Page 32 of Rivals
“Why are you so upset? It’s just a drawing.”
“No, it’s not, and you know it.” He shrugs again and grabs a piece of charcoal.
“Are you trying to mess with me? Is this your payback?”
He huffs a laugh and turns to face the blank page. My chest is heaving, and I can’t breathe, and I hope this stupid pill will kick in fast. “I appreciate that you think I am devious enough for that, but no. It’s a drawing, that’s it. You fell asleep on the couch. Consider yourself lucky to be my subject.”
I growl and push him again. I don’t know why I do it. I think I’m looking for a fight. I’m looking for a rise out of him, and he won’t give me one. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t do this, but if there’s anyone I want to hit, it’s Lachlan.
He spins around, and his eyes are on fire like the Amazon rainforest suddenly caught. “If you’re going to hit me, have the balls to face me, Revna,” he grits.
I stare at him for a moment, and the fight bleeds from me as the OBA starts to kick in. The floating feeling is coming. “Hit me!” he yells.
I don’t think twice and beat my fists on his chest. He stands there while I beat on him. He takes all of it without stepping away. He holds his position, resolute, as if he believes he deserves this. I haul back and slap him as hard as I can.
His eyes simmer, and his nostrils flare. The slap feels like it’s ringing in my ears and I take a step back from him. I open my mouth to apologize, but then he grabs my wrists and pushes me onto the sofa. He glares down at me, and I lift my chin and stare back, ready for him to hit me or beat me with his words. I’m frozen in place, and my eyes burn with unshed tears.
“Let’s go to the museum. I think it could be a good source of inspiration,” he says. My mouth drops open. “Well?” he asks. Maybe he’s off his meds. I expected him to kick me out, not brush past the fact that I beat on him, and he’s…unbothered. He looks out the window and pushes his hand through his brown, wavy hair that feels good in my fingers. “Revna, you didn’t do anything that I haven’t already done to myself, or worse. It’s a drawing. How about the MET?”
He holds out his hand, and I reluctantly take it to stand up. He stays in place so our bodies are almost touching, and I suddenly want to wrap my arms around his waist and inhale him. No person on this Earth has ever pulled something like that from me, let alone how he put me on the paper with charcoal. It’s like I was looking in a mirror, and I hated every bit of what I saw.
And I’m in a daze as we leave and go to the subway to Manhattan.
Chapter 25
Lachlan
It’snotjustadrawing. It never was. When she fell asleep on the couch, she was my muse, if even for the moment, and I had to cement the brief glimpse of peace I felt.
We’re on our way to the MET. I’m hoping we run into something that might spark further inspiration instead of trying to force it with more drugs. I hate the way they make me feel, and I don’t like relying on something like that.
At a young age, I was on various medications that skewed my perception of what I thought my reality was. I was energetic and easily overwhelmed. I never understood why everything felt so off until I stopped all the medication. Depression easily swooped in after I had stopped, but my mind was finally free enough that I could create again. I would get angry when I was young and trying to do a project, but nothing would come to me. Yet it felt like something was there, choking me. Even if I played around with paints or charcoals, it would end up looking like a toddler’s interpretation of a Jackson Pollock.
When my mind is free, then I am able to create, and that’s all I want. There are consequences, though; there always have been. I have to be willing to pay the price. But in my lack of inspiration and all of the things that usually spark it for me, nothing will come. It only came when I looked at Revna.
The charcoal guided me. I didn’t tell it to make a portrait of this beautifully conflicted woman. She’s angry like I am. I knew that from the beginning, I didn’t know why. I still don’t, but I see every bit of myself in her, and it terrifies me. Despite that, it makes me want to look closer. And yet, it’s a version of torture within the mind, but I can’t look away.
When Revna hit me, I never needed to hit her back. Aside from the obvious, I will never hit a woman, but I understood her violence. But I knew something broke within her, and I may have been the one to break it with that drawing.
She’s still in an oddly dazed state, and I don’t want to bother her because I have no doubt she would make a scene. Our ride on the subway takes a while. We had to jump to a different line, but we finally made it to upper Manhattan. I come here sometimes to look for inspiration. Sometimes, a carving that’s a thousand years old can spark the composition of a painting. You never know what you might find through the inspiration of history.
I walk slower so Revna can keep up with me. She has turned in on herself like a turtle sinking back into her shell, where I realized she stays most of the time. The only occasions I’ve seen her come out of it is when we are at each other’s necks.
We get inside the museum and turn towards the Greek and Roman sculptures. We roam around in there and then a few other exhibits. There is a special exhibition room that constantly transitions, and I swear my brain lights on fire the moment we step through. Revna seems to come alive the moment her eyes stop on the Italian architecture. The exhibit is about commissioned cathedrals during the High Renaissance. After they were built, other artists painted the frescos on the ceilings. Sculptures carved out of solid marble are found throughout the interiors. There is a small section of the Rococo movement, but it mostly focuses on High Renaissance architecture, including gorgeous detailed frescos on the walls and ceilings.
There are sections of ceilings that have since fallen, so it was repaired to be as close to the original as possible. The replica sculptures on display in the center of the room boast the detail of the real ones still in the small churches that stand strong to this day. Many people think of only the Sistine Chapel, but many churches and cathedrals in Rome, big and small, have some of the most stunning artwork and architecture I have ever seen, frozen in time. Large high-definition photographs of frescos like The Triumph of the Name of Jesus and the Fall of the Damned by Gaulli line the walls. It’s utterly captivating.
Revna comes alive before my eyes as she stares at the picture of the fresco and its details. It looks like it would come out of the ceiling if we were there actually looking at the original. I watch her study it, tilting her head. She notes each detail of the painted architecture, the angels, and then the separation of people, some rising to heaven, others descending to hell. It’s a terrifying thought and stunning in its example of an eternity in agony.
We eventually move on to the next cathedral, which is not large but incredibly detailed, the San Carlo alle Quattro Fontaine. In other words, Saint Charles at the Four Fountains. The interior ceilings are full of hand-carved coffers. The main sanctuary is ovular in shape, and the ceiling mimics that, with skylights strategically placed before it reaches the center with a triangle representing the Trinity of God. The shape is interesting and unlike anything I have seen before. Though the top part of the ceiling is an oval, before it vaults into the higher ceiling, its curved shape lacks in utility and was built for the beauty of it.
The section focused on the architecture and the process of building the intricate domes. I move on from it, but Revna stays glued to it. Something has caught her eye, and I can tell she’s inspired by it too. It’s an odd feeling, difficult to describe, but I think I’m close to something, and I feel oddly in sync with Revna as I move to the next piece of architecture and design represented. St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, the Vatican City.
There is a picture of what the space looks like right when you step in, and the sheer size of the basilica is astounding. I’ve seen pictures, of course, but it does nothing to display how large it is. I wish we were seeing this in real life. The basilica is a combination of frescos and statues. This is one of the most well-known feats of the High Renaissance. What catches my eye the most is the gold inlay coffered ceilings. It had gone through many architects before landing on the famed Michelangelo, and still, it wasn’t completed until many years later. The attention to detail is what inspires me. It is astounding how these things took as long as they did, though it makes sense as they only had their hands. The next set is the Ceiling of Gallery Palazzo Farnese, a fresco based on the story of the Greek Bacchus and Ariadne and her rescue from an island she was abandoned on, which feels vaguely familiar. I’m not a damsel in distress, but I’ve been there…I am there. I glanced over at Revna, and she moved on to the four fountains. She looks up, and I watch her look around for me before our eyes catch. When they do, it’s like I was dramatically struck by lightning. There is a spark, and I think we found it. We begin walking towards each other and meet halfway.
“I think we should …” we both say at the same time. I clear my throat. “You first.”
“I think we should make our own fresco but modernize it.”
