Chapter AFTER 2
TUCKER
All I ever fucking do is paint portraits of this man.
My muse.
My savior.
Once, he was my stepbrother.
Now, he’s my other half.
A plastic sheet is spread on the floor beneath the canvas, catching droplets of paint.
Every stroke of the brush is careful, precise.
Tans and beiges, and an off-white that might as well just be white.
Blues for the skies, and greys for the urban jungle behind the couch.
The tattoos are the hardest thing to get right. Small, intricate details.
The longer I’m away from the wilderness, the less I remember. A tether that was once unshakable now wavers with every passing of the moon to the sun. The only thing that’s ever terrified me still fills me with dread to this day.
Losing him.
Losing Forest.
The cruelest tricks in the world aren’t the ones played by others—it’s the ones played by my own mind. I’m scared I’ll forget him the way I’ve forgotten so much else. He wears new ink, the words baby bird tattooed onto his pelvic bone.
Every time his body changes, even in the slightest, I paint him again.
When the passage of time shows up on his face. When a new wrinkle emerges, or when a sunspot announces its presence, I’ll paint him again. And again.
When I’m done, I swap out the painting on the slate bedroom wall.
Forest wraps his body in a robe as he joins me, lowering his head to my shoulder. “Is it conceited if I say that the painting is a work of art?”
“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.” I wrap my arm around him and pull him close. “You’re the only beautiful man I’ve ever known. If that makes you conceited, wear it like one of your tattoos.”
“I love you,” he whispers. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. The only person who’s ever loved me. Even on the mornings I don’t love myself. There you are, stalwart and unwavering.”
“Just like the sea,” I whisper back. “My little baby bird, you are finally free.”
I kiss him on the top of his buzzed head and glance out the window as a raven perches on the fire escape.