Dangerous Desires [ Original 18+ ] ON HOLD

the beginning

There's nothing I love more than smearing paint across a canvas. In many ways, not only had my talent grown, but it had truly saved my life. Though I seem to be such a successful artist these days, it used to not be this way. I didn't come from a rich family, where painting was a skill taught by default. Instead, I was raised the same way a lot of others were here in America. With little to nothing to my family's name. No properties, no large sums of money. I wouldn't say we were the poorest out of our community, not by far. But it wasn't uncommon for the power to get cut off, as well as losing our access to running water. Some nights all we had to eat were bowls of chicken broth, warmed over a fire in our backyard, other nights, when the bills were paid, and the water ran, my little family sat at the dinner table to eat instead of staying by the fire to keep warm. 

My little family only consisted of three people. Myself, my mother, and my brother, James. It wasn't much, but it was family, and that's all that mattered at the end of the day. James was a lovely boy. His hair was long, dangling just past his shoulders. His eyes were a stormy blue, a color I've never seen since he passed away. It was sudden, and quick. The doctors said it was double pneumonia that took him in the end, but before that, he had fallen ill. Due to our poor living conditions, it was a mixture of black mold that made him sick in the beginning. My mother blamed herself quite often, screaming at whatever gods are out there that it should've been her instead of him. Eventually though, her time came to pass as well. 

Instead of it being pneumonia for her, it was cancer. She was diagnosed two years after my brother's death. She died nine months later with a terminal diagnosis. By the age of 16, I was completely alone. Whatever father I did have, he never showed his face. The only thing I knew about the man, was his name. Alec Parton. After my family had dissipated into nothing, I thought of tracking him down, but I never did. I didn't see the point. The family I did know, was gone, and I wasn't ready to find him, and catch up on the 15 years of my life he had been absent from. This is where my love of art began however, in my loneliness. 

Of course, in the beginning of it all, I was no better than a kindergarten student. At the time, my best piece of work was a stick figure with slightly realistic features. Eventually, though, I found my muse. I had fallen in love with painting. I painted everything I could think of. Animals, people, landscapes, sunsets. Over time, it all evolved into what my profession had become today. Not only had my skills developed but expressing my emotions on canvas had pulled me out of dark times. Today, I was a well-known artist in my area, and it wasn't uncommon for my artwork to be displayed at top tier galleries. 

Tonight, I once again found myself in front of a canvas. A mix of purples, blues, and greens dotted my pallet, with a dash of black and white on the side. This was my peace, and I made sure to indulge myself with it every chance I can. I found myself alone this evening with a glass of wine, and a plethora of ideas racing through my head. It didn't take long for me to begin making long strokes across the blank canvas. My mind felt at peace, and when that happens, anything could become a reality on blank space. 

It was the sound of the front door slamming shut however, that turned my attention away from my work, and towards the doorway. Scott entered with a loudness that often accompanied him when he returned home drunk from a night out. The scent of high-end whiskey could be smelt radiating off of him even from fifteen feet away. To me, it stinks, its nearly revolting, but I knew better than to speak out against it. Scott wasn't exactly the gentlest of men. 

He stood at 6'5" with long dark curls flowing freely from the top of his head. Not only was he tall, but he was also strong. A lot stronger than myself. You could tell by looking at him. His muscled arms looked like they wanted to burst through his suit jacket, and his pants, though they were the right size for him, seemed to hug his legs tightly no matter how much they had been stretched, showing off his massive calves. There was a certain look in his eyes as he approached that made something in my stomach churn at the sight of him. It only took him three long strides before he was standing in front of me, raking me over with his big hazel eyes. "Hello.." he spoke softly, swishing a glass of whiskey around in his hands that I hadn't seen until now. He must've taken it from whatever bar he had been at, too drunk to realize it didn't belong to him no matter if he paid for the drink or not. "I see you're doing this again." Waving towards the canvas with a slur to his words, I felt goosebumps blaze across my skin.