Painted On My Heart

A solid fourteen days later and all he really remembered about that catastrophe of a night wasn’t the dialogue that occurred after John left, instead it was the pity reflected in Gage’s stare. That look seemed to have imprinted on his soul. Ever since then, he’d sensed that same disappointment in every text message he’d received from Gage. He couldn’t take that at all.

Lowering his brush, Kellus lost himself in thought. He remembered a time that he’d been proud to have John by his side. When they entered a room, everyone stopped and stared at his boyfriend. He rolled his eyes at the thought. They still stopped and stared, but for far different reasons.

Luckily, John hadn’t shown his face around the house, but he had texted. Kellus had only replied one time saying the police were looking for him, and then he’d lied, going on to say the FWPD was watching the house, waiting for his arrival. He hated lying, but this had been the most peaceful few weeks he’d had in years. All except for the depression that had threatened to drag him under since the gallery opening.

Kellus paced around the pieces he’d been working on. His art was truly personal. Generally, he could see his heart in everything he ever completed. His eyes narrowed as he critically assessed his work and found all the pieces lacking. They had no life to them—they showed no substance. He wondered if anyone would even notice. He hoped not. He hadn’t truly felt like working on any of the commissioned orders. Instead, he’d spent most of his time painting the absurdly gorgeous Arik Layne. At least that was what he’d decided today. No one could really be as handsome as Kellus had made Arik out to be in his mind.

He tilted his head to the side and stared at the newest portrait he’d done of Arik. This made number three in a little over two weeks and bordered on obsession. He couldn’t help it, painting Arik was the only thing that helped keep his demons at bay. He was beyond pathetic, but creating art was therapeutic, an outlet, and it also reminded him of his place in all of this.

Kellus turned to the two others he had completed and placed along his finished wall. The first was the moment Arik had unwrapped the sculpture. He had looked more like a kid in a candy store that day. The next was a smiling Arik from opening night—when he lifted his drink from across the lobby as Kellus had livestreamed the opening. The last had been the hardest to paint because of the expression on Arik’s face. The memory he couldn’t push out of his head. The very same look that had kept him hidden away like a recluse. It was the shadow of pity he’d found in Arik’s eyes as he stood in the front entryway right after he’d kicked John out.

The sympathy he saw in his eyes cut him to the core, and the man hadn’t even known the half of his problems.

Frustrated with his own lack of ability to keep thoughts of Arik Layne on a professional level, he knew he was blowing a huge opportunity by not calling him. Who would have known after all this time of not seeing Arik, not hearing a single word after he’d brushed the guy off so abruptly with his text message, he’d still be dealing with all this emotional turmoil over him. He was so attracted to that man that if he hadn’t ended communication, he might have broken down and agreed to go. Saying yes to Arik would have been a disaster. He couldn’t even imagine how low his emotional state would have plummeted once Arik blew him off after learning the truth.

The alarm on his cell phone cut the music playing, causing him to look at the clock overhead. Seven in the morning. Hours lost, and he wasn’t ready to leave. He should have canceled today. He had about an hour and a half to get south of downtown Dallas. He’d been asked to judge an art show in the Bishop Arts district. Kellus picked up his supplies and quickly cleaned his brushes.

Closing the studio, he walked outside and decided the day was shaping up to be beautiful. He could use some sun. He loved this time of year. September was still warm by most people’s standards, but still so much cooler than August. It was like the reward for getting past the long brutal months of summer. He’d certainly take eighties and seventies over high nineties or hundreds any day of the week. Maybe he’d bring his book along and make a day of it. When the judging finished, while waiting for the awards ceremony, he could grab some lunch on a patio, let the sun work its magic as he read, because something had to change in his life. His perspective had to clear.