Page 42 of Accidentally Forever
“I’m expensive.”
Laughing, I snuggled into him more. “I’m sure I could get a few orgasms out of you. As payment.”
He threw his head back and laughed. I settled into his hold, finally feeling happy for the first time in a long while.
And hoping to hell I didn’t fuck things up.
Chapter Nine
Crew
Music blared from the speakers, a pounding beat that I could feel against my heart. I rolled my shoulders back, letting the so-called “dad rock” get me in the mood to finish this painting. I wasn’t on a commission, this was just for myself, but I needed to get it out of me. Frankly, I rarely worked on commissions. I didn’t like the idea of paint by numbers or paint on demand. And I didn’t need the money.
Many of my contemporaries did however, but they were all of the same mindset. If somebody wanted a commission, they would get what they got, given a slight direction, rather than a firm checklist.
One of my sculptor friends said it was easier forthem to make a bowl or a vase for some clients, and still have their own inspiration in it.
The eight foot by ten foot painting currently filling my studio, however, wasn’t something I could whip up in a breeze. I frowned, wondering why I was harping on that. It didn’t matter what anyone else did with their art. Just because I had the privilege of doing whatever the fuck I wanted, didn’t make anyone else less of an artist. I was in a damn mood since the memory care center had called twice in the past week. My dad was declining rapidly, and there would have to be some decisions made soon about what facility would be best for him.
God forbid my mother actually did something. Instead it was on my shoulders. Because apparently the son who hadn’t been worth anything while the father could remember, was the one who was supposed to decide quality of life.
I dipped my paintbrush in a deep and vibrant red I had blended together earlier and went to war with the canvas. Sometimes I went abstract, sometimes I went portrait or realistic. Today I was in the mood to work with oils, meaning everything was a mess, and I’d have to deal with the clean up later. The art called me in this instant and I wanted to see what I could do with this, and that wouldn’t go away.
Hence why I wanted to get this painting out of mystudio. Either in the trash, out on some tour, or in somebody’s house who could get something from it.
I kept going, adding a slightly different red, then changing techniques with black and grays. The layering itself felt as if it were jagged edges of whatever the hell feelings wouldn’t get out of my brain. I just kept going, knowing that if I didn’t finish this soon, I’d be unpleasant to deal with later.
I added a touch of purple, and then went into shading, when my phone alarm finally went off.
Startled, I pulled myself out of the zone and set down my paintbrushes.
I was in my home studio, tarps and drop cloths draped everywhere, and I looked like I had rolled in my paint right along with it. I wasn’t always this messy, but it had been a hell of a day.
Using my nose to turn off the alarm because it was the only thing not covered in paint I could use, I began cleanup. I didn’t like working on a timer, but I had somewhere to be.
A smile finally covered my face after the day from hell, and I couldn’t help but wonder when exactly I had fallen into this.
Aria had an art show later today, as well as some students from the Montgomery Gallery, and a few of the other Montgomerys themselves. I was excited to seewhat she was going to show since she had been secretive about it. That was the way she was sometimes though. Art was personal, even when you told yourself it wasn’t.
Hell, I didn’t like the art in front of me, and I didn’t know if I would ever, but if I looked too deep, I would realize it was because I didn’t like the person I became after dealing with my parents. I didn’t need additional therapy hours to come to that conclusion. I’d already been through enough therapy to get to this point.
I snorted as I finished cleaning up, shaking my head. Considering my therapist was the one who told me to finally shit or get off the pot when it came to Aria, I couldn’t really complain.
Of course, the old man who listened to my troubles and usually had a good word to say, wouldn’t be that vulgar. He would have some elegant way to say that I should focus on what I had and speak about my feelings.
Only I wasn’t quite sure how to tell the woman who I was just now seeing that I had been in love with her for years.
That wouldn’t go well for anyone.
Aria was like a deer in headlights. And she had just blinked, slowly moving to the other side of the road. But if I revved the engine, or made any sudden movement like turning off my lights, or saying something as idiotic as I loved her, she would either freeze once again or run.And I’d seriously taken everything out of that metaphor apparently.
She was just getting out of whatever hellscape relationship she had with Travis. And while I knew it wasn’t a romantic relationship, it was still a tethered emotional one. Because her past with that man wrapped around the history I shared with her. Every single pivotal moment between us until recently had been due to Travis and his addiction, or our reaction to the space he had made.
I wasn’t quite sure I liked putting it that way. But then again, Travis would always be there.
No, she was no longer helping him. No longer actively trying to make him a better person than he was, but the man was still out there. And that, combined with dealing with both of my parents today, meant that I needed to get in a better mood before I saw Aria.
She needed me to be the strong one. Because she always got so stressed-out during art shows. And one where people would actually be seeing her pieces, my worry over a man who had nothing to do with this, would just make things worse.
