Page 48 of Rivals
I consider her words. I don’t correct her, even though I am starting to believe there is the possibility of a forever thing with her. She told me she feels it, so why doesn’t she think there could be more between us, more than just a weird enemies, maybe friends now, with benefits? That’s not the kind of man I am. I know that much about myself.
Maybe she doesn’t believe she’s capable of more. I recognize a lot of myself in her, and that still unnerves me. But it also proves that I understand her more than she thinks. “We should get to work.”
“Yeah,” I sigh.
We return to the next canvas we started on and don’t talk. We hardly stop to eat or drink. We have a couple of days, and I still have a final to complete.
Revna turned on some music while I started on my final. I knew what it would be the moment I thought about it. It’s advanced anatomy, which is to say it’s drawing proportional portraits of people, animals, whatever. I sit on the couch with my larger sketch pad and move the charcoal around, smudging it to soften the edges of her chin and eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“One of my last finals.”
“Oh,” she says and goes back to painting.
“Don’t you have other finals?”
She nods and flicks her wrist with the paintbrush, ending on the curve of a cloud. “I have a photography one, but I don’t like what I have, so I’ll probably redo it.” I nod and go back to drawing her the way I saw her this morning, how the sun casts over her features. Everything about her radiates this cold aura, but I can see the bright of the moon underneath. She may not be the sun, but she shines as brightly as the full celestial body on a clear night. Radiant.
“Why do you keep staring at me?”
“I’m trying to remember,” I say as my eyes skate around the way her jaw curves, the bridge of her nose, the crinkle of her brow.
“Remember what?” she asks confused.
“Remember what it’s like to have a muse as beautiful as you, little bird.” She bites her lower lip to hide her small smile. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and instead of giving me some kind of snide remark, she returns to painting as I continue my portrait. I might frame this one. Even so, I might run out of space on the walls for the art I will make of her. It’s possessive, maybe even obsessive, but I’ve never pretended not to be. Actions speak louder than words, just as art can speak for you when words cannot. My actions have been nothing but possessive, but I haven’t found it in myself to be ashamed of that. Her heart calls for mine, and I want to protect it with my own.
The side of my hand is black, and most of my fingers have turned grey by the time I finish the portrait. Revna has barely moved, still crouched over the canvas on the floor. The second part of all three has begun to come to life. The clouds look fluffy and ethereal, while the angels and demons show which side they’re on, the light and the dark. This painting has become more than our interpretation of the High Renaissance frescos. It has become a study of the light and dark within each of us.
I slide my finished drawing between some tissue paper and put it away to turn in later. We have only one more day to finish this. I get down next to Revna and start my own section, adding in the details and the brocade that pulls the painting together. As time fades to nothing, it feels like reality is but a distant memory.
In this space with Revna, I feel like we are the only people that exist on this earth. It’s just her and I, but it doesn’t make me feel lonely. It makes me feel like it was meant to be like this all along. It is a beautiful dream, though I’m half sure we would likely end up killing each other in the end.
“You can take a break, Revna. I’ll keep working.” She stands and arches her back to stretch, and I watch her loosen her limbs. She freezes when she realizes my eyes are on her. I wouldn’t mind making art with our bodies right now. It seems like a much better use of our time.
“Don’t look at me like that. Focus on the canvas.”
“You are my canvas,” I say quietly.
“That’s a pathetic pick-up line..”
I grin at her irritation and look her in the eye, saying, “I don’t just want to paint you, Revna. I want to paint on you.” Her eyebrow ticks up.
“That sounds fun, but we don’t have time for that,” she says. I look at her one more time and go back to painting. I may or may not have looked up edible paint. It’s stupidly expensive, but one day, I want to get it for her and see what we can do with it.
She stands there for a moment. I glance at her feet next to me as I paint a brocade. “I’m afraid it’s not enough,” she whispers.
“Why?” I ask her. I think it’s spectacular. I know I could have never created this myself, and it makes me feel confident about the whole thing.
“I don’t know, it just…feels like it’s missing something.”
I hum and look for what it could be. Not all of the details are painted. We have to layer each with detail carefully, allowing the layers below it to dry before adding the finishing touches. It’s a process. “It’s coming together. Now that you’ve got your part here, I think you’ll start to see it.”
“How are you so confident?” she asks.
“We don’t have any other option, Revna. It’s either this or lose. We’ve come this far, and I’m not willing to go back. Are you?” She doesn’t say anything, so I stop what I’m doing and look up. She shifts her socked feet and fidgets with the hems of her sleeves. I go back to what I’m doing, but she’s still standing there in silence. “Are you alright?”
Her mouth opens and closes like she’s trying to come up with the words, but they are caught in her throat. She finally drops her fidgeting hands and curses under her breath. “I need your help,” she says. I finish my blended line and drop the paint brush into the jar of water.
