That’s why I paint on vases—to express feelings. Wants. Needs. My thoughts. It’s like cleansing the soul. I want to know that feeling.
“Absolutely.” He licks his lips.
I sit up and release his dick.
His arms fall to his sides, and he lets out a growl of frustration.
“Let’s do it. Right now.” I go to jump off the bed, but he grabs my arm and yanks me down onto my back. His hands push mine above my head while he straddles me.
“First, I’m going to fuck you.” He gives me a grin, and his eyes drop to my chest. “I need to learn your body before we draw it.”
“You should know it by now.” I laugh.
I blink. It’s my drawing. I took a white canvas I had in my spare art room at my house and painted myself on it. It’s got my purple hair, with a full face of makeup. It’s how I always wear it, black eyeliner, my lips match my hair and I have my septum piercing in. Ink covers my neck, multiple colors of pink, blue, and purple petals. I drew myself topless, but have my arms crossed over my chest to cover up my breasts, pushing them up in the process. Vines the color of night wrap around and up my arms to my shoulders. Red roses cover my upper chest that look like they’re floating on top of a crystal blue lake.
“I love that,” Grave says standing behind me, wrapping his arms around my chest.
I tilt my head, looking at the canvas. I just started drawing random things on my skin since I had my portrait painted. “I think it’s too much. The water looks out of place.”
“No,” he disagrees. “They match your eyes perfectly.”
The water fades at the end of the canvas. I chose to only paint from my crossed arms over my chest and up. But every inch of the skin I show is covered in something. “He kept it,” I whisper, my throat closing. I hadn’t looked at it since I drew it over a month ago. “How did he …?”
“Who?” Jasmine asks.
I would have never had the balls to go through with them. That’s why we did this.
“So you know what you’d look like if you ever decided to wear your own art.” He had said.
Tears sting my eyes. “Grave.” I swallow. “I drew this with Grave. He must have taken it with him and framed it.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Alexa tells me. “That was very nice of him.”
It was. “I don’t know if I should shatter it or hang it.” I sniff.
“Definitely hang it.” Emilee shrieks as she rips it from my hands.
CHAPTER THIRTY
GRAVE
ANOTHER NIGHT IN my hotel room. Cross sits over on the couch across from me. “Let’s go out tonight,” he offers.
“Not in the mood.” I shake my head.
“I’m bored.” He stands
“Then leave.” I wave goodbye.
“I don’t agree with Titan and Bones, but this isn’t good for you either, Grave. It’s been over a week. You need to get out.”
No, I don’t. Too much temptation. Drugs, women. I don’t want either of them at the moment.
“What if I called some girls and had them come here?” He pulls his cell out of his pocket.
“Then you better get your own hotel room.”
He sighs and falls back down onto his ass.
A cell starts vibrating, and I look at the coffee table. It’s mine. I look at Cross. He looks at me, and after a second, he growls, reaching forward and picking it up.
“It’s a message,” he states.
“Yeah? Tell them to fuck off.”
His eyes meet mine. “That’s not the response you’re going to want to give.”
“Why’s that?” I can only imagine my brother texting me to get my ass to Kingdom. Again. He only sends me about five a day. For someone who gave me an ultimatum, he sure does want me back at Kingdom awfully bad.
“Because it’s April. And she received her drawing.”
“What?” I jump up off the couch and snatch my cell from his hand.
April: I got the drawing. Thank you. That was very sweet of you to frame it. I have plans tonight, but I was wondering if we could have dinner this weekend? If you’re not busy, I’d like to talk.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
GRAVE
WHEN I WAS in high school, I stole a motorcycle off the showroom floor and took it for a joyride. I lost control going into a sharp turn and ended up driving it right off a bridge into the lake. I managed to crawl out and make it home. My father just happened to have been home at the time. He beat the shit out of me. I was in a coma for a week due to his hands. I’m not sure if the fractured femur and broken arm were due to him or my wreck.
But by the time I was released from the hospital, my father had pulled some strings and got me cleared. No arrest. I should have just done the time. He never let me forget what he did for me. Then he beat me some more. Said that I deserved to know what hell felt like. What he didn’t know was that I was already living in hell. And that’s why I did what I did, to feel alive.