Chasing river, p.12
Chasing River, page 12
"I am beautiful," I said and he smiled taking his bottom lip between his teeth and turning away.
“Yes, you are.” He assured me.
He lit the candle beside me for better lighting and made his way over to his seat across from me, the easel was turned so I couldn't see what he was painting.
"I see you in my dreams all the time.." River confessed and I watched his left hand make delicate strokes on the easel, I never noticed he was left-handed. "It's always the same dream; It starts with me in a labyrinth of sorts and I'm searching for you. I know you're hiding from me in the darkness, and a part of me knows you don't want me to find you. And yet somehow I always do and every time I see you or touch you, you disappear." His eyes met mine, his stare was long and he paused before he continued. "You're wearing a gold and white dress, it's clean and pure and every time I touch you it turns black...like I've tainted you."
“It’s just a dream,” I told him.
“They’re never just dreams.” He refuted shaking his head.
"For how long?" I asked, I needed to know, “Have you been dreaming about me?”
"Since I met you. It doesn't stop and tonight I couldn't bear it so I had to paint you, It's the only way I know how to deal with everything." He said switching from dark blue to brown paint, “I had a friend once.”
“A friend?”
“Yes. But he…passed away. I had never lost anyone I cared about before him, it wasn’t easy.”
“Look River you don’t have to talk about it—”
"No, I want to. Painting; it's the way that I dealt with Jace's death and it's the only thing I know, to paint. When he died I was in the darkest place I'd ever been in my entire life, It was like there was this force pressing down on me, this emptiness I couldn't quite escape and I don't know why I'm telling you all of this but-" River paused like he had to reach to a place deep inside him to get the words out,
“Take your time.” I insisted and he seemed surprised by my patience, he looked at me in a way he never had before.
"I couldn't do much except art, I was living at my parents' house at the time and the walls of my childhood bedroom were plastered with paintings I couldn't remember painting. That's how bad things got and I didn't tell them when he died, so when they heard they came home and their only son was quite literally driving himself insane." He expressed with a sad laugh.
My heart ached for him, and it took everything I had not to race over to him and try to somehow take his pain away. It was bizarre, how I could feel his pain in place of him, it scared me that I cared for him that much. I wanted to speak, but I knew it was best to let him speak, to let him talk for once.
"I was put on Prozac by our family doctor-".
"Prozac?" I asked not sure what he was talking about,
"Fluoxetine, an antidepressant." He clarified and my heart sank, I couldn't believe he was telling me this.
"I was on them for months and the side effects were that not only did they make me numb and senseless, but I couldn't sleep. A lot of people don’t realize that the job of antidepressants isn’t to make you happy, it’s just to make sure you don’t feel any overwhelming emotions that might lead you to do something you might regret. And a part of me didn't want to sleep regardless, because I was afraid that if I slept." He paused swiping the brush across the canvas, "I would wake up, and that I'd be alone again. I recognize that that's utterly depressing and grim but it's the truth— it's my truth Armani."
"River I-" I begun but he spoke once more,
"I'm not on them anymore, if that's what you're worried about.” He responded with a sad excuse for a laugh, “But the sleeplessness never left hence the sleeping pills." He told me, and I recalled our conversation that night on the Eiffel Tower, he looked up at me again and then his expression fell, "You must understand that there's a lot I'm still trying to figure out and deal with, so I can't and I won't be the person you need me to be for you." He said as though that very sentence was intended to be the final thing that pushed me away once and for all, tears spilt from my eyes uncontrollably.
It was then I knew, his pain in the most curious of ways, was my pain. That I was doomed to feel his emotions vicariously, I felt like I was losing it.
"Come." I simply beckoned, and he placed the paintbrush in water and made his way over to me, once again kneeling between my legs.
"I accept you as you are, completely and absolutely."
River looked down for a while and let go of a breath I don't even think he realized he was holding. He gazed up at me and wiped away my tears. He stood up, his eyes a little brighter, Still devouring me at his very glance.
"Stand." He instructed holding out his hand to me and I lifted myself from my seat and took his hand, which moulded perfectly into mine.
River pulled me towards him, my bare chest on his, and I try my best not to gasp at the sudden contact. He placed his hand on the small of my back and I impulsively leaned into his touch, I tilt my head back and he placed a slow trail of kisses down my neck and I was in pure ecstasy. His mouth was hot and oddly familiar against my skin, soft yet daring. He trailed his kiss lower to my chest,
"I won't take the liberty to touch you in that way just yet," River spoke as his lips pressed to my shoulder. I groaned in frustration and I could feel him grin against my skin.
His kisses turned wet and sloppy trailing back to my neck as I laced my fingers through the wisps of his dark hair, I felt his breath hitch at the contact as he moved his lips down to my belly— slow and agonizingly passionate.
"River..." I almost moaned, his name a sin on my lips like I was praying to the devil himself.
And then he stopped releasing me from his touch and lowering me back onto the seat, he returned to his place across the room.
"My name sounds good only on your tongue." He smiled his tauntingly beautiful smile. “Only on yours.”
Chapter 9
Connected
IT WAS JUST after midnight and my mind began to wander as it usually did at that hour, I closed my eyes, and images of what happened in the art room earlier began to flood my mind. My fingers wandered in the dark to all the places River touched...even places he didn't, places I wanted him to touch. He was frustrating in all the most pleasurable ways.
I thought about how he'd opened up to me last night, how he'd had the courage and felt close enough to me to let me into his mind palace. I was happy that he'd done so, and shared this burden with me. But I still got the idea that he was still not telling me everything, I mean, of course, he wasn't and I'd ask him about that another time, and if he didn't want to tell me even then I'd simply have to learn to be okay with it. I was still a bit of a stranger to him after all, I couldn’t expect the world.
I couldn't imagine what it must've been like to lose your best friend, I'd never had one, I didn't have time to do normal teenage things like making friends during high school because I was far too busy working to get here, at St Katherine's. And sometimes I wondered if it was all worth it, if my efforts would soon pay off. That all the sacrifices I'd made during high school to my social life were all worth it, because if they weren't— well if they weren't I wouldn't be able to handle that.
Just as I was getting ready for school my cell phone begun to ring and I answered my mother’s call.
“Good morning Armani.” My mother greeted,
“Good morning mama, are you well?” I asked her, “How is everyone at home?”
“I’m well and so is your father and Jaadi. I just got back from the grocery store and I accidentally picked up that awful sugared cereal you like out of habit. Now it’ll sit in the pantry until you come back.” She disclosed with frustration but I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Is this your way of saying that you miss me mama?”
“What I’m saying is that I hope you’re staying focused on your studies. I got an email from your school telling me about how well you did on your recent photography project.” She trailed off for a bit before saying, “Your father and I were glad to hear it, we told all your aunties and uncles. Your bibi was very happy too.”
“Thank you. How is she now?” I asked, just like I’d been asking almost every day.
“She has her good days and her bad.”
“Oh okay.” I acknowledged feeling a lump rise in my throat, “If I don’t start off now I’ll be late to class, can we continue talking later?”
“Okay, have a good day,” Mama responded by hanging up and I tried my best not to cry as my heart longed for my bibi.
All my classes the next day were a complete bore, I had lunch with Merilla that day since I wasn’t sure exactly where Fabian and I stood. I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable about what I’d overheard yesterday. He did have good intentions at heart but him going up to River was completely wrong and I couldn't ignore that. I wanted Fabian to understand that even when I do get hurt that it's not his place to go ahead and fight my battles for me.
Merilla and I sat on a picnic blanket on the grass on campus for lunch, away from the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria. She was catching up on some last-minute studying for a computer science test she had in the next period. She wore an orange sweater with Garfield on it and a pair of plain black jeans. She had colourful Bobby pins in her thick dark curls as she tapped away at her laptop. I handed her a bright green Granny Smith apple from my lunch tray and she smiled taking a bite out of it.
“Is Keomi, Fabian or Geneviève your best friend?” I asked curiously,
“They’re all my best friends silly. I mean have you seen them? They need someone to balance out all their chaos.” She laughed and so did I.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I agreed,
“I mean there used to be another balance but I don’t think I should talk about that.” She sighed,
“You can talk to me about whatever is on your heart, whenever you’re ready.” I reminded her.
I find it peculiar how despite the fact that their friendship group all made an agreement not to discuss any matters relating to Jace, they all individually let something slip to me. They all swore that they never talk about it and yet each and every one of them, aside from Geneviève of course had told me a little truth or two about him. Perhaps Keomi was right, perhaps the burden was becoming far too much for them all to bear.
“We had a friend who died last year, he was usually the calm one who kept everyone at bay. But when he passed all hell broke loose and I had to find a way to be that person for them.” She disclosed,
“Wow, that’s a huge responsibility.” I acknowledged placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I know but I’m happy to take it, although sometimes I can’t help but feel like I’m nothing but a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.” She explained to me, her eyes slightly teary. I wanted to change the subject to something lighter for her sake.
"Where are you from Mer?" I asked and she shut down her laptop,
"Kingston, Jamaica." She told me, grabbing her backpack and proudly showing me the flag on her keychain. "But just like you, I spent a lot of time with my daddy in the US, so my accent isn't exactly legit."
"I always felt like I didn't belong anywhere, like I was living between two worlds where two different Armani's existed." I reflected and something about the way she looked at me, told me we'd found some common ground, an understanding of sorts.
"I feel you; I had the Merilla who loved dancing and helping her mummy out at the reggae music store back in Kingston and the Merilla who was a budding artist and barely had friends in Arizona." She reminisced looking down, "That shit wasn't easy to deal with."
"Every time I visited my home in Nairobi, I always had my cousins making me feel like I wasn't African enough since I moved away, it's not like I wanted to anyway, but I knew that Florida offered me a chance at a better life and more opportunities." I added, "Do you ever talk to the others about Jamaica?"
"I want to sometimes, but I doubt they'd understand, but you do Armani and I'm grateful for that." Merilla smiled, grabbing hold of my hands, "Now come on we've got to get to class."
My last class of the day was Art, as usual, and I was a little late because I had to walk halfway across campus to get to the left-wing, and I may or may not have stopped at a confectionery stand to buy a pack of gummy worms, but hey who was I to resist the golden opportunity?
When I walked into class everyone was crowded around the corner of the class to see something monsieur Etienne was holding up, I wasn't too curious about what it was until I heard someone say it was unlike anything they'd ever seen before and it was then I knew I had to see it for myself. I shoved past a few busybodies and made my way to the front of the crowd to get a clear view and when I say that me being in shock was a complete understatement. Monsieur Etienne was holding up an abstract nude painting of a dark-skinned woman, it was beyond impressive, and I wondered where he'd purchased it.
Each brush stroke had a smudging quality with hues of red, blue, and brown paint creating this watercolor purple scene. Every curve of the woman's body was captured perfectly, and I'd imagined it was painted by her lover- or at least someone who truly knew every inch of her being. It was a personal painting, with an intimate feeling you couldn't ignore.
But then my gaze caught the signature on the bottom left of the painting, and my heart dropped, RK was written in cursive. And it was then that I realized and felt stupid for not knowing sooner that this wasn't just any woman's body, but it was my body. He’d messaged me yesterday asking for permission to display it so I don’t know why I was surprised and didn’t recognize it sooner. Perhaps I should’ve been upset about it, but how could I? It was magnificent and it made me feel strangely confident. I wanted him to be able to show this piece to the class, maybe because it felt rather thrilling to know that we had this little secret, that no one would know it was me.
"Now now settle down class, merci!" Monsieur Ettiene exclaimed and the class went silent,
"This is a nude abstract piece by our very own River Kennedy entitled fille de rêve, or dream girl in English. It wasn't assigned but he brought it to me for guidance and while it's far from perfect...it's hard to ignore the sheer talent."
My eye turned to the back of the class where River was seated watching everyone fuss and gush over his artwork, I couldn't help but feel a little timid and exposed even though no one knew or suspected it was me. A faint sinister smirk played on his god-like face, daring me to look away.
"I can't believe it," I murmured to myself rubbing my temples,
"You better believe it, what did I tell you on your first day here, new girl?" Victoria King chimed appearing in front of me with her arms folded, she was dressed in all black and her long black hair cascaded down to her elbows, she'd cut bangs now and she looked an awful lot like Wednesday Adams.
"What?" I perplexed, not even paying attention,
"River is monsieur Ettiene's prodigy, his fucking lifeline, and the school's personal trophy they like to show off any chance they get." Victoria badgered glancing towards River who was no longer interested and no longer paying attention to me.
“No he’s not…” I wavered,
"Oh yeah?" She challenged, "Who's sculpture do you think is up in Principal Dubois office right now, who's paintings are all over the assembly hall?"
"There's no way those are all his I-" I began but she cut me off,
"They are, and all our work gets cooped up in here for no one to see until their ridiculous pity exhibits they hold every end of the term." Victoria addressed,
"Look it's not my problem if you've all given up, but I'm not planning on cowering before I've even tried. and I will try and I will come out on top." I persisted and I could tell she was taken aback at my forwardness,
"You'll have fun trying to crawl your way up the
St Kathrine's Hierarchy at first, but it's a nasty fall on the way down which Is why some of us have to find other ways to get to the top." Victoria declared, placing a hand on my shoulder as she passed by and made her way over to River.
Victoria took a seat on River's desk so she was right in front of him, River gazed up at her, if he cared or was even remotely entertained he was not letting it show. She leaned in closer and spoke in a slow, daring voice, her English accent thick and more prominent than ever,
"I want you to paint me as you did with her," she requested, gesturing to the painting, "except with me you can take everything off."
My breath caught in my chest and I couldn't help but feel this burning sensation I couldn't quite recognize. Not that River was even inherently confined to only me but I couldn't help but feel...jealous. I noticed a few girls gossiping in the corner about how Victoria King was now River's new plaything, and that she'd been the first girl bold enough to ever make a move.
I managed to regain my composure for the rest of the period, we learned about the history of fauvism and the artists that impacted the era. All while having to watch Victoria make advances at River who wasn't mean enough to ignore her but also not interested enough to entertain her. I gathered my books and stuffed them in my satchel trying my best to organize my thoughts.
"You're a good artist Miss Nnandi, keep pushing." Monsieur Etienne encouraged me and I smiled as a thank you.
The second I'd made my way out of class there was only one thought on my mind, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't get him out of my head. Talk. I needed to talk to him right the fuck now. River was walking ahead of me, probably on his way home but I needed him to hear me out first so I raced ahead of him, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him into the nearby storage room.
I slammed him against the door and pulled him by his jacket and yet suddenly I forgot everything I wanted to say. River was slightly surprised by my sudden gesture and raised an eyebrow in question, probably wondering what I wanted. But I don't think even I knew the answer to that, what did I want, why did I drag him in here with me. What did I even want to talk about?
