Page 41 of Painted

Early sent him a tremulous smile. “Okay,” they said, but that was it.

Rhys sighed and shook his head, knowing that he was making an even bigger mess than he already had on his hands. There was nothing to it but to push himself forward so that he could walk by Early’s side in silence until they made it to his studio. The mess had to be cleaned up somehow, he just wasn’t sure how.

TWELVE

Early had had worse weekends,but as they dressed in some of their old clothes, then headed down to start work in the office, they couldn’t remember them.

To be honest, the weekend had been bittersweet. Returning to their parents’ house to gather up their belongings, not once but twice, had been horrible, but also empowering. It was like they were taking their life into their own hands for the very first time. They’d managed to hold their own and keep their nerve against their weeping, guilt-tripping mum and their overbearing, loud dad.

Granted, they’d broken down into tears as Nally drove them away from the house they’d grown up in for what might have been the last time, if the threats their father had shouted at them as they’d pulled away from the curb held true. They’d sobbed for the entire ride back to Hawthorne House, then indulged by eating the entire carton of ice cream Rebecca had brought them as they settled into Rafe’s flat in the afternoon.

They’d kept a low profile in Rafe’s flat all of Sunday, too scared of running into Rhys and having him say somethinghorrible like “It was all a mistake” or “You’re rubbish in bed and I don’t want anything to do with you now”.

Sunday might have seemed like they were hiding, but in the end, Early was gladder for the quiet day of reflection, a day where they didn’t have to face any of the heavy things staring them in the face, than they’d thought they’d be.

It was that day of breathing that made it possible for them to face Rhys with a lot more courage than they thought they had, even though their heart was pounding, as Rhys apologized and said they needed to talk. Meeting Rhys’s eyes had been the hardest thing they’d done in a long time, but they were rewarded for their effort by seeing something other than pity and disappointment staring back at them.

In fact, Rhys looked contrite. Intense, but contrite. There was a hopeful warmth about him, too. It gave Early hope.

And then came the reminder that they were supposed to take all their clothes off, once again, and sit in front of a room filled with strangers, all staring at them.

Okay, they weren’t strangers at that point, and most of them were far enough along in their paintings that they would probably spend more time staring at their canvases than at them. But they would still be naked, and Rhys would be one of the ones doing the staring.

Why was it that getting naked in front of strangers got harder the more they did it instead of easier? They slipped out of their trousers and unbuttoned their shirt, trying to use willpower alone to still their shaking hands. Their clothes didn’t feel like their own anymore. It felt a bit like they were shedding their skin as they shrugged out of everything, folded it, and put it aside. At least they’d worn underwear they liked, though they were more like silky versions of masculine briefs instead of the more feminine style they preferred.

They had to take more than one deep breath once they were wrapped in their robe before stepping out of the closet. Rhys was busy explaining a few things about highlights and finishing touches as he moved from easel to easel, checking everyone’s work. He sent Early a quick look and briefly paused his teaching as Early walked to the block in the center of the room.

“Those of you who have taken my classes before know that white is actually one of the worst colors you can use for highlights. You want to look for pale blues and peaches, colors that compliment what you’ve painted or contrast it, depending on the look you’re going for.”

As Rhys continued, Early took a deep, deep breath and shed their robe.

They tried to block out everything as they turned to sit on the block in the same pose they’d used for the last few classes. At the last minute, they remembered their hair was up and tugged the band out. They shook their head to loosen their hair, then combed their fingers through it, trying to remember how it had draped over their shoulders on Thursday, the last time they’d posed.

As soon as they got it right and settled into their pose, they realized the room was quiet. Not only that, Rhys was watching them. Everyone else was watching them, too, but Rhys wasn’t staring at him with an artist’s eyes.

There was so much more in Rhys’s gaze than an assessment of light and shadow, shape and line. Rhys’s eyes were filled with emotion, warm and anxious together, both longing and lost.

Yeah, they needed to talk, alright. They needed to talk about the fact that even after they’d had a terrifying first-time experience with Rhys, they still wanted him. They needed to talk about why Rhys had gotten so upset over Raina’s jumper. Had Rhys been upset with them for other reasons and just took it out on them because of the jumper or was it the jumper itself thathad upset him and Early had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

If what Early knew about Rhys was true, it was probably a little of both. Rhys was under a lot of pressure, and they hadn’t helped that at all by being so squirrely in bed. All they’d wanted to do was help, to make Rhys feel better, and to maybe start something deeper and more real between the two of them, and now look where they were.

Early closed their eyes for a moment to avoid Rhys’s intense scrutiny. Where they were was in a public classroom with Rhys staring at everything that had probably been a disappointment to him the other night.

But were they really a disappointment? That thought whispered to them and brought with it the feeling of empowerment that had come with calmly telling his dad goodbye on Saturday and walking away, even though every insult known to man had been hurled after them. It took a lot of guts to do what they’d done. Hell, it took a lot of guts to be who they were.

They opened their eyes, and Rhys had moved out of their field of vision. That was probably for the best, though they could still hear Rhys’s deep, rich voice as he consulted with one of the painters about their work.

Rhys wanted to talk to them. He probably wanted to let them down easy and reassure them that it wasn’t them, it was him. Early didn’t want to hear it, but it was better than the alternative. It was better than if Rhys didn’t want to talk to them at all.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely, fun class,” Janice said as she slipped into the studio then shut the door behind her.

“Mum, I’m not allowing outsiders into this class, for obvious reasons,” Rhys said, sending Early a sideways glance as he crossed the room to meet his mother.

“It’s okay,” Early said, even though they sounded small and uncertain. “Janice is a friend.”

“See?” Janice met her son with a kiss on his cheek as he came to tower over her, frowning. “I’m a friend.”

“What kind of friend?” Rhys asked, like he didn’t think she was.

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