Chapter Twenty-Three Answers

“Did you get what you wanted?” I questioned meekly.
He looked down at me and smiled. “I think so.”

We kissed briefly, and my mind moved onto other topics, though still loosely based off Raymond’s character.

“Did you ever want children, Gerard?”

“No,” he answered almost immediately, no doubt in his voice whatsoever. “I like children. They are pure and innocent, not corrupted by anyone or anything yet. They are malleable, like the clay I sometimes use to make art. They themselves are works of art, fresh canvasses with the paint waiting to be dried. Some people come along and fuck up their picture, smearing the paint, but if we’re lucky, they all come out as prized possessions.” He smiled, proud of his analogy.

“If you like them so much, why don’t you have your own?” I questioned, feeling a tad braver in this territory.

“Because I feel like I’ve already had my own.” He grew silent, drawing in a deep breath, continuing his story without me having to ask. I was getting pretty good at my skill by that point. “I’ve told you before that my parents were assholes. Or my father, at least. They left my brother and me alone a lot, and I was the older sibling. I had to take care of Mikey a lot of the time. I wanted to take care of him. He drew out this paternal instinct in me that I had no idea was there. He was so tiny, much smaller than me, and I wanted to protect him.”

He chuckled, despite the gloominess in his voice. “Sometimes, people didn’t think we were brothers, we looked so different. My hair was darker than his, even before I started to dye it, and he was bone thin while I was the chubby kid everyone picked on. He had glasses, while my vision remained relatively unharmed. I’m supposed to have glasses now, just for reading, but I don’t wear them. They make me feel old.”

I nudged his side slightly, looking up and giving him a comical gaze. “You are old.”

He hushed me and waved a hand in the air, rolling his eyes. “They left us alone a lot. And I just felt like I had to take care of him. He was my kid for awhile, until high school at least, even then I was always there loaning him money and protecting him from anything that could and would harm him. He was…really abused in high school, let’s just put it that way,” he spoke delicately. His eyesight darted upwards, reaching a memory he didn’t want to dwell on. “Mikey was a strong kid, he just had a lot of problems actually using his strength. He always leaned on people for support, hoping vainly that they would guide him. I was that person to him for the longest time. He would occasionally switch the source, but those people saw Mikey as weak, and only used him for their own sick games. I was the only person who actually fully cared about Mikey for the longest time. Even when he found his wife, he thought he still needed me. Especially when he found out he was going to be a father. It scared him so much, and he clung to me, even if we were both in our thirties by that point.”

I looked around the room suddenly, trying to comprehend Gerard’s story. I had been practically living at his place for awhile now, and not once had I ever seen his brother. I had seen and heard more about Vivian than the only living part of Gerard’s family. I didn’t doubt his story at all, but something was off. He said his brother had clung to him, but I barely saw any remains of such an attachment.

“Where is your brother now? What happened?” I voiced my thoughts. Gerard had paused during my own deliberation, his fingers stroking the underside of his neck.

“Not a lot, actually,” he stated bluntly. “The month it took me to fully move back here, Mikey was already settled. He seemed to realize that he could depend on his wife, rather than me. That’s what she was there for, anyway. We still talked, and I helped him cope with the rest of her pregnancy. He would phone me up – sometimes at fucking ridiculous hours - and beg me to go get coffee with him because she was driving him up the wall. She had these massive mood swings that he just couldn’t deal with; not many people could, actually. She’s a good woman, and fits with Mikey entirely, but there were a few weekends where he had to sleep on my couch because Janine was mad at him and wouldn’t let him inside. Those weekends were always the best – it was like we were kids again. But after her baby was born, Mikey sort of became a ghost in my life. He had his own family, and well, I thought I had mine.”

I swallowed hard then, realizing all of this had happened when Gerard and Ray had still been together. I shifted my weight on the bed, trying to move onto other things.

Luckily, Gerard was already way ahead of me. “I didn’t mind giving up the protector role too much. It was starting to become too draining. But when Mikey had his own children, he had to take on that role, and though his wife was there to help, it threw him for a loop. He adjusted eventually, and by the time the second kid came along, he had a better hold on them. Himself, though - that’s another matter. He comes to see me every once in awhile now, with stains on his shirt and sleep still clinging to his eyes, and I don’t think he knows how to fully take care himself, because I’ve always done it for him, in one way or another.”

I nodded my head slowly, prolonging the sudden lull in conversation. “Do you ever see his kids?”

“Yes, but not too often,” he started up again quickly, clucking his tongue as he thought. “I’ve learned that I like to admire children, at least those under the age of seven, from afar. When he brought his son here one day, all of my canvasses had red crayon all over them in no time. Kids get into everything, and though I love that about them, I hate it when it’s my bedside table their little grubby hands get into and they bring out my condom stash to show their father.” Gerard put the palm of his hand in his forehead, a stressed smile on his face.

I couldn’t help but chuckle, just picturing the embarrassment not on Gerard, but etched across his brother’s cheeks. Gerard would have probably blown up the condom as a balloon for the child with no shame while his little brother watched in horror. From the limited information he had told me about Mikey, he seemed to be a straight laced type of guy, or at least made that way over time.

“But not all kids are like that,” I countered, still dealing with the mental image.

“I know,” he nodded. He paused for a second, shifting his gaze down to look at me. His eyebrows furrowed as he asked a question. “Did I ever tell you about Vivian’s daughter?”

“No!” I almost shouted, more surprised than I thought I would be. I just never pictured Gerard’s best friend, former lover, and also the naked woman on his couch to have a child of her own.

And then it hit me.

“Is it…yours?” I asked slowly, unsure if I even wanted to know the answer.

Gerard burst out laughing, and though I got the answer I had wanted, I felt my face flush three shades of red.

“Sorry,” I murmured, taking my eyes away and focusing on the blue sheet we held across us.

“Don’t apologize for that,” Gerard insisted, rubbing my back encouragingly. “I can see where you’re coming from. But no, she is not my daughter. Vivian and I were over in art school, way before Cassandra was ever a thought in Viv’s head.”

“Her name is Cassandra?” I asked out of the blue, surprised by the sudden name change. “That’s a really pretty name.”

“And it’s for a very pretty girl,” Gerard declared, nodding his head almost as if he were the proud father. “She’s nine now, ten in August, but God, I can still remember when she was a baby.” Gerard looked away from me, his eyes darting around the room, starting to tell the story as if it were written on the walls of the dark bedroom, and maybe for this tale, unlike the others, they really were.

“I remember the day she was born. I was there; Vivian let me come in and we lied to the nurse and said I was the father. The real one had abandoned Viv when he found out she was pregnant. He accused her of sleeping around, with me even, despite constantly shooting his mouth off about how I was a cock sucking whore. Viv had come here the night she found out about the pregnancy, after he left her, and she was in tears; all she could do was cry. I had never seen her cry that hard before, and ever since, even at Raymond’s funeral, I have never seen her cry that hard. Vivian is always so caring and cheerful that when she gets like that, she looks broken. And I always want to fix her, or at least kill the person who broke her in the first place.”

His last words caught my attention. It seemed that Gerard wanted to fix a lot of people. He had been trying to help Ray find his passion in life, supporting him, and constantly encouraging him. He was helping me too, trying to fix the broken life I had been living before. And now he was speaking of Vivian, one of the most unsuspecting people I thought he would be trying to fix. She had been so confident – part of the reason he fell for her – I just couldn’t imagine her shattering. She had though, and Gerard was there. Gerard was always there for people. I squeezed his hand as he talked, trying to convey that I was going to try to be there for him too, just in case he did break. I was never sure if he got my message; he was too into talking.

“Viv wouldn’t tell me at first she was pregnant, only that Jesse was gone. But I just knew it when she had come to my apartment that night. She had this glow about her; what they say really is true. Pregnant women just stand out in the crowd. They’re amazing and beautiful and everything there is to want in a woman. That night when she finally told me, I hugged her as she cried herself to sleep into my shoulder while we sat on the couch. Then, when she finally woke up, I asked to draw her. Going back to art is what made her feel better. Going back to being something beyond beautiful made her feel important again. And she was important, especially after she had her baby.”

Words that Gerard spouted stuck to me, making my mouth open. I had never really been around pregnant women before. A handful of girls at my school and a few teachers had gotten knocked up, but they always hid it under layers and layers of clothing, denying the fact that they had a being inside of them. The society we lived in, or at least the school system, made them feel ashamed of what they had. They were making them feel ashamed of life. As Gerard talked, however, the way the words flowed from his mouth, the way his hands moved, grasping at invisible colors in the air, it made me realize that these girls - even if they were fifteen and stupid by today standards - were just as gorgeous as Vivian.

“We giggled the entire day she gave birth, in between her contractions, of course,” Gerard continued, his voice jumpy, eager for what was to come. “We were so excited and so amazed that she was going to be bringing a person into the world. She had been living at my place the last few months of her pregnancy, too lazy and fat to do anything. I would bring her food and rub her swollen feet, so long as she kept posing for me. It was the perfect deal. And her living with me allowed me to actually be there for her when her water broke at four in the morning, all over one of my canvases.”

Gerard shook his head and scoffed to himself, recalling the ruined masterpiece. “I had been working on that thing for weeks. But it was worth getting ruined so long as I was with Viv every step of the way. I saw something so much more beautiful than that soggy painting. It was a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things.”

He halted for a second, taking in a deep, invigorating breath. “You would not believe how beautiful it is to see a woman give birth, Frank,” Gerard informed, looking down at me, an aura of hope in his eyes. I gave him a half-smile, unsure of the whole process.

In grade nine health class, we were supposed to watch a movie of the ‘Miracle of Life’ and the only thing I could remember was a lot of yelling and blood, and one kid passing out in the class. And then some more blood. It honestly didn’t look that beautiful to me. Gerard’s eyes, however, spoke otherwise. They were wide – the widest I had ever seen them, the olive center almost swallowing me whole. They were even glossed over a bit, tears rimming of joy or sadness, I could never be quite sure. I didn’t quite comprehend how he was so much closer to tears when he was talking about Vivian and her baby than when he was speaking of Ray, his dead lover. No tears ever actually fell from his eyes, so I assumed it was just an odd reflection of light.

“It was absolutely amazing,” he continued, his breathing labored and his voice high and magnificent. I could tell that in this moment, Gerard was reliving one of the happiest days of his life. I felt so honored that he was sharing it with me. I didn’t think he shared it with a lot of people; he had no one to really tell. Vivian was there, after all, and you don’t tell someone these kinds of details on a first name basis. This was a personal story; it got under your skin and made you want to laugh and cry with the person telling it. I placed my lips on Gerard’s chest softly as he talked, letting him know I was ready to be taken with him on this journey, wherever it may have led.

“I remember looking at Vivian, after Cassandra had come out,” he nodded his head along with his memory. “She was so tired, pale, covered in sweat. And beautiful. God, she was absolutely amazing then. I wish I had owned a camera, so I could capture that forever. I knew I could never draw or paint anything and get it perfect. I needed a picture, something I don’t have, and if I did, Vivian would have probably stolen it anyway. She said she felt awful the entire time. Her contractions killed, there was a slight complication in her drugs. They didn’t start to work until the whole thing was almost over. She felt awful, that is, until they put the swollen and pudgy baby in her arms, wrapped tightly in a towel. It was a girl, exactly what she had wanted.”

Gerard’s smile fell a little as he paused, his eyes darting at me quickly and deciding if he wanted to share the next bit of information with me. He was a very detail-oriented person, but he was also selective with these for the right times.

This was a right time. He pressed on.

“I kissed Vivian afterwards, longer and more passionate than I had in a while. Since art school, even. She was surprised, but kissed me right back, holding Cassandra in her weak arms. I had to kiss her because I didn’t know what else to do. She had done something so amazing that day and I cursed my body because I could never, ever do that. And I knew that if I was a woman, I probably never would.”

“Why not?” I cut in, enwrapped in every detail of the story.

“What Vivian did, giving birth, nearly killed her,” Gerard stated seriously, shocking me out of my happy-go-lucky listening demeanor. “Any woman who gives birth is so close to death and yet giving life at the same time. It’s a hard thing to do. I’ve done a lot of hard things in my life, but I don’t know if I could tackle that.” He brought his hand to his mouth, nibbling on one of the stray nails he had. “Besides, I would be left with a kid after it was all done. I don’t know if I could give myself to something like that, and only have it take and take and take.”

I sat in silence for a moment, debating the words Gerard had just used. Children did take; that was a fact. Especially when they were young. Gerard went on to tell me how Vivian had stayed with the baby in his apartment for about a month or two after. It had been fine the first week; Cassandra was a new thing for him to muse over. He’d hold her constantly, her drool bubbling up as he sang her his bad opera, and she couldn’t tell him to stop. He’d let her grasp his finger so tight, it didn’t feel like a baby was doing it. He watched her grow so fast from the small six pounds of flesh to double digits in no time. He was in awe of her, always wanting to be around her and constantly drawing pictures, but eventually, her real personality came out.

Cassandra was not just a muse, a thing to watch and study. She was a real live baby, and those things cried. They cried, and ate, and shit everywhere. Cassandra had colic for the first three weeks, and it drove Gerard up the wall. He loved to hear the high pitched scream at first; it was a new sound. But, like anything, it wore away. Very, very fast. Even after she had stopped crying and became easier to handle, Gerard couldn’t be around her anymore. Vivian couldn’t be around him anymore, either. They were best friends, not parents. They weren’t even lovers anymore by that point. It was unfair for her to move in and stay moved in. She had her own apartment, collecting dust and cobwebs, old milk still left in the fridge and turning sour. She had to go home, and Gerard had to stay in his home.

It was in hearing Gerard talk about Cassandra as a baby, that I began to realize some of his relationship dynamics. He liked to know people, to talk to people, and relate to them. He was even a giving person, giving me wine and a place to stay, painting lessons, and whatnot. But no one could just take from Gerard. He wanted something from you each time, whether it was a simple kiss or good conversation. He was willing to give me wine, if I talked to him. He liked our conversations; it fueled his art. Everything was about art with Gerard. He was consumed by it. He loved to throw himself into situations, giving himself fully, but he always expected something back. He always needed something to thrive on – for himself. He was selfish and he knew that. He embellished that, admitted that, and fucking promoted it. All artists were selfish. It was a normal thing for him.

With a child, however, you had to be completely selfless. You had to give up your life entirely because that was what the child needed. They took everything they had from you. He began to talk about how he didn’t see Vivian for months after, Cassandra eating up all of her spare time. They no longer went out for coffee for the hell of it like they used to. She didn’t pose for him anymore. She was changed, because she was using all of her energy now on this other being that needed her so much more, and there was nothing left for Gerard.

I began to think of my own parents, as his voice carried in and out of my ears. My dad had given up guitar for me. He had given up his dreams and married, so I could have a house. My mom was most likely giving up any self-respect she had, staying with my father, just so I didn’t have to deal with moving from house to house in a bitter divorce battle. She had given up a career too, even if it was just working as a secretary, to stay home and look after me. She had gotten a part-time job when I was able to enter school, but it was something small and menial. She never had a career, and probably would never have one. Any money she would need to go to college would be spent on my college education now. Any money she would make at all would be spent on me. Same with my father. It was all about me.

I felt my heart swell with pride and shame. I loved my parents, but I didn’t show it. I knew I didn’t show it. They were assholes to me a lot of the time, especially my father. Somehow though, as Gerard talked, I managed to find some small pinhole size of respect for that man. I had always loved him; I was just born to love him, like he was supposed to love me. On the other hand, respect was a different matter. I never used to respect him, especially after all the shit he had said to me. Right in that moment, however, I could see why he had said that stuff and why he acted the way he did. He was trying to protect me, trying to love me, even if it had come out in a warped manner. My respect began to grow, though it was still in its infancy. It wasn’t enough to change the world, but a change nonetheless. You can’t do it all in one giant step, anyway.

Gerard and Vivian eventually got back to their normal friendship. Gerard just had to stop being so self-involved and actually venture outside his house for more than an hour to buy wine. And when he did, he saw his best friend again, and this baby that was now attached to her hip. She was now Vivian accompanied by Cassandra, but she was Vivian nonetheless.

“I was able to have the benefits of children, without actually having them myself,” Gerard stated, smiling. “I was able to play with Cassandra, watch her grow and give her presents, but I was never around to punish her. I wasn’t around to change her diaper or make her stop crying. I was just around for the good parts. Viv sure as hell told me about the bad ones, though.” He smiled at his joke, continuing on with a serious manner. “Having Cassandra made her grow up so much. She was responsible again. Not that she hadn’t been before, but now she had to be. She had someone else depending on her for dear life, a life that she had created. I started to admire her again, like I had when I was in art school. And eventually, all good things returned to normal and she started to take her clothing off for me.”

“I definitely knew that part of the story,” I informed him, rolling my eyes. We both recalled the time I had walked in on the two during one of their art sessions. Gerard laughed really hard, pointing out to me just how horrified I had looked.

“How was I supposed to know that you guys were just drawing?” I countered, my mouth open, trying to fight the smile I had coming on for our play argument. “I thought you were making art in the other way.” I nudged him in the side, hitting a sensitive spot and sending him forward a tad.

“Ah, yes,” he nodded. “Art. They are my children now. Each one of them is my own creation, just like Cassandra is to Vivian. I give and give to them, and all they do is take, but that is okay in this situation. Because they give me pride and will stay on my walls forever. Kids just end up biting you back in the ass again, blaming you for all their problems when they’re teenagers.” He laughed at his joke a little too loudly, not noticing my sketchy reaction.

“Um… Gerard?” I cut in, motioning down to myself. When he realized what he had said, in context to me, it just made him laugh harder. I pretended to pout at him, which only caused him to reach down and clasp my face, pulling me closer for another kiss. I didn’t want to admit it, but it shut me up.

“I don’t need children,” he declared. “I have you to keep me young.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing,” I jested, cocking my eyebrow smugly at him.

“It can be whatever you want it to be,” he said smoothly, moving his arms over my sides seductively. He kissed me again, this time his lips moving slowly, engulfing my mouth. He flicked his tongue against my teeth, but didn’t enter when I opened further. He pulled away just as slowly, teasing me as an idea came to his head.

“I want to show you something,” he said suddenly. His previous actions had spoken of yet another round of sex, but now this rejuvenated look in his eyes made me think differently. He began to fling the covers back off of our bodies, taking my hand as he got up from the bed. I rose, gladly ready to follow. We had been sitting too long and I didn’t care what he wanted to show me, as long as I could stretch my legs.

I stumbled a bit at first, trying to catch my balance as I started to walk across the surprisingly cold hardwood floor, to wherever Gerard was heading. We burst out of his room, the afternoon sun high in the sky and flooding his apartment. He led me over to one of his book shelves, where there were stacks of paintings leaning to the side, wedged in between the mahogany frame and the wall. He let go of my hand, it dropping to my side as he crouched down and began to dig through the canvasses, occasionally shooting me gleeful grins.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, trying to see over his shoulder at each painting he took out. His bare back was blocking me even as I stood on the tips of my toes.

“The picture I painted after I saw Vivian give birth,” he stated, his body focused in on the task at hand.

Though I loved his art and wanted to see it all, I cringed at the thought of just what was going to be on that canvas. I thought back to the grade nine health video and I suddenly didn’t care how beautiful it was.

“Uh, Gerard,” I started, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “I think I’m good.”

Before he could properly respond to me, he turned around and shoved a canvas in my face. I flinched upon impact, but my curiosity forced me to open my eyes again. It was Gerard’s work after all, I told myself. How bad could it be?

I was surprised when all I came to meet up with right before my eyes was a giant flower, a vivid vibrant red in the center of a dark yellow, set against the hue of green, disguised as grass. The stem was large and thick, one leaf branching out from it. It was an absolutely striking picture, and not something that looked like birth to me at all. Not that I minded, however.

I could see Gerard’s smirk from the corner of my eye, proud that he had surprised me. He began to talk, explaining the painting of a flower and how it related to a child coming out of Vivian.

“The flower is Cassandra,” he started, his voice retaining a hint of arrogance. “The bright red is all that she is; a spark inside a flame, ready to live her life and spread everywhere. But the yellow, that’s a warm inviting color. It’s like butter. Just enough to keep you warm, but not enough to just have on its own. It needs the red there for balance.” He paused for a bit, tilting the canvas and exploring it from all angles to me, so I could understand it fully. He went on. “The stem is Vivian, supporting her child and giving everything to her, but the child is prevailing and not supporting back. There is only one leaf, because there is only one parent holding up the baby, but it’s twice as strong, twice as thick. It works just as well, maybe even better, because it does not over shadow the child.”

“But what about the grass?” I asked, after he had paused again for quite some time, making me think that he was done with the explanation.

He smiled and nodded sincerely, glad I had asked.

“That’s me. I’m not the main center of the painting. I never wanted to paint myself, but I can’t help it if I’m in the backdrop. I’m not a main part in their life, I don’t hold them up in any way. But I’m still there, chaotic and dispersed, coming when I need to, and being cut down when I don’t.”

He stood there when he was done, his hands on his round hips, tilting his head to the side as I still held the canvas in my hands. I looked at it, and back up at him a few times before I finally uttered, “It’s beautiful.”

And I wasn’t lying. I never lied to Gerard, but I sure as hell wasn’t then. I felt like beautiful wasn’t a strong enough word, if anything. The piece hadn’t been like anything Gerard had ever shown me before; well done and nice to look at, but when there was the explanation, it added so much to the art form. It was showing a birth of a child, its growing up and the people around them in one small piece of paper backed on wood. It was astonishing and even better now that it didn’t conjure up images of bloody placentas anymore.

“What else do you have behind there?” I asked, ripping my eyes away from the picture in front of me. I realized that the only art I had ever seen of Gerard’s were the ones he showed me himself, either by choice or the things he just left lying around. These ones though, they were almost hidden behind the bookshelf, not thrown away; just in hibernation for when it was their time to shine. It was time, or at least I hoped so.

A coy smile spread across Gerard’s face as he bent over to haul the rest of the works out, a pile of what looked to be at least thirty pictures, some on thick canvas or frayed paper, damaged by time. He motioned over towards the putrid orange couch where we had first started our meeting that day, and I followed close behind. He sat cross legged, the works of art displayed in his lap to himself, studying each picture carefully before he handed it to me, to be studied even more carefully.

The first few I recognized as Vivian, her hair much shorter and her body a lot thinner. I realized, from the surrounding room she was drawn in (that was one of the most striking things about Gerard’s art – his attention to detail. He wouldn’t just draw the person; he would draw them and the room they were in, not leaving a thing out from the overturned book in the corner, to the tearing wallpaper at the side. It was all there; like a description down on paper) that it was in a dorm room. It was from the days where everything was sexual and apparently, the first night Vivian had stripped for him. Though the details were there, it was a tad sloppy. Not from inexperience, he insisted, but because he wanted to finish it quickly so he could have all of Vivian to himself. He smirked while telling me this, before moving on to the next in the series.

It was still Vivian, but this time older and her hair longer, body aged, and face tired. It was the first in the pregnancy series, which only became more and more striking. Vivian truly was gorgeous when she was pregnant, and Gerard had captured the glow he raved about so well in the off-yellow hue he had used. It was the same butter principle as in the birth picture; the yellow he used was warm and secure, like the fat that clung to a body, but not enough to be just on its own. You don’t just eat butter, Gerard told me. You eat butter on bread; in sauces, soups, and meals. You can’t have butter on its own. As he droned on about the quality of the color yellow, I looked over at his door.

My handprint was in yellow. Like the endless sun, written below it in French script. I needed Gerard to be whole and that in itself was beautiful, like the poetry written under the black abyss and my hand. We could have each other, the sun making us warm and baking us in the butter quality, but we couldn’t just do that on our own. We had to be together in order for everything to make sense.

There was a painting or drawing for Vivian for each month of her pregnancy. They were all the same, except for the ever expanding belly. We didn’t spend too much time on those, having already heard the stories in my mind over and over again, so we moved on to the next set, no longer of the voluptuous mother.

A tall man was in the next set; slender and skin the color of olive oil, contrasting Gerard’s green eyes as he held it up to his face.

“If I could paint voices,” he told me, gazing at the picture to the side of himself before he passed it off to me, “then this picture would have been so much more stunning.”

I held the thin piece of paper, weighed down by paint, in my hands, staring at the man with the alluring half-smile and dark curls. This was Alexi -The Russian with the fuckable voice, only used for the fucks. He was probably in Russia now, Gerard mentioned as I gazed at the small weird building in the background.

“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the large structure with the dome and golden roof.

“Good eye,” Gerard said, smiling proudly. “It’s St. Isaac’s Cathedral. In Russia. He told me he always wanted to live in there. It’s impossible – a mere tourist attraction now – but he was determined. Alexi always got what he wanted. He’s probably in there, being the stubborn asshole he was and refusing to leave.”

I nodded, putting the painting to the side, ready to accept the other one, of a tall and skinny boy, blonde hair covering his face. His arms were stretched downward, almost as if he was hoisting himself up on something. I could barely see the expression of strain in the boy’s face for his hair was covering most of his skin, but it was present. In the background, there were little fireworks everywhere, and they always seemed to be like pupils, dilating and un-dilating in sync with the boy’s movements, though frozen on the page.

“This is Simon,” I said out loud, not waiting for Gerard to correct me if I was wrong, or explain otherwise. Still looking at the picture, I continued my ramble, glad I had figured something out. “The fireworks… whatever they may be, are Simon’s mother, catching you guys. His hair is hiding his lifestyle.”

I paused for a minute, squinting and tilting my head to try and figure out just what the fuck Simon was doing in the picture. When it hit me, my eyes widened and my mouth hung agape. I didn’t really want to say my answer, just in case it was wrong, though I knew deep down it wasn’t.

“And we’re fucking here,” Gerard cut in, saying my thoughts for me. He sat with a smug grin on his face, as he concluded. “He’s in pain. He’s in ecstasy. It was all the same for him.”

The next picture was of a man, and even without process of elimination or Gerard saying his name a few seconds after, the name was already on the tip of my tongue. It was Raymond. There were a few of him, Gerard passing them down to me one by one, each in a different era of his life. There was him, sitting behind a curator’s desk, his own art against the wall behind his back. Not only did Gerard pay great attention to real detail, but imaginary ones he cooked up himself inside his head. Anything he added to a picture that wasn’t there to begin with, had some other meaning, some other significance, and usually pointed to a hidden desire or dream waiting to get out.

The picture on the wall behind Ray was his own picture and it represented him trying to escape. He wanted out of the curator’s chair, so he could be the artist that had his work on the wall, instead of in a dirty basement. He needed security, though. He needed to know that his next paycheck would be on its way. And that was why his painting never got too far.

I had asked about Raymond’s paintings earlier during our discussion, where he had kept them, and if there were any that Gerard still held from when he tried to teach the man how to hone his ability. Gerard had informed me that Ray left all of the art he ever produced here, but it was gone now. Destroyed. When I asked why, the answer should have been obvious.

“You destroy the things you love,” he told me, and we moved on.

Never once was Gerard in the pictures, even if his presence was implied some form or another like in the flower, or in Simon’s. Ray was staring off into space in one piece, his eyes poised on a far off object. He had a beard, it growing longer and longer as it inched across his face. There were wrinkles around his eyes and he just looked tired. A small hand was reaching up from the page, latching itself onto one of Ray’s large fingers. I knew the small hand belonged to one of his children. Ray was happy, but drained. He saw something in the background he knew he wanted, but couldn’t have it. He had this child reaching out for him, and he reached back, satisfied.

We can’t have everything we want in life, Gerard had said to me before. And I had always known this fact; it was one of those everyday tidbits of knowledge that were drilled into you since you were a child and your parents wouldn’t buy you candy at the store. You don’t get everything you want. But seeing this picture, that fact seemed real; tangible. It put a face to the fact and it made it ten times as heartbreaking. I almost expected Gerard to say something, say more to explain this picture like he had with the others, but the only thing that had come out of his mouth in the past ten minutes was a simple and distant, “That’s Raymond.”

We didn’t get everything we wanted in life, that was clear from this art in front of me. Just because we didn’t get it all, didn’t mean that we couldn’t still hold onto pieces of what used to be.

When I was finally done studying the picture, I looked over to Gerard and was surprised to see an empty lap. I took in a breath, despondent that it had all passed so fast. We had gone over his history again, in a different spot, and using images this time. But there was still one thing missing from his map of lovers.

Me.

I felt my heart sink a bit, and I could feel myself getting defensive. From what I had heard Gerard talk about, we sounded like we were the best relationship so far. We had relatively no problems. We both wanted to be with each other. We both needed each other and we acknowledged that. The only problems we had to face were from others, and their conceptions on our love or whatever the fuck we had. Society was our problem, but we could shut all of them out and up with a simple closing of a door to a black room. What we did in our own home was private; no one knew and no one had to know. Gerard and I were solid; tangible.

Why wasn’t I in a painting?

I sat around for a while, playing with the frayed edges of one of the pictures before I chose to say anything. “Have you ever painted me?”

“No,” he stated firmly, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “I refuse to.”

My mouth hung open and I dropped the painting I had been touching. My voice came out thick and coarse, hitting the air like smoke. “Why?”

“I only paint things when they’re over,” Gerard explained, not taken aback by my answer. “And we’re not.”

“Oh…” I trailed off, my mouth closing and my face turning red from embarrassment. I thought for a moment, remembering something. “But you drew me? Remember? We weren’t over then…”

“Yes, but that’s drawing,” he elaborated, uncrossing his arms, opening up again. “Drawing is much different from painting. It’s more laid back. Easier. Painting is capturing emotions using color. You cannot erase. Paint itself is like blood; I bleed when I make my work. I have to. I need to. Especially when something is over.”

He leaned forward slightly, touching my bare knees with his hands and tracing small circles. We were silent for a bit, the only noise being the clanking of our ever-working brains. I had another question forming, this time, from the deep waters of my mind.

“Do you think you’ll ever have to paint me?” I asked slowly, my eyes gradually moving from my focal point on the couch to meet his again. He sighed, and moved closer to me.

“Probably,” he answered honestly, nodding his head. He continued quickly thereafter, but my heart still felt like it was tearing in two.

God, sometimes I felt sick just thinking about what would happen if this all fell apart. I didn’t know what would happen to either of us, or how exactly we would crumble. If we decided between ourselves to end, it was almost as bad as society ripping us apart. I couldn’t imagine not feeling how I did right then, and I didn’t want to picture anything else. I wanted to hold this forever; I didn’t want to have something change and screw around with my heart. What made everything worse in this whole ordeal was that something was going to fuck it up. It was a guarantee. Either we would, or society. One of them was going to get us. And it hurt to know.

“But relationships change, Frank.” His voice came into my head again quickly, directing me away from my depressive plane. ”We may still be together, but our relationship could die in another form, blooming again but never losing the passion we share between us.” He glanced down to the pile of paintings, former lovers, and bleeding souls. “Just look at Vivian’s pictures. She has several, but I still love her more than anything.”

I stared down at my legs, swallowing hard and not really saying much. I nodded weakly, unsure of what else to do. I must have looked more despondent than I was, because Gerard quickly tried to cheer me up, something he never did. If I was sad, then usually, it was too bad and I was going to stay that way. Emotions were felt for a reason, after all.

“I know it’s different because Vivian’s a woman and I’m not attracted to her anymore and that’s not same for you. Nothing is the same for you. I’ve never known what it is about you, Frank, and I still don’t know. I’m still trying to figure that out.” He gave me a quick look, removing his hand from my knee, only to motion with it, creating an aura to what he was saying. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. I really don’t. But whatever changes, I’ll paint your picture. I’ll bleed my soul for you, eventually. It’s just not the time to yet.”

I nodded, my head still down. I shifted closer to him, hoping he would get the hint and just hug me. I wanted to be hugged then; I just felt so drained. I didn’t know how he didn’t feel as drained, since he was the one telling his entire life story again and again, but he was surprisingly positive and making me feel better.

He did so much for me, I realized, and then my brain started to connect to other things. Vivian had given him company and a new outlook on life with her baby, Simon had given him the courage to break free from his shell and just be gay, Alexi had given him sex, and Ray had given him hope, love, and a person to have a relationship with. He gave so much to all of those people, and received that back in return. But something was missing, something very important and vital.

What did I do for him?

I scanned my brain, my index of memories, and came up with nothing. My heart started to beat rapidly inside my sheltered rib cage.

“Why do you keep me here?” I suddenly found myself blurting out, so fast that I put my hands over my mouth when it was done. I knew that once the question hit the air, he would answer, and I might not have gotten the response I wanted. He may even kick me out, realizing that all I did was take and take from him, like those babies he never wanted. I was a kid myself, what was he doing with me? I knew I was there by choice, but did he really choose to keep me?

He sensed the urgency in my face and voice, and sighed deeply. And finally pulled me into that hug I had been craving since I set foot inside his door. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, probably tighter than I should have. He squeezed back just as hard, stroking my hair and kissing my neck. I felt like I was going to burst inside, from the contrasting emotions fighting it out so hard inside of me, but I kept myself together. I couldn’t fall apart just then. I had no reason to.

“Because I need you, Frank,” he stated, still hugging. His words were so honest and pure, and yet I couldn’t believe them. He gave so much to me, and had so much already to give, what did he really need from me?

I shook my head into his neck, not finding proper words.

“Yes,” he insisted, feeling my disagreement. “I need you, more than you know.” He paused for a minute too long, and I thought he was going to keep going. His gaze shifted, and he opened his mouth, but closed it again. He didn’t say another word, so I did.

“But I don’t know, even now, Gerard. I see no reason for you to keep me here.” I drew in a quick breath at the end, surprised that I had actually confessed that fact. What if he really did come to terms with things, and actually break up with me this time?

His stature didn’t falter, but neither did his words. He sat like he had been before, arms crossed lazily over his chest, and his mouth spoke the same things which I had yet to comprehend.

“I need you because you need me,” he explained slowly. He did the same pausing and recollection of his thoughts, before settling on something. “That’s why I keep you here.”

“But I need you so much more,” I pronounced distinctly, hoping that maybe my point would sink in, but I would still be allowed to stay.

“How do you know that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I gawked at him, not believing a single word he was saying for the first time since I had met him.

“Not to me it isn’t, Frank. You don’t know what goes on inside my head.” He shook that head at me, widening his eyes in a plea for me to understand.

I didn’t. His words only made me more envious. Did he have to rub in the fact that I couldn’t understand what he was thinking? He always seemed to know what I was; yet another reason why I needed him more than he needed me. He knew what I was thinking before I did; I needed him to tell me what to do with that. I didn’t know him as well as he knew me. I was just sort of here, taking up space. And worst of all, I could get him in trouble. I really didn’t see how he needed an anchor to pull him down to the bottom.

“You don’t know how I think about you, how I feel about you, so there is no merit in telling me that you’re sure you need me more,” Gerard’s voice cut into me again. He was a lot more serious than before, his words coming off as a lecture, but there was a hint of desperation in the air around us. I wasn’t sure anymore if it was from me or him. “Your opinion of yourself in this situation is subjective; you can’t see what others see, and more importantly, you can’t see what goes on inside my head. Just trust me when I say that I need you, too.”

I screwed up my face as I took in a deep breath, trying to understand. I trusted Gerard, I always had. What he was saying did make sense, in logical English terms. But the real definitions didn’t always apply to the real world, especially when relationships were involved.

“But…” I started, but never got very far. Gerard hushed me quickly, pulling our bodies closer together, his arms over my shoulders. He pressed a clammy index finger to my lips, and then oh-so suavely removed it and replaced his lips on the surface. He barely kissed me before he started to talk again, our bodies closer than ever.

“There will always be someone in a relationship that likes the person more than the other. It just happens. It needs to be that way, because if both lovers loved each other with the same level of intensity, then nothing would get done. They would stay in bed all day and forget the outside world.”

He stopped there, as if hearing his own words. He looked down at me with a coy smile, kissing me again softly. The scenario he had described – forgetting the outside world for that new foreign land of the flesh of the other person – was what we did every Goddamn day we could. He began to kiss me gently, and with no tongues exchanged.

Maybe we were equal, I thought to myself. My heart didn’t shake and feel as if it was being ripped apart anymore. It just fluttered.

“Nothing in life can be a perfect balance,” Gerard started up again after the kiss, dashing and then rebuilding my thoughts. “However, when you can’t tell who the person is that feels that intense love for the person more, then that’s when you know it’s a good relationship.”

He bared his teeth at me, reassuring me and my fluttering heart as he concluded his point. I smiled back, some of the words he used rattling around in my brain. Love, in specifics. The seemingly forbidden word was now being mentioned, and though speaking in a general term and theory, I couldn’t help but relate it personally. And that’s when even more questions, and more important ones than ever, came to my head.

“Do you love me?” I asked him suddenly, so much so that I didn’t recognize my own voice as it came from my mouth. We had never expressed this sentiment, or even talked about its existence in the confines of our relationships. It shocked us both. Gerard got this flare in his eyes, I was pretty sure, before I was pulled drastically into a hug. I felt him squeeze me closer, our bodies making a suction noise as we pressed together more and more.

It was almost as if he was trying to show me his answer, words being too painful. I couldn’t tell them from a hug; I didn’t want to tell from a hug. He had given me that kind of a hug before. Not often, but it had happened a few times. I needed words. The urge for them hit me so suddenly and strongly that I just needed to know. Words validated things. I couldn’t misread words, especially if they were a simple yes or no. Gerard wouldn’t let me win the battle in saying that I needed him more. He hinted that we were equal in our longing, or at least, we couldn’t tell the other apart. But what if we weren’t even thinking the same emotion at hand? I needed to know if he loved me, loved me. The kind that long term lovers possess, the kind of love with or without sex, and the only kind that mattered.

The hug lasted too long – a rare thing in my mind – but when I wanted words, nothing was getting accomplished from deep breathing into the other’s neck, and fingernail digs into the back. After an eternity, Gerard pulled away, his eyes scanning my face.

“I don’t love,” he stated, his voice becoming his philosophical detached rambling.

“What do you do then?” I demanded quietly, wanting to know a real answer.

“I consume,” he said, his face emotionless. He had been staring off before, but as he said his lines, he looked directly at me. “Or I am consumed.”

“But what does love have to do with consumption?”

“Nothing,” he answered, scanning my face as he talked. More emotion had returned but he was still distant. Again, we met eyes as he said the word that changed it all. “And everything. That’s the whole point of consumption. It’s all or nothing.”

“But what about me?” I could feel myself getting closer to an answer. It was coming. I had to keep going.

“Everything,” was all he said before he brought his lips to mine.

The kiss was a surprise, but I kissed back nonetheless. His words were vague and airy, but as we kissed in a semi-frantic manner, our heavy emotions being washed away from our bodies, I was okay with it. I could interpret these how I wanted, just like a painting. I was almost glad he didn’t answer me, because most likely, I wouldn’t have known what to say back before he answered. I almost wanted validation for my feelings, or at least something to give a name to. If he said he loved me, I would have said it back. But now that it was left in the air, I had to decide for myself. It was a hard task. I didn’t know how to feel.

So instead, I focused on his tongue in my mouth, and consuming him whole with every action I took.

 

***

 

Night came too soon, like a child had thrown a blanket over the amber light from the sun, and blocked us from the city light. We moved from the couch to the floor, breathing and panting hard together in our act of consumption. We finally had a new word to call our sex: consumption. Whether it was love or not that I was tasting as I ran my tongue over Gerard’s skin, it was still happening and I didn’t want it to stop.

There would be moments, in the quiet times where we lay on his bed, or in the sunlight of his window when my thoughts would all crash into one point; that this could end if it were all to be found out. I had skipped the school day, undoubtedly causing suspicion. I knew we would be caught, it was just a matter of time. And perhaps that was why Gerard didn’t want to come right out and say love. If it was love that we were feeling, it would hurt so much more being torn away from us. Love was the be all and end all of everything – consumption had its extremes too, but they were different. If we were just consuming, we could find another meal. It wouldn’t be our favorite, but we could move on.

We seemed to devour each other a lot more than usual that day. I knew Gerard felt much freer and open, from the way he trailed kisses up and down me like fluttering butterfly wings. The talk had helped us and showed us what was precious and what we needed to keep in mind. We tried not to dwell on the past anymore or worry about the future with our questions. So we focused on the present, asking little trivial things that sparked bigger conversations. I asked him his favorite movie – Star Wars, surprisingly. I was expecting him to tell me of some 1940s black and white French film, and he came out with the most well known space movie ever. I was pretty sure I nearly busted a gut from laughing when he told me, until he fully explained himself.

“It’s a movie that was new; it broke boundaries and it tested people,” he spewed, a lop-sided grin on his face, trying to defend his movie choice. “It made nerds in high school have a reason to get up in the morning. It made them feel like they too could save the world and outer space while getting their own Princess Leia… or Luke Skywalker in the end.”

I still laughed at him, even if his explanation made me think. I was never into space type movies, but just hearing his description made me want to go out and rent it. It was another way of being closer to him. There was a TV in his apartment, but he had informed me it didn’t work the first day I had come around. He only kept it around to remind himself of the evils of the dreaded box.

We talked about music too, discussing preferred (he never said favorite for some reason – always preferred; I just shrugged it off as his eloquent use of language that I couldn’t understand) artists and influences, spouting random knowledge about events. We talked art and culture, politics and government, and even about sports, a subject neither of us were too familiar with. It was honestly the most fun I had had with Gerard, and every single time we were together was always amazing. This interaction was completely different. We were talking about small things, adding bigger elements to them and I was agreeing. Most of all, I was understanding and even contributing. It was like we were finally on the same level. Gerard had broken apart in front of me, willingly telling me all the harsh details about his past love life. He told me his feelings for me too, even if neither of us came out to say it directly, it still floated in the air like the cigarette smoke from the pack we both shared. He felt like he had nothing to hide now. He didn’t have to act like this well put together, cocky and arrogant artist. He could be himself with me; no barriers anymore, no hiding. We had shed another layer of intimacy, and I knew it would only keep going at this point. It always kept going. Intimacy never had an end, and honestly, I didn’t want it to. It could last forever, if it were only possible for us to last that long.

Drowsiness hit us both too soon and harshly, like the sudden night sky. It brought us back to reality, and back to the whole reason why we had started this conversation based on questions. We had been silent for a while, just lying on our backs, hands and legs intertwined, talking in small bursts when I thought of something good to say. I was asking anything by that point, including his favorite food (wine, of course, even if it was a drink), but as night cloaked us, the real purpose came back.

“Do you know what you’re going to tell people now?” Gerard asked me, referring to my prior dilemma of not knowing how to explain my presence here, at the fag artist’s house, every single day. “You certainly know how to ask the questions now,” Gerard added, chuckling slightly and rubbing my thigh.

I drew in a breath, just thinking about the subject that had evaded me this entire time. We had been so focused on getting stories out, asking poignant inquiries, and then filling our heads with mindless babble that now, the whole subject seemed too far and unimportant. I knew I would have to deal with it eventually, and I felt more confident. I felt like I could stand up to them if I needed to, because now I knew how to form the same words they were flinging at me. It was no longer a foreign language.

“Yeah,” I breathed contently. I was still unsure, but I knew the answer would come; I just couldn’t force things. I looked over at Gerard, glancing out of the window. A smile perked on my face as another pleasant fact came to my head. “If not, I have the whole weekend to think about it.”