Walking the Gallows ✔️

Chapter 2

As fate would have it, Andy's miserable morning turned into a pleasant afternoon. He walked home to find Vin sleeping in his own bed for the first time in a long while. He had scrubbed himself clean and smelt a lot less vulgar. He even took the time to clean the dirt off his knuckles that were starting to cake into his nail when he scratched it. It was almost as if he wanted to be sober, but it was only a matter of time before he would be found again with a bottle in his greasy hands.

The house smelled as if it had been infested with skunks and garbage. Even then it would smell a lot less like stomach acid. The windows he had opened before he left had remained open but had only slightly diminished the odor even though he had cleaned off the vomit on the table. Either the smell was permanent, or it had leeched itself into the carpet.

He contemplated cleaning everything all over again, as he had done almost every month when Vin had a relapse back into sobriety. When reality would hit him again was a mystery, but when it did, Andy's cleaning would always be for naught and he would have to start all over again. He instead wrote a note and pegged it to the fridge with a magnet.

Vin, tidy up after yourself. Order something for dinner ~ Andy

Days to weeks went by where the siblings didn't speak to each other. Most communication happened through fridge messages. Any time Andy would call from out of the house, his brother was often too drunk to answer the phone. There wasn't usually much to say. Silence was their language and at times, it seemed like the quiet was best.

Ever since a young age they had been different. "Chalk and cheese" as their mother would say. They liked different things and different types of people. Their taste in music couldn't be anymore unalike. The brothers contrasted each other more than black and white. This was even the case while receiving their father's bloody beatings. Vin would fight back, usually resulting in a worse beating, while Andy stayed still and quiet. Most of the time it would end a lot sooner.

Andy contemplated revisiting the garden but instead decided on visiting the second love of his life. He walked into the room just beside his own to find everything just the way he had left it. His easel in the center of the room, his brushes and paint palette on the small coffee table in the corner. His finished projects were against the walls of the small square space. The scent of oil and acrylic paint wafted into his nostrils and an urge overcame him. It was a lustful feeling and it was all-consuming. A deep passion to create burned like a flame within him.

He dropped his jacket to the floor and readied his supplies before painting over the virgin white canvas. Splashes of deep colors started to form an image slowly. Stroke by stroke something began to fashion itself from his mind. A nude woman was born on the canvas. Her body was slender and elegant. She displayed a modesty as she hid half her naked self behind a long linen cloth. It draped over her shoulder, covering one of her breasts and parts of her stomach and legs. A subtle rose color in her cheek formed. He imagined her to be shy, yet brave enough to be so exposed.

It was a very raw portrait. It was not yet detailed with shadows and shading. He hadn't begun to lay some of the imperfections such as birthmarks or freckles that he planned to but he had been in his studio for hours now.

Though he knew how unacceptable it was, he left his paintbrushes in his jar of warm water and left to check on Vin. Andy found the "spew-table" where it belonged in the kitchen. Resting on its surface was a pizza box with three pieces still remaining inside. After such a long day, he was thankful for the offering.

He grabbed the entire box and took it to the living room. They weren't rich enough to own a television so most nights his entertainment would be the radio. He kept it at a low volume just in case it woke Vin from his slumber. There weren't too many stations on at night, mostly just the news broadcasting station. Static from the box sounded louder than its contents until he found it. The jazz station.