Relations on Canvas

Chapter Four.

25 Days.

    Lining the various colors of pills on the countertop, I leaned against the sink as I listened to the music coming from the bedroom, filling my glass with water as I placed the first two bitter capsules on my tongue, and I shook my head to power through the taste. "Let me know when you're ready!" Calling out to Elia, I finished off the sixth, setting the bottles in order in the mirror cabinet.

"Listo!" It took a moment, but eventually he answered. And I opened the door to see Elia comfortably sprawled across the lounge chair he brought with him, silk fabric, messily covering his lap and his head, falling back; only lifting it to look at me.

It was quite the body he had... But I didn't so much mind the nudity of it, rather, that the last time I'd even seen him shirtless he was nearly 13... "You look perfect." As requested a few days prior, I ignored the scars that littered his physique, walking past him to collect my canvas and easel. "Make sure you're in a position comfortable enough to remain in for a few hours, yeah?"

"Of course." I looked back as Elia took a deep breath, turning his back to me and keeping the silk in place around his waist, his back, curving at a perfect angle.

"It's quite the renaissance you have in mind." I chuckled, dragging the canvas in front of him. I was grateful to have such a spacious studio, but it being an open room beside my bedroom, I didn't escape the smell of paint even when I was sleeping. "Here- do you mind?" I stepped forward to adjust his arms where I thought they showed best on canvas.

"Not at all. I'm at your mercy," I tried to ignore his grin, being as gentle as possible when it came to laying hands on his arms.

"You're a natural, as I would imagine, I remember you mentioning how you model for colleges. But I rarely have painted men recently. I used to very often, but now, I'm a bit rusty." I smiled, going back to my set up. I couldn't count on ten hands how many times I'd painted his face to try and not forget it... Sketches, watercolor, chalk and ballpoint, I'd done it all...

"Oh, I'm sure you will do great, Mary. I like to think I'm easy to draw." Elia turned his head to me with a slight smile and I returned the gesture with a nod. 

"Don't be so ridiculous, you're an artform as a whole, drawing you won't be easy, but certainly rewarding. I do have a question, however." I didn't want to seem rude...

"Go on?" At his raised brow, I only grew to be more nervous.

"I won't mention it past this, but would you like me to include your...patterns?" I wanted to cry at just the sight of so many scars, but I stopped myself. It wouldn't make sense for a stranger with no idea of his background to be so emotional towards them. But I fought nausea to not hate his parents.

"Ah, yes. Please, I'm trying to accept that they won't go away without a hella expensive surgery." He nodded and I let out a relieved breath that he sounded at least okay.

"Perfect! I'll get started then. Please let me know if I can get you anything. Obviously this won't be done in a day, but I'll do my best to not take forever." I reached for my camera, looking past the easel to take a photo in case he moved.

"Don't worry. I can wait years for art." Elia chuckled, and I didn't mind when he relaxed into his pose as I used the photo reference more literally. 

"You're pretty wholesome when you say stuff like that, Elia." I brought my pencil up, glancing over at him as I began. "And if you mind the smell, let me know and I'll open the window."

"Not at all. It's a bit nostalgic." Of course it was...

Cheap paints that neighbors had gifted me when I was sick, pieces of paper that tore under the littlest bit of water, sketches, all dedicated to Elia.