scream in my head, just an all-out frustrating scream. I keep hearing this one singular voice in my head, and it scares the crap out of me. It doesn’t feel like my own, and my body calms whenever I hear it. It’s my voice. Right? I’m the one saying that. Please let me be the one saying that. Maybe I’m going crazy. Yeah, that’s possible. Maybe I should go to a psych ward. Maybe I do need help.
“Are you alright?” Lachlan says. My hand is in his, and I’m still shaking.
I rip my hand out of his hold. “I’m fine,” I snap.
“As cliche as it sounds, you don’t seem fine.” I glare at him and drop my pencil, heading into the kitchen. Maybe he has some tea, coffee, or booze, anything that will distract me from my spiral.
“I’m going to make tea.” The last thing I want to tell him, or anyone, is that I hear things. What bothers me the most is that it’s not some malevolent voice telling me to jump off a building or poison myself. It’s not even mean. It just talks to me. It’s calm and even encouraging sometimes, but it scares me. Shouldn’t I be afraid of a voice that doesn’t feel like my own? The mere fact that I know it isn’t my own, rather I don’tthinkit’s my own, is more concerning than all of it.
“Revna, if you were fine, you wouldn’t be staring into an empty cabinet,” Lachlan says, coming up behind me. His hand snakes around my waist as he turns me to face him and pushes me up against the counter. I try to put a little bit of space between us and hop on top of it. He still touches me and does most of the work, lifting me to the edge.
“What’s going on, little bird?” I jerk back. Lachlan has been so nice, and I don’t like that I like it. I feel myself getting closer and closer to him, and I don’t know what to do with that— “Hey, where did you go?” My eyes refocus on Lachlan while he stands between my legs. I let a breath lose, and my stomach untwists a little.
His palm goes to my cheek, and I close my eyes with the touch. He lets go, and I wish he had stayed there. “We have a lot of work to do. I think we should do another lock-in until we get it done. Only, I think it’s going to take multiple days.”
I sigh and look over his shoulder. “I can’t afford that.”
“But you don’t have work. I checked your calendar,” he says. I frown and wince, my face still sore.
“You looked at my work schedule? That’s… a lot. You like having control, don’t you?” I ask, even though it’s quite obvious. His hands move to my thighs and squeeze them, almost like he has to touch me to speak.
“Well, I figured it would make things easier, and we wouldn’t have to inevitably fight about it. Since you know I’m right, and you don’t like admitting that, I saved us the trouble.”
I push his shoulders back, and he doesn’t move. “Right, Revna?” he says with a mischievous look in his eye. My stomach flutters, and my skin grows hot. I can think of other things that have nothing to do with painting that I would rather do.
He taps my thigh again and goes back to our workstation. “Come on, we don’t have time to stop. We are running behind as it is.” He’s right. I rub my sweaty palms on my leggings and hop off the counter.
“The tea is in the cabinet to the right,” he says. I glance at him over my shoulder, and he’s back at the canvas, working on our spacing and proportions based on the focal point we agreed on.
I make us both a cup of tea and get back to work, ignoring every other responsibility because our time is running out.
Chapter 30
Revna
One Week Until Round Three
“Idon’tlikethatcolor, don’t use that! It’s not cohesive. The whole point is not to beobviousabout it!“ I yell at Lachlan.
“Ok, but this is not the fifteenth century where you are limited to specific colors. Open your mind, little bird.”
“Don’t tell me to open my mind to something stupid because that neon pink is utterly and completely stupid.”
“No, it’s not. It will stand out and create a new way to look at the inspiration for the Italian fresco.”
“No, it won’t. It will just look stupid and incohesive. It would be better if we were less in your face about it. This isn’t pop art. Let’s stick to the colors we already picked in the practice painting,” I say, hoping he just agrees with me. I mean, come on. Neon pink is just pure stupidity. People who consider themselves modern artists think they are being clever, but realistically, it’s just ridiculous.
He mixes the paint and lifts it to the canvas. “Don’t you dare,” I grit out.
He moves the brush over where the columns will be. My heart beats twice over the closer he gets to the canvas. “Lachlan,” I say with a warning in my voice.
“Revna,” he mocks.
“You’re an asshole,” I spit.
