Flirting With Chaos (24 page)

“To meet up. He apologized, so I told him that we were on a road trip and were heading to Sarasota.”

“Why?”

“I feel bad about what happened in the car. I screamed at him, said a bunch of mean lies about Dad, and basically—”

“He attacked you with questions about a fucked up night. Don’t feel bad. He did the same to me before he left for the cemetery. It had made me mad that he still can’t seem to let it go, but then I got worried he was going to run into you at the gravesite, and that just pissed me off.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “Are you mad that I invited him?”

“No.” He drew a line on the right side of his page and doodled along it. “So, what are your plans with him?”

“Correction. What are
our
plans with him. He asked me to meet him at twelve tomorrow at my studio and if I would paint him.”

He peered at me from under those messy blond curls. “Will you?”

“If it’s okay with you.” I leaned my weight on the right side of my foot.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Last time you got upset—”

“I don’t care anymore.”

“No?”

“No. You can fuck him if you want to.”

I raised my eyebrows and snorted. “Hold up. I’m talking about painting, not sex. How did we get on the topic of sex?”

“Anything my dad does involves sex in some way. If he’s coming to see you, then he’s expecting something more.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Whatever.” He rubbed his eyes, got up from the stool, and set the notebook on it.

“I’m not.” I backed up to let him out. “And just in case you’re right, I would like you to let me paint the both of you together. It would be amazing to have dad and son in one painting. Have you ever done anything like that—photographs or art—with the two of you?”

“No. There are not many things we agree on. The things that we do agree on involve drugs and women. We’re not the type to sit down for a family picture.” He ran his fingers through my hair.

“You promised me earlier that I could paint you both.”

He twirled one of my curls around his finger. “I’ll do the painting with him for you though.”

“Thank you. It’ll be fun.” I got on the tip of my toes and kissed him.

“Sure, it will be fun. Either that or we’ll be fighting over you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t be so sure, Rainy. Don’t be so sure.”

Chapter 17

Three’s Company

I S
TOOD
I
N
T
HE
C
ENTER
of my studio and studied all of the supplies that littered the room while Jude pissed into a cup in my bathroom. His urine was for my painting. My process of creating art never started when charcoal glided over a crisp white sheet or a paint-soaked brush slid down an empty canvas. My system began with the supplies. Normally, I spent days playing with the technique and the media to use in expressing whatever concept I had pushing against my brain.

I used blood a lot in my works. It was the only time I could see and smell it without going crazy. Somehow, working with blood in my concepts didn’t injure my mind like my visions did. It was a normal occurrence to find me carrying buckets of animal blood from my local butcher’s shop into my studio. No one called the cops or worried as drops splattered to the ground in front of my dorm room. Artists had been using blood since the beginning of time. That crimson liquid boasted a striking tone that regular red paint could never capture. It stuck to any surface with ease.

Plus, blood symbolized almost everything in life. I incorporated the liquid in spiritual works due to its great use in religion—Christians symbolically drank it for salvation; some Muslims re-enacted Abraham’s offering up of his son Isaac to God by sacrificing an animal; for years, blood had been spilled in Indian villages for local Hindu deities; and even near my own city of Miami, followers of Santeria practiced rituals involving animal sacrifice. Energy charged through blood. It created life and showed up at death. One could see it during pain or even the deepest moments of love, like when Jude had taken my virginity, causing red drops to adorn the sheet we’d made love on.

I’m definitely using blood in the painting of Jude and Kaden.

I opened the huge fridge in the right corner and remembered that I’d gotten rid of all the small containers of preserved blood I’d grabbed from the butcher since I wasn’t going to be here this summer. “Do you feel like grabbing me some blood?”

“Hell no, Rain,” Jude called out from the bathroom. “You already got me jacking off and pissing into jars like a serial killer. I stop at handling animal blood.”

“You suck.”

“You’re a weirdo. Sexy weirdo, but odd all the same.”

The door behind me cracked open. Kaden stepped through, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses with skinny, violet stems. He wore leather sandals and dark red pants that hugged his muscular thighs. A black shirt draped his upper body. “Rainbow?”

“Hey.” I checked my watch. “You’re an hour early.”

“I had to make sure you didn’t run off.”

“Where’s Vicky?”

“I gave her a ticket back home.” Fresh cologne drifted from his tan skin, reminding me of cool water on a hot summer day. It gave off an aquatic scent, if that was even possible. I loved it. “Vicky wasn’t serving her purpose anymore.”

“And what was that?”

“Getting my mind off of you.”

“I never thought you would resort to corny lines. What’s up with the wine?” I gestured to the bottle and glasses.

“To set the mood.” He placed them on the table near some of my tubes of paint.

“Set the mood?”

He headed to me and encased me in warm muscle. “I love this soft dress. The white material is thin enough for me to see those beautiful nipples.”

“Really? We’re just going to start right off with unapologetic flirting as soon as you step through the door?”

“Would you expect anything less of me?” He slipped his hands to my waist. “Are we alone?”

“No.”

“Where’s my son?”

“In the bathroom, providing me with his urine. I’m painting you both. Have you drunk a lot of water? I need yours too.”

“Wait a minute. Did you just say he’s giving you his urine?” He took a few steps back but still grasped onto my hips.

“Yes. He’s giving me his urine.” I picked up a tiny metal can no bigger than my hand. “And you will be too. Now go ahead and piss into this can. I’m incorporating it into the work. There is antibacterial soap in the bathroom along with gloves to handle it.”

His face scrunched up into disgust. “I never thought someone could surprise me, but I’m actually at a loss for words over here. You’ve managed to shock me, and I’ve seen some sick stuff on the road, but playing with people’s pee is on a whole other level.”

“I won’t be playing with it.” I handed the can to him. “Now hurry. I don’t want to paint this all day. I would like to catch the sunset on Siesta Key.”

He turned the can over a few times and analyzed it, as if it held some special secret. “My urine?”

“Can you be a little more mature about this? Artists use urine all the time. It’s perfectly normal.”

“Name one artist who does it and I’ll run in there as soon as I can.”

Did he forget that I freaking go to art school?

“Andy Warhol did it in his
Oxidation
series. He had people urinating onto a canvas of metallic copper pigments so the uric acid would oxidize into abstract patterns. Andres Serrano’s
Piss Christ
. He submerged a crucifix into urine and then took pictures of it. Ofili did an image called
Virgin Mary
all in elephant dung. Do I need to continue? I can do this all day.”

“None of that sounds like art.”

“Nevertheless, all of it is considered art. It just might not be to your taste. Kant said people think things are beautiful because it elicits some form of pleasure in us. The piece stimulates our emotions, intellect, and/or imagination in some way.”

I didn’t tell him my reasoning for using it in a painting of them. Since urine was waste expelled from the body, I was hoping that by incorporating it into their portrait, I’d likewise rid myself of the fucked up situation I’d found myself in where Jude and his dad were concerned.

He leaned his head to the side and smirked. “So, for you, piss on paper stimulates your mind?”

I held my hands to my forehead. “Would you just go piss in the can?”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

I turned to the doorway and gestured to the area. Jude stood there, leaning on the post and gazing at Kaden’s hands as they still grasped onto my waist. I moved away from his gripping fingers and stepped to the side. “Jude is done. You can go in now.”

“Hey, Dad.” Jude walked over with his own can and didn’t even glance Kaden’s way.

Kaden nudged Jude’s back. “Is she serious about the urine, man?”

“Dead serious. Surprisingly, the paintings actually end up looking good too. She’s done several of me in blood.”

“You mean the red ones over your bed?” He smiled.

“Yeah. Those.” Jude put his back to him and set the can on the table.

“I love them. You’re talented, Rainbow.” He sucked in a breath of air and then turned to leave. “Okay, I’ll follow you down the rabbit hole to see where it goes,” he muttered as he headed into the bathroom.

“Thanks,” I called back and faced Jude. “Everything cool?”

He dug his hands into his pockets and kept his back to me. “Of course everything is cool. Stop worrying about me. I get that you’re not mine, and I’m not interested in anything more. We’re just friends, Rain.”

“You keep saying it like our painting is something more than just that.”

Turning around, he came close to me and brushed his lips against my ear. “I know my dad better than you. He assumes I’m going to share you because we always do it. This is how it starts off. Wine, fun activity of some sorts, as well as him and I hanging out with the woman. He even gave me the sign that he wanted us both to take you at the same time.”

“What sign?”

“When he held your waist, he looked at me and blinked his eye twice.”

“Creepy.”

He stepped back. “What do you think about him wanting to have a threesome with you?”

“I’m not interested.”

“Are you sure about that?” He gave me a skeptical look.

“Yes. I’m sure. Let’s drop this and get back to the painting.” I returned to scanning my stuff.

He slipped in behind me and pressed his erection into my ass. “As you can feel, I’m down for whatever.”

Yeah, right.

“I doubt my mind or body can take both of you at the same time or even in the same life.” I climbed out of his grip and gestured to the stage. “Take off your shirt, sneakers, and socks. Keep your jeans on. I think a portrait of you both with no shirts and barefoot is quite enough for me. I don’t need to jump into an orgy or anything.”

“So you
are
attracted to him?” He yanked his shirt off.

I picked a brush up with lots of silky hairs flaring out of the stem. “I thought we established that already.”

“No. You never admitted it. I just assumed as much.” He lowered onto the stage, laid his legs out in front of him, and leaned back on the white wall behind him. His face had a neutral expression. He raised one of his legs and balanced his elbow on his knee.

I wished I could see what he was thinking in that head of his. This situation teetered on the edge between fun and chaos. Jude had declared he didn’t care about things, and then in the next moment, he did something rash. I needed this moment to be about the painting and all of us enjoying each other and creating new memories to fill my head with. One thing I’d realized from that night hanging with Kaden in the kitchen was that I missed him and that part of my life. I couldn’t run from Daddy’s rock past or my childhood anymore. I had to start embracing my true life instead of running from it. At least, I figured that would be the best way to heal.

Would Mom approve of this?

“All done.” Kaden came out with a can wrapped in paper towels. “Rain, this is by far the grossest thing you’ve done around me. I remember that time when you had me eat dirt pies. It took me hours to get those tiny pebbles out from between my teeth.”

“You were an adult. You would think that you had enough sense to not actually eat a dirt pie.” I pushed the huge canvas against the easel. “Kaden, I need you to take off your shirt and shoes, but keep your pants on, of course. I would like you to sit on Jude’s left side and lean against the wall just like him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After lighting a few rose-scented candles, turning on some jazz, and putting on latex gloves, I began with huge brushes, dipped each one in their cans of urine, and spread the golden hue all over the canvas. A saxophone rang out an upbeat tune from my small speakers. For Jude’s urine, I spread it in side-to-side horizontal lines. With Kaden’s, I brushed his on in vertical lines. Each boasted their own rich color. A golden checkered pattern emerged in different shades.