Just A Painter

Just a Painter

Preface

I never asked for any of this, I guess a lot of people say that when they are in trouble. I saw this coming, and I still couldn’t stop it. Do I regret meeting her? Maybe. If I hadn't met her she'd be safe, stress-free. We wouldn't be fighting for our lives. Most say that's what you do when you're in love - you fight for it. I told her time and time again, that it was going to happen and I'm not worth it. Lucky for me, she's stubborn...and I love her so much for that.

Chapter 1 - Cubism

He leaned over to whisper, “You’re so talented.” Yeah okay, how about you kiss my ass a little more? I honestly don’t believe half the compliments I get anymore. Rolling my eyes, I look down at my notebook and continue my doodle of van Gogh trying to reattach his ear. My teacher Mr. Hillman clears his throat harshly, and I sigh because I know he’s going to address me. “Ms. O’Hare please pay attention, I will not repeat the instructions for you over and over like usual.” On his radar again, just my luck. I have a tendency to not pay attention, yet my assignments are completed, and my projects are sold constantly. I live and attend classes at Theodore James Penitentiary, I mean Academy for the Gifted. I always get those two mixed up. My school is from Kindergarten to grade twelve, and the application process is horrendous. But apparently, I have enough talent to attend with a scholarship. I hate telling people that, they always assume I’m bragging. But I’d like to go to a regular school, this place is too pretentious ninety percent of the time.

Everyone starts moving, telling me that the lecture half of class is over and It’s time to get my hands dirty. Literally. I’m nudged by Jaxon as I stand to move to our joined station. “When are you going to stop pissing off Hilly?” I snort at his question and shake my head. “Never my man, never.” Walking over to our easels, Jaxon hands me a new canvas. “Inspired by your favorite cubism painter, no real restraints.” He mumbled as he knew I hadn’t heard the assignment. But I kinda regret not listening, my favorite the great Salvador Dali was mentioned. Well, nothing I could do about it now, knowing me I’ll find a way to punish myself. I turn my back to my large canvas and grab my apron, Jaxon tying it around my waist without a word. Putting my pencils, and brushes in the pocket I am nowhere near prepared mentally for this assignment.

Getting my stool to hold my palette and a second to hold my ass, I sat in front of my canvas and sighed. Mr. Hillman closed the classroom door and retreated to his office. I then pulled my earbuds from my pocket and blasted my music as I grabbed a pencil and started to draw lines where ever my hand wanted to go. It’s all about clearing your mind and letting autopilot take over. Sliding off my stool and stepping back, I look at the lines and I can't see anything in them. Jaxon came by my side and looked at it, he pulled one of my earbuds out. “Mountains…” Okay, that’s one country heard from. However looking at it, I began to see what he did and put the earbud back in place before adding in geometric shapes all along the edges. This made Jaxon grimace as he didn’t know what I was doing. Putting my pencil back in the pocket of my apron, I fill my palette with acrylic paints and the middle circle held a bit of tap water. Tap water, not bottled, unfiltered. Sue me.

Wetting my brush so it isn’t stiff, I begin to mix some colors before painting in the blocky mountains. Jaxon pulled out both of my earbuds as Hillman emerged from his office to observe people’s work and making his way to the sculptors first, I had some time. I quickly ran my gray undertone mixture over the mountains rapidly, if Hillman got to us and noticed my canvas was blank I’d be in trouble. My base coat down, I sighed softly before taking some black and blotting it around the grayed surface. Putting my brush down on my palette, I rush over to my backpack and claw through my things. Eureka. With a triangular makeup sponge in my fingers, I begin to pick and pull bits off of the chunky side. Running my finger over it, I can feel the rough texture and taste success, or maybe that’s bits of sponge. Jogging over to my easel, I dab the black blots to give more texture. Just as I’m cleaning a bit, Hillman sneaks up behind me. “Well, you actually seem to know the assignment today Cliona. I expect more from a girl that skipped a grade, O’Hare.” Rolling my eyes, I nod and smile. “You gave a Dali assignment…” Jaxon chuckled and I glared at him before Hillman went and observed the boy’s work. I turned my focus back on my painting and bit my lip. Salvador would hate this.

Jaxon wandered over to my easel. He is a foot taller than me, blue-green eyes, freckles, and light brown hair that reminds me of a greaser slicked back in a way that's nonchalant but purposeful with each gelled swoop. A lot of people assumed at one point or another that we’re a couple. But Jaxon is two years older than me, not that age matters it’s just I feel so immature compared to him. Jax has been a mentor type for me ever since I joined the academy’s roster. My painting has come a long way thanks to him, and I honestly don’t know how I could repay him for that. “I meant what I said, I think you’re so talented.” He murmured before he slid my earbuds back into my ears. I peeked over at his easel. “A lion? Cliche much Jaxy boy?” My painting companion flipped me off and I laughed. “What’re you going to do with the background?” I raised a brow, and he shrugged. “Black.” A grunt escaped me. “You do the same boring background. A boring background cannot be your staple man, branch the fuck out.” I could tell he was already ignoring me as he mixed his paint, leaving me to my music and difficult task of painting these mountains.

With each new brush stroke, I feel as though I can hear Dali himself yelling in a beautiful Spanish accent that I am ruining what he tried so hard to perfect. I try to ignore my urge to abandon the painting and continued with layers and texture of earthy tones. Green then comes into play as I need a pop of color and to fill in the foliage I outlined. My eyes flick over, to notice Jaxon has a good portion of his lion done even though I started before him. Mixing colors, blotting for texture, but maintaining a cubist look I feel drained. My hands keep going, however, and I move to get more paint. Gray, white, and a decent amount of water. Fog. Not something for a cubism take, but I need something to make it pop. As I start the technique I rip my earbuds out of my ears as of course, Hillman walks over, I'm not sure if he hates it or loves it. Ignoring my peeping Hillman, I add the fog effect to the clouds that I forgot to paint. I abandon my station to go mix a blue for the sky and try to finish quickly but happily. Maybe Dali wouldn’t hate it after all. Signing “Cliona O’Hare” in the bottom left corner, my whole body relaxes from the relief of finishing the painting. I sit on my stool for a minute, to zone out.

I leave the fantasy world that I zoned out to, to feel a tap on my shoulder. “Same routine Clio?” It was Jaxon again as if trying to get me out of my train of thought. I start to put my supplies away and put my painting on the floor by the teacher’s door to be graded. I stop by the mirror and brush all of my hair to one side. The Irish blood in me is strong; with pale skin, red curly hair, freckles. However my eyes are a hazel hue, and they are a rather big conversation starter. I gazed at my reflection before Jaxon interrupted me again, with a grunt as he stood behind me.

“Yeah same routine. School, library, and woods.” I roll my eyes, and he ruffled my hair as he knew it’d annoy me. I mean my hair is already a frizzy mess. Grabbing my backpack I sling it over my shoulder, relieved to leave my two hours of Hell with Hillman. In hindsight, that would be a good name if Hilly ever has a reality television show. I’m the first person by the door, waiting for the bell to ring. Frankly, this was always the case. I love art, but I have never despised a teacher so much in my life. I can feel a hand on my backpack, it’s Jaxon signaling he was going to follow me. The bell rings and I run out of the classroom like a caged animal finally being set free. If only you knew.

Soon enough I open the doors to the outside world, taking a deep breath to smell the cold, earthy air. “Thank the gods and goddesses.” I hear a chuckle behind me, Jaxon, however, older than me, always seemed to be my lost puppy. With focused, and precise steps I...well we make our way to the library next door from the academy. Once inside the building, Jaxon lets go of my backpack and I start walking to the second floor to find an empty table to start my homework. Working on sketch pages, a project proposal, a math component, and a backstory for a narrative art piece, I decide I’m done for the day. Looking around I notice Jaxon is off somewhere without me, giving me time to pack up my things and get out of there. Getting to my Mojave sand colored jeep, I unlock it and throw my bag in the passenger seat before climbing in. I can feel a pain rising in my chest, and I try to breathe through it before revving the engine to life.

The drive to my grandmother’s cottage, which gives me a decent ten minutes to listen to music and clear my mind. Especially since I have been easily stressed and distracted lately. Pulling into the driveway, I notice my grandmother’s old Toyota is missing and a sigh of relief sneaks up on me. I love my grandmother, but sometimes I just don’t want to speak. My phone buzzes and alerts me to a text message, looking at it the message was an angry Jaxon who complained I left him behind. I roll my eyes and put my phone back into my pocket before getting out of my jeep and wandering into the house. Putting my backpack on the nearest coat hook, I kick off my black chucks and walk around in my socks. I proceed to pick up garbage, as I walk around the house. It’s just how it is living with an eighty-one-year-old scatterbrained grandmother. Tossing things away, or putting things back in their proper place I check to see if dinner is prepped. Nothing.

An exasperated sigh escapes my average lips, and I marinate some steaks before washing some potatoes and stabbing them with a fork. My work is done for now. With light footsteps, I wander to the sliding door that leads to the wide unfenced forest-like backyard. Slipping off my mismatched socks, I step onto the porch before walking off and stepping onto the cold sinking dirt. I wiggle my toes, enjoying the feeling for a moment. Hearing soft yips coming from the forest line, I can’t help but tilt my head in what could appear like confusion or curiosity. However, the tilt was a sense of acknowledgment. Within seconds I tossed my clothes onto a rocking chair on the porch, and my tall Irish cream figure fades with the replacement of a fiery red fox. With the glow of my yellow eyes, I let out a yip and charge into the woods. I was no longer in my cage, trapped in a cube, yet I am finally free to be wild.

Chapter 2 - Surrealism

Running through the woods, my reddish fur moved with the wind. Taking a moment to stop, I surveyed what I could see of my family’s land. I can smell a hint of my grandmother’s scent, that’s probably why she wasn’t home when I left the library - she was already doing my job. Just as I was about to start walking the perimeter again, I was stopped. A deep growl emitted to my left, and soon I was tackled and pinned down on my back. Looking up with wide yellow eyes, I noticed I'm pinned down by a predator. A wolf. The glint in the canine’s eyes told me that they were part human. A werewolf. With a deep inhale, I let out the loudest blood curdling screams my fox soul will allow. The canine then got off of me. I’m not sure if I scared it, or if I just pissed it off more. There wasn’t much time for thinking as I got to my feet, the werewolf a foot away from me with it’s haunches raised to which I tilt my head slowly to the left.

I always hated communicating while I was free, with animals communicating is always telepathy but most tended to just blatantly ignore you. “This is my land ya fuckin’ mutt, my family’s land.” Seeing the werewolf snarl, I knew it could hear me. I continued. “Why are you in my territory? I can smell my family’s scent here, is your nose broken?” That was the wrong way to approach the situation, as the wolf bounded forward its nose centimeters from mine as it snarled and growled. “You better pray to your ancestors that I don’t find you out of these woods.” The wolf threatened, before turning and smacking its tail in my face as it walked off. This was a werewolf, what do I do when I see them in human form? They can’t do much to me...I don’t think they can at least.

Rushing home, I change back to the pale, redhead girl my grandmother loves as I get dressed quickly. Walking inside, the house is dark and seemingly abandoned. My grandmother still wasn’t home, and I shrugged. It wasn’t unlike her, but I looked at the clock to start timing her. I remember the steaks I had marinating and put the potatoes in the oven before I started cooking the meat. I started to salivate once I could smell it, my mind distracted by food. However, in the back of my mind, I was worried about this wolf. My phone started to beep and snap me back to reality, Jaxon was calling me. Picking up my phone, I barely got a syllable out when he asked: “You getting ready to serve dinner?” The bastard had noticed my grandmother wasn’t home, and he knew my routine too well. I plated the food before answering the door, to see a very happy and hungry Jaxon waiting to be fed. Rolling my eyes, he walks in and simply makes himself at home as he sits at the dinner table. The smug smile on his face said that he was hoping for this. “Ya mom on a bender again?” His smile fades, and I know he doesn’t have anyone but me. Sitting down across from him, I decided to entertain him.

“So dear, how was your day?” I ask, licking my lips. His eyes shoot up at me, and the smile returns. “It was great I got all my work done, came home to a beautiful woman, and a nice home cooked meal.” The sincerity of his answer, I can't help but smile and laugh. “Jax...Jaxon you’re adorable, thank you for making my day.” We both start eating, and I zone out staring at the table before he speaks again. “So how was your run?” I can feel my whole body tense up at his questions, and maybe Jaxon can tell as well since his posture straightened with a sense of worry. I sigh and shrug. “I got my ass tackled by a were-” My boyish friend interrupted me. “Wolf?” I nod, it still felt odd having my best friend knowing about the supernatural. “Yes Jaxon, a werewolf. I told you, werecats don’t live around here because of the weather and terrain.” He seemingly agreed, as if he knew the answer before I even spoke. “I don’t know who they were, but I told them to get out of my territory. They threatened me, seeing me in human form like they are going to hurt me.” I shrug and eventually we finish our meal in silence, just enjoying the fact that the other is there.