The Stoat, The Witch, and The Cast Iron Bed
RAFE
“ O kay, lift!”
My primary frowns, studying the placement in relation to doors, windows, couch area, and other décor. “Hmm… To the left, I think. It’s not centered.”
“For the love of everything unholy woman, this thing weighs a metric ton. Decide before we all end up with hernias.” Leo gives her a dirty look, wiping his brow.
I roll my eyes, knowing full well that droids cannot get hernias and individually, they could probably dead lift a F-150. They’re all so damn dramatic, though, and like me, they love giving her shit.
“She’s right, mate. It’s definitely off-center.”
Every droid in the room gives Hex a scowl of disapproval as we coordinate, lift, and move the wrought iron monstrosity again. It’s not too heavy for us, but it is a pain in the ass and this is taking forever.
“Who let Mr. ‘Flip This House’ come? Between the two of them, we’re going to be moving this sodding thing until we’re all old and gray,” I grumble.
“Again, with the dramatics. Clones do not get old and gray and droids certainly don’t. Jeez, you’re such whiny babies,” my night bloom says with a sigh of irritation. “Come on. It’s not like I can get a moving company here in this weird in-between place. Please?”
The whole group sighs and hefts again, swearing under our breath colorfully enough to make a trucker blush. It’s performative at best, but I know it makes me feel better.
“I think it’s good now.” She smiles brightly. “Hex, where did you put the linens?”
“Linens? We needed to bring something besides this?” Hex arches his brow, looking at me to make sure he didn’t miss something.
“Oh, hell. We didn’t bring the damned linens! Back to the store we go,” our girl says, not looking sorry in the slightest.
“Abso-bloody-lutely not.” Leo stomps his foot. “I have to get my roast on and Hex has a half-painted bathroom. You can come back with them yourself, Juliet.”
She pouts, hoping to sway him. “Aw, but Hex’s so much better at this than me. If he didn’t buy any, we have to go shopping.”
Hex blinks, a grin creeping over his handsome face. “Oi. Sod the bathroom.” We groan and he grins. “What? I love home stores. You gits feck off; I’m going with Nancy.”
“You did that on purpose, Night Bloom. Now the guest bathroom will have to be completely redone because the shades will dry differently,” I say.
Not that Hex will care; he’ll happily strip it and paint again because he loves that shit.
“Who fucking cares? That’s his problem,” Leo grumbles, heading for the door. “You two have fun finding home and garden stuff for the secret lair. We’re going back to the Maison so I can make sure dinner isn’t ruined.”
The cat grins at Hex, clapping her hands in excitement. “Where should we go first?”
“For this git? We gotta start at Neiman Marcus.”
Once Leo and I decided to leave them to their décor journey, we were promptly sent back to the Maison. The quirky chef looks relieved as fuck, but honestly, I’m indifferent. Since I broke things off for us with Rhea and Alistair, I’ve been staying cloistered in my studio to avoid attention. The pain of losing Victor and now them is too much, especially with the other mates being so… unpredictable.
Aradia saunters up to me with Twist on her back and I scratch her ears. Seeing the little ferret doesn’t make that spot where the jokester used to live ache anymore because we weren’t nearly as close as the mates. This has been one hell of a year for my heart.
If I didn’t have art, I’d definitely be in need of some heavy medication .
Leo jerks his chin and I nod at him before he scampers off to deal with his roast. It’s no surprise when the tiger follows him: he spoils the shit out of her when she’s not with our girl. I’m alone again, but I know what to do—I have things to work on.
It probably sounds as if I’m lamenting the cat’s sudden absence while she’s gallivanting with the bird. I’m not—at least, not how it might be perceived. I miss my mate when she’s gone and I definitely wish I had her around more so I could use her as support. But I don’t begrudge her happiness with that jackass, nor would I ask her to cool it until I’m in a better place mentally.
That’s just not how our bond or our family work.
With a heavy sigh, I throw open the double doors of my studio. It’s perfectly set-up for all the various mediums I experiment with, including a sitting area, a bathroom, and a closet so I can work without interruption. When I go on a ‘project bender’. I can’t be bothered to leave the room even for basic needs. Leo even has a specific knock to let me know he’s bringing food or Hex has laundry because I won’t open the door when I’m focused.
“Should I paint or sketch?” I murmur as I look around the room.
The walls and shelves are filled with the evidence of my pain. I haven’t let my primary or anyone else in here since I started using this as my way of coping; it’s way too obvious what state I’m in if you look at the various paintings and drawings hanging up. Every ounce of my heartache is shown in dark shades and rich colors, and I know they’d be able to sense it.
I’m a moody git and I don’t want anyone’s pity.
My eyes catch on one of the unfinished works on an easel and I know what I’m going to do. “Painting it is.”
Turning on the music on the wall panel, I close my eyes as I begin the ritual of preparing to work. The music helps me get in the right headspace, then I set up my oils and brushes, and at last, I stand in front of the canvas to get the vibe from where I left off. Once everything clicks into place in my mind, I dip my brush in the paint. These won’t hang in galleries or even on the walls in our house, but they are masterpieces of emotion just the same.
Everything I am is going into these artworks and hopefully, when they’re done, I’ll be healed.