Turpentine & Vetiver

19. Black Paint -we suffer more in imagination than in reality-Seneca

   After their fateful encounter together in the rain, Thorn couldn't stop thinking about Inky. This was what he'd wanted for so long now, a part of his mind was still in denial; conflicted that it had even happened. He remembered the black handprint on his wall, vividly staring at her, and she did not turn away. He tried not to dwell on the darkness within his mind- including the fact he had, indeed, killed someone right before she'd come to see him. Her words were burned into his mind indelibly- of course I came back- you're haunting me now... He was the one who felt haunted; she'd left her ink handprints on his skin, transferring a part of herself- erasing the darkness from his waking thoughts and replacing it with a deeper obsession.
   No- he reminded himself- this is more than an obsession now. Ha- a psychopath in love, what a novel concept. Yet this is the truth, I've already admitted it to myself, time and time again. I love her... I just don't know how she really feels about me.  Thorn knew Inky did think about him quite often- it was evident in the last time he'd spied on her, alone in her apartment. He would have felt embarrassed if such a thing were possible. He sighed, typing the last paragraph of his research paper for the museum. Thorn hadn't seen Inky for days, and was growing restless- it was getting dark, and she wasn't in her apartment tonight. He thought he heard strange noises on the beach in the distance, but thought little of it- the Red Void had not been active for some time now. Maybe his blood sacrifice had appeased the abomination- it was about damn time.
   Thorn decided to wait for Inky at her apartment- he knew it might be slightly weird that he was basically breaking and entering- but he'd made keys to her apartment, and not had the chance yet to try them out. Locking his own office door, he left the Gallery, walking several blocks over to her apartment building. He unlocked the large metal door, slipping through unnoticed by her neighbors. Closing the heavy door behind him, he waited in the dark studio for Inky to return home.
   I don't know how I'm going to explain why I ended up in your apartment- maybe I'll just say the door was unlocked, or your landlord let me in. Oh, hey, it's me- your friendly neighborhood serial killer. He laughed humorlessly, wandering around Inky's apartment in the near-dark. She'd been working on several art pieces, he noticed- that asshole Cayson never accepted her art for a show- he saw in dismay a crumpled piece of paper that denied her a mere Artist's Night, and it filled him with a confusing rage on her behalf. Inky- your art is too good for these bastards to appreciate anyway- someday I will get you your own show, the recognition you deserve.
   Thorn thought about Inky's sad grey eyes staring at the rejection letter, and wanted to make Cayson and Elder sorry for ever sending her the damn thing. He threw the crumpled letter in the garbage, noticing Inky had taped a missing person flyer to her fridge- a grainy photo of Dani. Great- now they know she's officially missing, he thought in irritation. Inky had arranged some magnetic poetry on her refrigerator, and Thorn read the words out loud to himself- she was quite creative in an abstract and interesting way. Her poem read:

   The haze of morning 
               in low grey light
                           I step outside
the lit cigarette
     in my ink stained hand
                   my tea is half-cold
                       my mind distracted
                           once again
once more I fall
          into the void
                 sometimes at night
when the claws of insomnia
                       dig in too deep
I see your eyes
                reflected
                      in my mind
always
    watching me
          through the darkness
            you always understood
                   because like me
                   you're broken too

Thorn paused, wondering exactly what she meant to convey. Obviously the latter part of the poem was written about him- yet he still had no idea exactly how she felt.
   There was obviously something there- but whether it was serious or not, he had no way of knowing. He read the poem again, then inspected some of her artwork in the small studio area. She'd borrowed one of his shirts when she'd left, and it was hanging up on her coat hanger behind the door. He smiled; thinking that Inky definitely looked better in his clothes than he did- but also, how she looked out of them... Debating whether or not to look around her apartment more closely, Thorn stared at the sculpture of the abomination she kept shrouded in the back of the room. The thing gave him the creeps, and he turned away, suddenly intensely uncomfortable.
   Thorn didn't want Inky to have to share her space with her despised creation, and wished she could just live with him instead. He smiled at this thought; of her making tea for them every morning, wandering around half-naked in his hallway, leaving a mess of paperwork stained with ink on his desk... He picked up one of her dogeared art history books abandoned on her desk, flipping through the pages, carefully reading her notes- cursive handwriting in dark blue pen, the ink slightly smudged with her fingerprints.
   I want to set up an art show for you- maybe we can go to the museum together soon. I'm interested in actually getting to know you, Inky- and I'll try to tell you as much about myself as I'm able to. You don't need to know I'm a psychopath- but I want you to see who I am- minus all the destructive, unforgivable things I do. Thorn stared intently at her notes in the art book, memorizing all her favorite artists. She worked at the Gallery as an art restoration assistant- but he knew that she should have been promoted to a higher department position- she was good at her job, despite being one of the younger employees there. You're only 22 and you still do a better job than that bastard Cayson, he thought disgustedly, remembering how the creepy Gallery co-owner acted inappropriately toward the female employees when he was drunk at the art shows. He better not even LOOK at Inky unless he wants to die a slow, painful death, Thorn thought with murderous intent.
   It was getting late, and he wondered where Inky was- it was quite bizarre how she hadn't come home yet- she wasn't at the Gallery, either- and Thorn knew she didn't really like going to Tapestry on a busy night like tonight. He hoped everything was fine and she hadn't gotten into a bad situation- one thing about her he'd noticed was how impulsive and reckless she could be sometimes. She liked to go for late-night walks; perhaps that was what she was doing right now. He prayed that nobody would try to assault her- but knew she was a very fast runner, as well as being resourceful.
   He was getting tired of waiting for her to return- his anxiety was growing by the minute- though he had no idea how to find her. He had a bad feeling- something wasn't right, and he could sense danger in the air- like metaphorical blood in the water. Thorn stared out the window towards the beach, noticing an ominous red light in his peripheral vision. Hopefully that's not where Inky is, he thought- sensing that the Red Void was nearby. He could always tell when it was active, even if he wasn't there to witness it. A police siren wailed in the distance, the sound piercing through the still night- red and blue flashing lights were visible even from this far away.
   Thorn started to internally panic- though he sensed that Inky wasn't seriously injured, there was definitely something wrong. He waited in the darkness of the studio silently, before finally hearing the sound of the metal door sliding open again. Thorn felt useless- he knew something terrible had indeed happened to her- but wasn't willing to take the risk of showing up at the crime scene. Inky looked like she'd been through hell- her briefcase and paperwork strewn on the floor in a pile, her posture defensive and tired, blood dripping onto her floor from her hand. She looked lost, her eyes unfocused and glassy. Thorn sat at her desk in a metal chair, waiting for her to notice him- he felt if he made any sudden movements she'd panic and run.
   Inky finally stopped rummaging around her apartment for whatever it was she needed, and realized he was there, a slight look of surprise on her features. She looked both confused and relieved to see him, and he looked up at her, waiting to hear the inevitable horrors of the night's events. "I tried to get here as fast as I could," he lied- trying to think up an excuse as to how he'd ended up in her apartment. "I didn't think they would try to come back so soon." This part was the truth- after all, he thought the abomination had been satisfied with his most recent sacrifice. Inky held out her hand to him, a jagged-looking slash across her palm; blood pooling out around the injury, a bruise already starting to form.
   Oh god- what did you do? he thought, staring at her bloody hand with a horrified expression. He looked away, feeling -what- shame, guilt, anger at himself for not being there? This was new; he didn't think he was capable of feeling those kinds of emotions, either. Finally, Thorn spoke to her, voice quiet and deceptively calm. "You shouldn't have had to do that- I could have stopped them." Inky stared at him, the blood dripping down from her hand onto the floor. Thorn stood up, inspecting the cut on Inky's hand. Her blood smeared across their fingers, showing no sign of stopping.
   "I think you're going to need stitches," he said softly, holding up her hand; the moonlight shining through the window making the blood look like black ink. Thorn found a first-aid kit in Inky's desk; taking out a needle, thread, some antiseptic, and a roll of gauze. "I'm going to have to do this- it's probably going to hurt." He handed Inky a small silver flask filled with gin- "here, this will help take the edge off, just- don't watch." Thorn took her hand, carefully cleaning up most of the blood. He wondered how she'd cut herself- the edges of the wound suggested it was done with something less sharp than a blade.
   Inky drank some of the gin, her expression remaining numb and blank. He stitched close the cut on her hand, and she watched him despite his instructions to look away. It was quite strange stopping the blood instead of being the cause of it, Thorn thought. He wrapped her hand in gauze, and she hesitantly tried to move it. He grabbed her wrist so she'd stop trying to move, which would aggravate the injury. "Don't. You'll rip the stitches," he demanded. He looked at Inky, who still appeared to be slightly in shock. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked quietly. Inky slowly shook her head, her hand in his.
   "I don't remember everything. I was walking on the beach, and it just happened without warning. I just- I cut my hand- and eventually it just stopped. I felt so alone- it told me I was alone, Thorn." She sounded tired, defeated, staring down at their hands. Thorn shook his head, pulling her closer, still holding on to her wrist. You'll never be alone, not with me, he thought. "Don't believe anything it tells you," he insisted. He stood there with her, his hand on the back of her neck, and he could tell she was shaking- from fear and shock- again Thorn felt the guilty thoughts creeping back. I should have been there, Inky. The Red Void should be nowhere near you. Inky looked up at him, the mental fatigue evident in her eyes.
   "Will you stay here with me tonight?" she asked, voice sounding broken, desperate. Thorn had no intention of leaving her here by herself- the last thing he wanted was for her to feel alone, especially after the ordeal with the abomination. He truly hated himself at this moment for allowing her to deal with whatever horrible things she'd encountered- he blamed himself for everything. Even though he knew in the back of his mind that her fear was caused by his destructive actions; he leaned down to kiss her, feeling her cold hands against his back.
   In the dark glow of the moonlight, Thorn stared at Inky. She didn't look away this time- and even the times she had, it was never out of fear or disgust, only a shy self-consciousness. He wanted her to feel the same way about him that he felt about her- whenever he thought about her, the thoughts threatened to consume his mind. Thorn remembered the last time he'd been watching her- how obvious it was she'd wanted him to be there with her. Even if you don't love me, you still let me fuck you, he thought, pushing her up against the wall. Inky did not protest, instead pulling him closer. "Is this what you really want?" he found himself asking, staring at her with a look of dark intent. "I want you," Inky replied quietly, eyes meeting his in the dark room.
   Right now, Thorn wasn't concerned with how she actually felt about him- as long as she was willing, he planned to make her forget all about whatever terrible monstrosities she might have seen tonight. Her reply was all he needed to hear at the moment; the fact she wanted this to happen as much as he did was quite intoxicating. Soon, their black clothes were strewn carelessly across the floor of her studio; they were together on the layered drop-canvas sheeting- surrounded by the array of paint tubes and art supplies Inky tended to leave everywhere. She accidentally leaned on a tube of black paint, and the dark contents spilled onto the floor beneath them.
   Inky laughed quietly, collecting a handful of black paint in her uninjured hand and smearing it across his back. Thorn remembered watching her- covered in the paint, making her art- one of the first times he'd photographed her without her knowledge. Does she somehow know I've had this very image haunting my mind for so long now? Yet this reality- it was infinitely better than anything his mind had pictured- actually being here with her; despite the dark circumstances that had led to this night. Sometimes he wondered if this was just a dream that one day he'd wake up from- but she seemed so real, the feeling of her paint-covered hand so real against his skin. This is reality- don't convince yourself otherwise, he reminded himself; taking his own advice.
   Thorn stared down at Inky, slowly tracing a line of black paint over her collarbone and down her shoulder. Though his mind was racing, filled with conflicting emotions, his expression remained serious and focused. Her apartment was much too hot- and he was grateful they were only wearing the layer of dark paint right now. Inky pulled him closer, leaving more black paint handprints on his skin. He held her wrists carefully with one hand, trying to avoid touching her injured hand- the white gauze already stained with black paint. At this moment, being here with Inky- the world could end around them and he wouldn't give a damn. Even if the abomination came back to finish the job it had started- at least they would be together. Thorn traced paint sigils across her pale skin- strange symbols and runes he'd seen before but could not remember where. In an art history book, perhaps. He remembered the various symbols for protection against harm and evil spirits- so he carefully recreated those symbols on her skin as well.
   The whole room was a mess- an OCD nightmare- there were black paint handprints all over the floor, traces of blood mixed in with the art supplies- but this time, Thorn didn't seem to mind, ignoring what would normally annoy him or cause him unnecessary anxiety. The time he spent with Inky was all that mattered, and he enjoyed the fact that he'd contributed to the black paint mess all over the studio- the chaotic nature of what was transpiring was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Inky's eyes were closed, and she seemed to be quite enjoying the way he was touching her- there were paint handprints and symbols covering a great deal of her body now. I really wish I had my camera, he thought, staring at her in fascination. No, he reminded himself; stop staring, you don't need to record proof this actually happened. You're here with her right now.
   It was difficult for Thorn to look away from her- lying on the paint-covered floor below him, she herself covered in black paint- Inky was a work of art in her own right. He wanted her to understand this- that there was no need for her to be self-conscious, especially around him. Perhaps someday he would show her the photographs he'd taken of her- though it was intensely personal; as well as violation of her privacy. She opened her eyes, staring up at him shyly, grey eyes shining through the darkness surrounding them.
   Thorn saw himself reflected back- his own face seeming unfamiliar in her eyes. The only mirror I haven't wanted to break, he thought. Inky pulled one hand free from his hold on her wrists, running her fingertips softly over the side of his face. Thorn stared back at her through the dark, thoughts dissolving as she whispered his name.