Page 52 of Rivals
I’m halfway through the second painting when keys jingle in the door. Lachlan walks in with food, and my mouth immediately waters. “I have the gold foil and breakfast sandwiches with some coffee.” I get up and help him with the bags and drink carrier. He pulls the sandwiches out of the bag quickly, and we both tear into them. I didn’t realize I was so hungry. I don’t remember the last time we actually ate.
“Thank you,” I say. He hums and takes another massive bite. I sip my coffee and look at the stack of gold foil pages. I fish some money out of my bag and set it on his table. He watches me do this but doesn’t say a word. It’s only fair we split the costs., He may make more than me being a tattoo artist, but I am no one’s burden. And I never will be.
He nods at me, and I go back to the counter to finish my sandwich. Once we’re done, I carefully put the first painting on the easel while Lachlan lays the foiling out with the glue it needs. We discuss where it should go and how it will pop the best.
After placing the last bit of the foiling, we took a step back, and my lungs released. He nods and rubs my back. “It’s good, baby. Really good.” I purse my lips, stepping away from his touch to finish the painting I was working on. “We have seven hours left,” Lachlan says. My heart thuds, and sweat beads on my forehead. We can do this, we can do this.
“Ok,” I rasp.
He scrutinizes me, and I want to turn in on myself with the weight of his gaze. He goes to the third painting to finish it.
***
I’m hearing things. It feels like a clock is ticking somewhere, but there isn’t one in this apartment.
The pressure feels like it’s mounting, and every second feels like a cut. I do my best to ignore the pain and keep working, keep going. I will finish this, even if we have to run in at the last second. Lachlan is working with me in tandem on the second piece that will be the center of the three. He adds little things that make it look like one person did it. While we work, I feel his eyes checking on me constantly, like I’ll have another panic attack. It was probably the drugs, but whatever. I’ll get over it. I always do.
But you don’t have to do it alone.
My hand twitches with the brush, and it drags a line where I don’t want it.
Shut up! I scream in my head. Lachlan looks at me funny, and I do my best to ignore him and fix my mistake.
You aren’t alone, Revna. Stop pushing him away.
Why the hell would I do that? I don’twanthim.
You can keep telling yourself that, but you know the truth. It’s time you accept it, my love.
I have no idea what the hell that means, but I do not have time to talk to the voice in my head. I grit my teeth and check lines and small details. I don’t want to miss a single thing.
“Are you ok?” Lachlan asks.
“I’m getting really tired of you asking me that question.” A car horn blares, and I jump. Lachlan leans up from the canvas and tilts his head.
“What’s going on with you?” he asks.
“Nothing, it’s the drugs,” I spit. He runs his tongue along his teeth. His nostrils flare, and he forces a breath in and releases it. I know I’m pushing him, but I don’t care.
I walk away from him and go to the third painting. Almost there, Revna. Don’t give up. You’re ok. You can do this.
***
“Revna! Hurry up, we’re going to be late! We have to take a cab and pray we will make it on time,” Lachlan says, standing next to the door with his backpack and our three canvases carefully wrapped. We had to take the hair dryer to the third one to get it to dry in time. Luckily, acrylic cures quickly.
I did my best to make myself presentable, so I’m at least not in paint-covered clothes. I should have grabbed one of my two dresses, but it didn’t cross my mind. We literally don’t have time to stop, so I can grab something else. So I had to settle for what I have, which is another pair of baggy ripped jeans and a t-shirt that mildly fits me. It will have to do. The gold chain I thrifted bounces on my collarbone as I run to grab my bag, and we hightail it out of there. We have to get to the Upper East Side in thirty minutes, and that’s unheard of. This will probably be over before it’s started.
We get to the Plaza with five minutes to spare. Lachlan hung each canvas, and I stepped back to make sure it was all level and nothing smeared. “Stop,” I tell him, and he drops his hand from the canvas. I blow out a breath and go stand next to him. If my heart wasn’t sure about leaving my chest, it is now. That was way too close. The Grand Ballroom is gorgeous with its modern nod to classicism, and I feel severely underdressed in a place like this, but what am I supposed to do? Lachlan unfortunately looks good in anything he wears, but he managed to do a clean pair of Levi’s, boots, and a white t-shirt with his silver rings. His hair is all tousled like it’s intentional, and I’m pretty sure I look like a drowned rat.
The submissions are organized around temporary white walls in two columns, with eight walls each. One is left blank as you walk in, and then each contestant has their own wall, one after the other. Each wall has little spotlights hanging by it, providing bright lights on the pieces, while the overhead lights are warm and provide a dramatic atmosphere around the space.
Both columns end at a larger temporary wall with the names of everyone participating, the schools represented, the sponsors, and a place to make bids on the works here. It would be huge if Lachlan and I could sell this piece or possibly our others. The person with the highest bid would receive the work after it is featured in the MoMA.
There are very few competitors from our school and multiple from the other art schools. Now, we know what we are up against. We didn’t see what others did before judging because there was no time. All I can do is hope and pray ours stands out enough to make it to the semi-finals. One step closer to reaching the goals of all artists—recognition. We hate it, but it’s the reality of this world. If you want to make a living off of creating art, you have to show it to other people. It’s the scariest damn thing I have to do, and I’ve done some scary things. It makes me want to bury myself and die.
Lachlan stands next to me this time instead of apart, and his hand skates down my back. My body relaxes a little, but my mind doesn’t. I keep fidgeting, and Lachlan grabs onto my nape and massages it. His large, warm hand startles my mind, and I focus on him instead of what may or may not happen in the next hour. I know it’s good, but is it good enough? I bite my lip and glance at Lachlan over my shoulder.
His hand drops to my lower back, and he tugs me back by the belt loop, steadying me before I fall. Both of his hands rest on my hips, and he leans down in my ear. “Stop acting like you need a fix. Calm down, little bird,” he says.
