Chapter 20 Derek
Derek
When Daniel and I aren’t fucking, we go on dates.
Today we went to the Japanese garden and did a tea ceremony, after which he made me dress up in traditional Japanese attire and pose for him in front a Japanese maple tree and a waterfall.
He called it my samurai alter-ego, took a picture and said he’ll make this his next project.
I couldn’t be happier.
“So, what do you do in your free time?” he asks as we hop into my SUV so I can take him home.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, like a hobby? Painting is both my passion and hobby, but I do read and watch series when I need a break. I also like to explore new places and… I think I’d love to travel the world one day.”
I take a few moments to think about my answer. “I don’t really have a hobby. Or much free time. But… lately, I’ve been enjoying looking at your paintings and I’ve been wondering if you’d let me watch you while you work. I think I’d like that.”
Daniel goes quiet, thoughtful. “Sure. But you can’t talk to me or move much or distract me or I won’t get anything done. And”—he licks his lips—“sex training can only happen after I’ve done my hours for the day. Understood?”
As much as I’d love to tie him to a bed and fuck him all day, I don’t wish to infringe upon his passion. “Deal.”
He kisses me on the cheek as I park the car in front of his apartment building. “Let me know when you’ll be dropping by.”
It’s been a week since Adam and I made our breakup official, and I still haven’t told Daniel the truth.
I want to and I don’t, so I don’t know if I will.
It’s mostly inconsequential semantics, though I do wonder if he’ll get angry that I let him feel guilty for coming between me and Adam when there was nothing there to begin with.
But the timing just hasn’t been right. We’ve been having so much fun, he’s been smiling a lot. So, I’ll keep it a secret, I think. He’s accepted his downfall, and I don’t want to risk it all falling apart because of the truth.
The next day, I wrap up my meeting early, so I can watch Daniel paint. I’m excited like a kid about to walk into a toy shop, and Jared makes sure to point that out as I head over to the underground parking.
I have it bad, don’t I?
Unable to help a smirk, I turn the engine on and dial Daniel’s number.
“Hi,” he replies after three beeps.
“Hi, little artist. I just finished work and am on my way to your place. What do you want for dinner?”
Silence. I pause at the gate, frowning at my dashboard.
“Hello? Daniel?”
“Uh, I’m already on my way to Jesse’s studio for a drawing class. Maybe you can stop by tomorrow?”
My blood turns to ice. This Jesse guy again. “Who’s Jesse exactly?”
“You don’t remember him? He’s the artist who did the pretty desert mural. We’ve been helping each other get better at composition.”
I knew Daniel was doing art classes, but I didn’t realize it was one of the other winners from the mural competition. I hit the gas and turn left instead of right, my destination updated to the gallery. I need to look up this Jesse guy.
“Can you go another day?” I ask, cursing internally at a pedestrian who tries to get run over by me.
“He only has classes two times a week. I don’t want to miss it.”
It irks me. My little artist is usually so eager to see me, so how come he’s turning me down today? Something is off.
“See you tomorrow, Derek,” Daniel says and hangs up before I can guilt-trip him into canceling his plans.
Well, that’s a first. My mood tanks as I exit my car and stand next to it, not sure what to do. Maybe I should’ve called or texted him earlier… but I wanted to surprise him, and I wasn’t sure I’d manage to get off work earlier.
Disappointment settles across me. I’m used to people going out of their way to accommodate me, but if he’s busy, he’s busy.
There’s nothing I can do short of showing up at the studio and making a scene.
But my PR department doesn’t need that kind of a headache, so I bite down the irritation and reel myself in.
It’s fine, I’ve got a million other things I can do.
Except that no matter what productive scenario plays out in my head, five minutes later I’m inside the gallery so I can stare at Daniel’s paintings.
Two days later, I finally get to visit my artist. I’m brimming with excitement even if tendrils of disappointment still lurk inside me that Daniel didn’t rearrange his entire week so I could’ve watched him paint earlier.
Oh, well. I’ll let him off, but only because of the beaming smile he’s currently flashing at me.
“Promise you won’t distract me,” he chastises as he lets me in.
The sweet smell of freshly baked chocolate cookies invades my nostrils. “Did you bake these?” I point at the tray of gooey goodness perched on the table.
“Yep, to keep your hands and mouth occupied if you get bored.”
I grin. “I can think of better ways to do that.” They do smell divine, though.
He raises his finger and waves it. “Nuh-uh. Bad idea. This is precisely why I took some measures.” He points at himself. “This is off-limits for the next two hours. The cookies will have to do.”
“I didn’t know you could bake.” I snatch one, suffering an immediate mouth orgasm the moment I take a bite. “Fuck, they are amazing.”
He smirks triumphantly and adjusts his easel, which is positioned next to the desk with his art supplies. “Don’t assume you know everything about me, Derek.”
A thrill rushes down my back. There it is—the sass that drew me toward him. But despite his joke and the smirk on his face, something in his tone clutches my stomach. It’s like he meant his words as a challenge, as something meant to oppose me. I wonder what that’s about.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
My question only gets a thoughtful hum from him as he puts on some quiet music. “Remember—for the next two hours, you are not allowed to distract me. I really need to focus, okay?”
The rebel in me wants to say fuck it and sabotage him, but I force that urge down.
I’ve been wanting to witness Daniel paint since his art first spoke to me, so I’m not about to ruin this just because I find it difficult to keep my hands to me.
Two hours I can manage, and once they have passed, I’ll have my fill of this stunning man.
“Okay. I won’t bother you. It will be like I’m not even here.”
Big words. I regret them as soon as Daniel turns his back to me and grabs his paint tubs. But I vow to keep my promise—it will be worth it.
Once he’s done mixing the colors he’ll be using today, he shifts his attention to the painting.
From then on it’s pure magic, the way his hands move with ease and confidence, as if they are twenty steps ahead already and know exactly where each brushstroke needs to land.
He hums to the music, pausing now and then and taking a step back to evaluate his progress.
I’m mesmerized by the process, by what he’s creating. It’s beauty and skill unfolding before my own eyes, a sacred ritual that takes my breath away and squeezes my chest until it feels like my heart is about to get crushed.
I hate it. It’s too much, too intimate, too potent. Art is pointless. A waste of time. I’ve believed that for so long and I still do, but this before me… It’s stronger than that, it’s violent, it’s merciless, and it’s sweeping me away, chipping away at my resolve.
It’s what started this, what drew me to Daniel. This budding anticipation, this shivering need, this immense urge to give in to the raw feelings his art evokes in me.
I force my gaze away, I need to, as stabbing pain suffocates me. It’s the truth I’ve buried deep inside trying to surface, to overtake me now that I’ve given it a way to do so.
Art was my passion too, once upon a time.
It gave me excitement, something to strive for, meaning, an end-goal, a way to express all these things that lived inside me.
Picking up a brush… It was cathartic, it was soul-lifting freedom.
I craved it like a drug, I wanted to live the life Daniel has, to entangle myself with art and paint. Just paint.
But art didn’t make money. Not then and not now.
For a lucky few, maybe that path was an option, but the odds were never in my favor.
I thought I was decent, but I wasn’t a protégé like Daniel.
I didn’t have the skill, the intuition and talent he has.
My life was meant for far greater things, and my parents made sure that I knew it.
My eyes lock on Daniel again, unable to look away for too long. My throat constricts as a surge of fear and sadness and anger courses through me, tightening my chest.
Daniel embodies everything I couldn’t have. He’s poor, yet he shines. He’s himself, he doesn’t hide, he doesn’t play roles. He just paints, and he does it with such passion it makes me want to scream and cry and break something.
Watching him strips me naked, destroys my carefully constructed walls.
It forces me to face things I thought I’d forgotten, to fight with myself so I can stay afloat.
Each precise brushstroke as he brings to life more of the painting is like a knife to my heart, sinking deeper and deeper until it eventually ends me.
I hate this so much I could die. But I can’t look away, I’m mesmerized. He’s a god and I am his servant—I cannot give him up even if it might kill me.
Heaving, I close my eyes and try to find my center.
It’s hard, almost impossible. I need something to ground me, an anchor.
When I open my eyes again, I search for that something.
My attention lands on Daniel’s sketchbook, which is sitting on the couch’s armrest. I pick it up.
A pencil has been used to bookmark a page.
I open it. It’s a recent doodle of a human figure sitting on a chair.
Is it from the classes at Jesse’s studio?
It’s roughly blocked in, and the focus is on the shapes and proportions.