Page 129 of Rivals
“So, I know it’s similar to something we’ve done before, but it’s also very different.”
“Similar isn’t necessarily bad. I think it could maybe show consistency overall.” She bobs like she’s trying to shake the words from her brain to her mouth.
“I think that…” She takes a deep breath and wiggles around on the couch to face me. “I think that we need to make our own Sistine Chapel.” I take a sip of coffee and think about how we would do that. It would be easy for it to appear that we are just copying the masters, and I don’t think that would go over well. I glance at her fresh tattoo and back to her eyes.
“Ok, how would we do that?”
“I think that we simply need to take a page out of Michelangelo’s book and paint our story in the style and organization of the Sistine Chapel. I’m not talking about the same romantic classic style. I’m referring to the drama of it all. And I don’t think we should do what would be our panels in the same order, either. I like that he did it that way. It was different, and it provided a different perspective. I don’t know what the order should be. I haven’t thought that far, but…” she trails off, looking at me expectantly.
I roll the idea around in my head. I like it. I think it could be unique. I force myself not to think about what the last five people are doing. It could be anything. It feels almost obvious that it would be reminiscent of our time in Italy.
“You don’t like it, do you?” she says quietly.
I grab her chin and lift it. “I didn’t say that, love. I’m thinking.” I drag my thumb across her lips, and she leans a little into my hold.
“You don’t think it’s obvious?” I ask her. She shrinks a little, and I want to punch myself in the face. But it’s a valid question.
“It is, but I think that’s the beauty in it. It’s obvious, but it’sus. The story of us.“ That gaping feeling in my gut widens, and it’s not because of Revna. It’s not because I think her idea is terrible. I’m nervous about what could come with it.
“Are you prepared to put our story out there? Because I’ll be honest, I don’t know that I am. That’s…”
“A lot,” she says quietly. I look at her lips a little longer and drop my hand.
“Yeah, it feels overly exposing to what we do already. People are bound to ask questions. Let’s just say we won…that story, those deeply personal things, would be in the open for anyone to see.”
“Your dad,” she whispers.
“Your mom,” I say gently back. She rolls her pretty lips behind her teeth and her eyes water.
“I still don’t know how to handle it, Lach. I didn’t know her, yet it feels like my world ended, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
I grip her knee and squeeze so she knows I’m here. I hear her. “I don’t know either, baby. I wish I did.”
“It’s just an idea. I’m just putting it out there, but you’re right. I didn’t think about it that way. I just thought of us and our story and…yeah,” she sighs. I watch her lift her cup to her mouth and look at me over the rim.
“Let me think about it, ok?” She nods and sets her cup on the table.
“I’m going to go take a shower. Do you have any appointments today?” she asks.
“I do, but not until later this afternoon.”
“Do you want to watch some Vampire Diaries, then?” I huff a laugh and shake my head.
“Sure, baby, that’s fine.” She smiles softly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and then she spins around to the bathroom.
I lean back on the couch and take a deep breath. I like her idea a lot, but I’m not ready to advertise my issues with family. I don’t know how I would paint something like that, either. And if my family saw it? What would that tell them? I don’t know that I care that much about what my dad would think. But I care about my mom and my sisters. I care about them and don’t want them to suffer for what is between Dad and me. That’s not fair.
It would be a very dark section to paint Revna’s experience with drugs. It’s been ugly, and that’s only what I’ve seen. I don’t regret what I did in Italy. I have a scar on my knuckle for it. I’d do it again if I had to, but painting that? Telling people that the woman I love was almost raped because she needed a hit? That’s not something I think I am willing to share with the world. I don’t know that Revna thought about it like that, either. But if we did do it and considered doing only the good parts of our story, it would feel wrong. The artist within both of us would not accept that. It feels like Revna, and I would be shutting out the pieces of our story that have gotten us here. Above all of it, I don’t know if I could take the judgment. It would be inevitable, and I don’t know if Revna could live with it either. When art of any kind is put out in the world, people believe they have a right to criticize it before they understand what it means, before they understand the heart behind it.
It’s not perfect. It never will be because none of us are. Those who look at it as if it should be perfect are missing the point. The moment I pretend that I’m perfect, I’ve failed myself. I am made up of flaws. I’ve spent most of my life angry because of it. It’s one thing to be self-aware. It’s another entirely to show it to the world and expect them to understand. Because the reality is they never will.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I almost don’t get it because I don’t want to, but it could be Elias. I reluctantly get up to see who it is, and all I can do is stare at the name on the screen. I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have expected the phone call since I ignored him. I could ignore him now, but I wouldn’t put it past him to show up here. The last thing I want is for me to be at work and Revna answering the door to him.
I know she wouldn’t let him in, but he would know she’s important to me, and it would expose her. I don’t know if I could protect her from him either. He’s a powerful man. I lift the phone to my ear because I have no choice.
“Dad.”
“Son. I take it you didn’t get my text message.” He states as if there is no way I would ignore him if I knew he texted me, even though that’s precisely what I did.
