Page 27 of Portrait of A Lost Artist

VERONICA

“They said the end is coming. Everyone’s up to something. I find myself running home to your sweet nothings.” - Sweet Nothing by Taylor Swift.

T HE HEART IS SO brAVE THAT IT’S CAPABLE OF NEVER LETTING GO.

The thought of untangling my fingers from Nathan’s secure grasp brings a pang of sadness with every shared painting session.

However, the intimacy of four nights spent together—within his sheets and over morning coffee—finds its resolution in the joy of our collaborative art, now present in the reconstructed bedroom.

Two worlds colliding, and never had I ever thought they would look so beautiful.

Nathan makes a grand event out of the reveal.

He’s requested I dress my best, and he even thoughtfully bought Benicio some sweets just as a sympathetic gesture.

The tension in his back is visible beneath his black t-shirt as he rearranges the table for what feels like the hundredth time—he’s definitely feeling the pressure.

He mentioned it’s been a while since an art revelation, and while I’m not sure the scale of his past work, I have a feeling it was on a grander level than this.

I should focus on Benicio’s reaction—his eyes watering—as he sees the storm’s damage disappear upon entering the room.

A beat of silence falls, and our lips remain in their pressed, pursed state, mirroring each other.

Benicio brings his hands up to his mouth; a gasp is all he can let out, before giving a step back.

Nathan’s shaking from his position, hands bound in front of him in a tight hold, like a kid showing a drawing to their parents.

The beauty radiating from him in that instant was unparalleled.

His dark hair fell perfectly, showcasing the defined curve of his jaw, the slight jut of his lower lip, and the intense light in his eyes as Benicio took a step and clung to him in a tearful hug that clearly made him uncomfortable.

I wonder how many times Nathan’s been hurt, judging by how his hand hesitates over Benicio’s back before he fully embraces the love offered to him.

He wraps Benicio up, mirroring the droplets of happiness that pour from the older man’s eyes.

“Son, God, look what you’ve done...” Benicio trails, turning around and opening his arms to welcome me in.

I comply, feeling like this is closure. A secret and whispered apology for all those times in which Mom made him feel unworthy of being open about his love.

“And you’re also onto this...I—I truly have no words. ”

“They’re not needed, either.” Nathan explains, pressing his hands into the depths of his pockets.

“We decided to do this for you after you lost your bedroom. I—I didn’t know what to tell you then, but I understand how loss feels like and.

..” He sniffles, rubbing at his nose harshly before shaking his head, as if to move the thoughts away.

“He’s here with you, Ben. He’ll always be. ”

The lines in Benicio’s eyes become more apparent, placing a hand on my shoulder and getting closer to the scenery painted in front of him.

“Oh, Nathan, I know for a fact he has never left me.” He speaks with the longing of a man who wishes to have one more minute with the person he loves.

“Your backs must be killing you from working on this.”

I chuckle at his words. “It’s worth it.”

“Alright, kids...” Benicio clasps his hands together, taking his phone out of his pocket before lifting the device up in the air. “How about we take a picture? To commemorate this room breathing life for the first time in a while.”

“I’ll have to crook myself a bit to be in the pic, but it’s okay.” Nathan stands next to me, earning a side-eye from Benicio, who grants more laughter to escape Nathan’s lips.

“You’re not that tall.”

“Taller than you.”

“An asshole, as always, I see.”

I sink into this atmosphere of ease, a comfortable sensation permeating me as my elbow finds leverage on Nathan’s shoulder, my hand falling loosely over his chest. His arm circles my waist, drawing me into the warmth of his side.

Grounding myself, I rest a palm on his chest, offering a smile to the camera and then scooting to the side to give the artwork more prominence.

Nathan nuzzles his cheek against my head, his smile restrained yet still strikingly handsome, like a shot from a glossy page.

Nathan Calderwood is gorgeous, but his soul makes him even more so.

Today, this morning, I could commit to a lifetime painted in his shades.

I could shed the dark layers of worry and doubt.

Yet, despite the calming color that fills my heart when our eyes meet in the photograph, a subtle undertone of doubt persists.

Lorenzo’s world for me had been black or white.

But at this hour of the day, in this moment of my life, I realize gray has never been my favorite color, but it’s awfully inviting.

“Let’s brew some coffee, lovebirds.” Benicio instructs, not giving me a moment to retort before he’s out the door, whistling a tune under his breath.

Nathan smiles at me, crooking his neck until the base of his nose is caressing the bridge of my own. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes.” I mumble out. I could want a thousand things right now, aching to have more, letting myself go by ambition, but the simplicity of having him here for me, as my own, is enough to make me settle for coffee.

“What about a kiss first?”

“Benicio is waiting for us.”

Nathan doesn’t wait, kissing my mouth and smiling against my lips before he’s pulling away entirely. “Sorry, I didn’t hear ya.”

I could get used to this.

Everyone knows that feeling of discomfort when a painting crooks to the side; aching and needing to put it back in place, even though it can slide back into its unusual state.

It’s an odd sensation, though, to experience it while watching Alessia.

Across the way at her desk, the sharp clicks of her computer underscore the almost violent energy she puts into each movement.

She has forgotten her usual styled hair, letting it fall miserably in a messy bun that is weighting off one side of her head.

With her thick eyeliner and bold lips gone for the night, she leaned over her chest while clicking on the screen, only to be met with a loud grunt at the sound of an error in the code.

She pushes the keyboard away, sparing me a glance that goes from anger to fear back to madness and then to acceptance.

Meanwhile, I am procrastinating on yet another job, twirling the straw of my drink and forgoing actually taking a trip to the bathroom to empty my bladder because I’m: One, worried for my friend; two, actually feeling extremely lazy this afternoon.

“Anything you want to tell me?” I ask, careful by the way I thread my words into the diagram of thoughts that passes my head.

Unlike others, Alessia needs little prompting to share her deepest feelings with me.

She rises from her spot on the desk, letting her heavy, bleached hair tumble from its bun, followed by a weighty sigh.

“Zeke is possibly the worst man to ever exist, and I don’t get why you two are best friends.

” I mean, that’s partly what I had thought when I had my grand lash-out towards Lorenzo.

That I couldn’t understand how Zeke came from the same bloodline as him, but I also know my other best friend.

He can be a tad senseless, but he’s soft-hearted and loyal. Like a dog.

“What did he do to you?” I question, sipping a few times on my drink only for noise to come out. Damn, I should serve myself some more of this.

Her cheeks tinge red, looking over to the side as she crosses her arms over her chest. “To me? Ugh, as if he could do anything to me. I am just stipulating that he’s a horrid man and that I hope his dick falls off one of these days. Serves him right.”

Alright, time to settle the record straight. I may have withdrawn because this conflict requires a solution between them; having lived together in Havana for years, it’s time this ended.

“Alessia, honey, I know for a fact that you’re in this on-and-off again hook-up.

It is clear as day that you two have been in each other’s pants and—” As she’s parting her mouth to retort, I spread a hand in the air.

“Before you say I have no proof, I do. I know you from university, and just how great you had it then going from person to person. I haven’t met a single man you’ve been interested in ever since you met Zeke, and that’s a lot to say. ”

“You’re just supposing. I’ve dated plenty ever since I got here.”

“Nah, you’d always tell me everything. That wouldn’t change after we moved in here.” I retort, biting on my bottom lip before releasing it. “So, what’s the problem here? Any reason Zeke is being more bothersome than usual to you?”

Clearly caught in a mental battle, Alessia’s thoughts seem to churn visibly before she drags her feet to the side of my desk. Her hands spread out on the surface, and when she looks at me, the glistening in her eyes suggests she’s on the precipice of tears.

“When were you planning on telling me he’s going to Colombia to record some demos?”

I almost hiss at the words that escape her lips.

Zeke had mentioned his plans of signing with a Colombian label that had worked with artists like Maluma and Karol G a little over a year ago.

It was only recently, perhaps three weeks prior, that Zeke had taken the time to call, excited about his demos and the possibility of being flown out to advance his career.

What struck me as odd was that he hadn’t shared this with Alessia, especially given their peculiar closeness that existed alongside their dislike for each other.

“He—Before you fully hate me for what I’m about to say...”

“You knew.”