Paint Me, Jonathan (BXB)

009- The Auction Offer

|009|The Auction Offer

The moment Azrael told me about the email, a sharp knot tightened in my stomach. It was supposed to be good news—no, it should have been great news.

A wealthy art dealer, a name known in the world of collectors and exhibitions, had expressed interest in my next series. This could mean financial security, recognition, the revival of Azrael’s gallery, and, if we were lucky, maybe even more opportunities down the line. Pero hindi 'yun gano'n kadali gawin. It's a lot of pressure for me and Azrael.

Umalis si Azrael sa tabi ko at saka umupo paharap sa akin. Nag-iiscroll pa rin siya sa details ng email ni Master Huang habang nakakunot ang noo. Sa tinagal-tagal ko nang kilala siya, alam ko kung kailan may mali sa mga kinikilos niya.

It's his eyes. They were betraying him.

Tumingin siya sa akin, kitang-kita sa mga mata niya na na-e-excite siya pero meron din ako doong nakikitang ibang emosyon. He's guilty of something but I couldn't quite place it.

Inabot niya sa akin ang cellphone at kinuha ko naman 'yun. Nanlaki ang mga mata ko nang mabasa ang mensahe na naka-attach sa ibaba ng email.

They didn’t just want my art. They wanted me—my illness, my vulnerability, my pain, packaged neatly into a series of paintings they could market. They wanted to exploit the one part of myself I had never fully come to terms with. My hands trembled slightly as I lowered the phone.

“The paintings must reflect your illness,” Azrael murmured, echoing the words from the email. His voice was quiet, almost as if he didn’t want to hear them himself. "Iyon ang gusto nila."

I sat back in my chair, my breath hitching as I processed the demand.

I’d been painting since I was young, long before the symptoms started, before my body betrayed me. My art had always been an escape, a way to lose myself in colors and brushstrokes when reality became too much to bear. I’d painted joy, longing, hope, and sometimes despair, but never had I thought of painting my illness. This part of my life will always been off-limits, even to myself.

“Gusto nila akong gawing katawa-tawa,” I said quietly, breaking the silence that had settled between us. “Na para bang isang biro ang sakit ko.”

Inabante ni Azrael ang kaniyang sarili sa akin, inabot ng kamay niya ang kamay ko. His fingers were warm, steady, a grounding force I wasn’t sure I deserved.

"Hindi naman 'yon sa gano'n," sabi niya, though his voice lacked conviction. “This is about your art—about giving the world a chance to see your strength. They’re interested in your story, hindi lang sa sakit mo.”

I pulled my hand away, my chest tightening. "Pero 'yon nga 'yun, Azrael. Wala silang pakialam sa istorya ko. They only care about the parts of it that sell—the parts that make them feel something. They want to exploit my pain, my vulnerability, and turn it into profit. Pero hindi ko sila hahayaan!"

The silence between us was thick with unspoken words. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he wrestled with his own thoughts.

Azrael wasn’t heartless, he understood what I was saying, but I also knew what he was thinking. His gallery was struggling. We were struggling. And this—this deal could change everything.

"Wala naman akong sinasabi na nag-a-agree ako sa kanila," he said finally, his voice low, almost apologetic. "But the money, Jonathan... it’s enough to save the gallery. We could breathe again. We could focus on the future, on creating without constantly looking over our shoulders."

Gusto ko sa kaniyang makipagtalo. Gusto kong sabihin sa kaniya na hindi matutumbasan ng pera ang integridad ko, pero masyadong komplikado ang katotohanan. The bills had been piling up, and everyday felt like a battle just to stay afloat. I’d had to cut back on supplies, choosing which canvases and paints to buy based on what we could afford, not what we needed to create.