Page 45 of Dravin

I was uncomfortable with the idea of being painted. I’m still not even entirely sure why I agreed to it or how I got here, but the most blindsiding bit is the fact that in this moment, I’m pretty damn near close to being her muse.

I never saw it coming. All of my extensive training is useless when it comes to resisting this woman. I haven’t ever gone into something blind and relied on faith alone, because that seems like the best way to get yourself destroyed.

“You’re thinking too loud.” Kael interrupts the silence, saving me from myself. “You can do that on your own time, as you decide what we’re going to do for our first date.”

I don’t bother arguing or even sighing this time. There’s no going back. Everything is different now. I might not know how to move forward, but I’ll have to learn, and fast. Adapt. Adjust. Haven’t I always done that in the past?

Just because I have no precedent for this doesn’t mean that I’m lost, I realize, while trying not to keep my hands from shaking as I hold this stupid fruit in the air. I can come at this the same way I’ve come at everything in my life. With complete and utter dedication. There’s a time for running and for defense, but both those times are past.

“Dravin!”

“Sorry.”

I exhale, releasing the pent up shitstorm in my head, focusing on my breathing alone so that I can throw myself into this pose, this painting, and this moment.

As all good, reluctant muses must.

Chapter 10

Kael

Inow have a series of four completed paintings.

I haven’t stopped working on them over the past few days, painting with the frantic kind of frenzied compulsion that was never for me. I’ve known other artists to eschew a regular routine, even sleep and food, in favor of drowning themselves in their work and not coming up for a breath until they’re finished. I’ve never been possessed like that.

When I was younger, I used to think that was a bad thing. I never romanticized the idea of the tortured artist. The way I grew up pretty much ensured that I was mature for my age and I just never could get into vices like other people did. I thought I was missing something fundamental because I didn’t have that same level of darkness churning inside of me, demons eating up my insides until I spilled them out in arresting and terrifying masterpieces.

It’s a little bit frightening being consumed like this. Every time I stopped painting over the past few days, even if it was just to give myself a little break to work out, get a shower, have something to eat, or nap. I wished that I was painting. All I could see were the brushstrokes behind my eyes.

It wasn’t until this morning, when I completed the fourth painting, that the fog of half madness lifted from me and I could take a cup of coffee into the backyard, sit, and just… be.

I’m not going to say it was Dravin and what we did that was so inspiring. Was it incredible? Yes. Do I want to do it again? Yes. Am I thinking about him constantly? Yes. But I’m notinspiredby him. That’s the wrong word. He didn’t suddenly produce something inside of me that I wasn’t aware of before.

I’ve been trying to process what I feel about him, but I haven’t been able to do that. So, I’ve painted.

The first one I completed the day he was at the house. The other three have been filled in from memory and a heady dose of imagination. Initially I’d planned on taking photos, but for some reason it felt more natural to continue the paintings by feel. Two were shameless thirst traps that satisfied nothing but my lust.

I can always change them or paint over them completely, but I like them. They fit the other two so well. They’re dark, intriguing, hedonistic, and brimming with life and passion. I’m not going to say that my other work was missing something, but it’s nowhere near this caliber.

Considering this is the first evening I’ve taken to relax, I’ve poured myself a bath. It’s not something I usually indulge in. I don’t even truly like bathing, preferring to shower. Tonight, it just feels right to light a few candles in the bathroom, strip down, and let the water ooze over my body until I’m both heavy and weightless.

I close my eyes, my mind still full of whirling thoughts despite the relaxing atmosphere.

I think about how Dravin promised me that he’d take care of my things from my apartment. He didn’t give me more than a few minutes to grab the most essential items. I took photos and grabbed my jewelry box because thosewere the things most precious to me. My mom’s jewelry, my grandmother’s wedding rings, and the little gold and opal pendant Marcus bought for me on my sixteenth birthday. Photos were obvious. I can live without a lot of things, but I didn’t have some of them backed up and there wasnothingmore precious to me. While I madly scrambled around the apartment in a daze of horror and shock that made everything swim sickeningly before me and simultaneously seem surreal, Dravin kept watch. As soon as those five minutes were up, he got me the hell out of there.

My first paintings were in that apartment. Ones I’d done in high school. My collection of vinyl records that I’d splurged on. He did grab my laptop and tablet when I didn’t even think to do it, but he destroyed my old phone. He didn’t allow me to hang onto the tech. It’s probably wherever my stuff is.

In an unknown location that he says is secure.

I trust him with that the same way I trust him with everything else now. I might have hated him, blamed him, been angry with him, but I did believe him right from that first wretched second of our meeting.

I think about Dravin and the texts we sent this week. He called me once to check in. I knew he was at a loss and even floundering, though he tried to seem composed. I wanted him to come over, but I also couldn’t stop painting. He seemed okay with that. He told me about the club and said he was making good progress with the security overhaul he and Wizard are doing, and also that he and the guys have been working on piecing together the bike we brought home that day from Dominic’s. He seemed in no hurry to come over. I get that. While I was painting, working on my head that way, he was trying to get his pieced into place. Just because I played it cool doesn’tmean that I haven’t been doing the same. I’ve had quite a fewholy shitmoments of amazement that don’t even feel real.

Those thoughts spiral down the path back to that little domed shop and the miles of metal strewn fields. I hope Dominic is doing well… as well as he could be. I make a mental note to ask Dravin about it as soon as I see him again. He has Dominic’s contact info, and they could very well be talking like bros.

I stick my foot out of the bath. I made it so hot that even after being in here for a good while, it still sends tendrils of steam into the air. I’ll call Dravin as soon as I get out of here and ask if he’d like to get coffee. Tomorrow, hopefully.

I laugh right here in the middle of the silent bathroom, giggling until it turns into a burst of real laughter that shakes my stomach and makes ripples in the bathwater.

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