Not five feet away from us, another canvas lies on the floor, a real one. She puts them there so she can work in a comfortable position, reclining over them, and because it ensures she won’t forget to finish the piece—you can’t abandon what’s right under your feet. Except she has abandoned it this evening, forsaken it for me. For my body spread out on this sheet, my legs parting, lifting the sex I can’t help but push up, offering to her brush though I know that’s not what she will take it with. My heaving sides and thrown-back head, my hair growing matted with paint. My silent straining when motion and color have taken all my words.
She creates the kind of thing that belongs in galleries, museums, something for the ages. But today, she creates me. With paint that will be washed away in an hour and which I will demand—not forever, I’m not yet ready to admit that—but again, again, and again.
Promises by Daunte Love
Panicked, Jamal attempted to rise but found both hands bound. His head, legs and shoulder ached. He squinted through the darkness but couldn’t make out where he was. The smell of something sweet let him know where he wasn’t. He adjusted, feeling the softness of the bed beneath him. Resting his head on the pillow, Jamal felt himself slipping back into a slumber but a noise in another room brought him back.
“Anybody there?”
Moments later, a man entered with a bowl and glass of water.
“Finally up, I see.”
Jamal sat up as much as he could with the restraints. “Can you take these off?”
“No.” The man set the dishes on a bedside table.
“Why not?”
“According to the news, you’re armed and dangerous, Mr. Johnson.”
“I made the news?”
“You and your two friends.”
“They’re not…”
The man cut him off. “Hungry?”
“Very.”
“I made oatmeal.”
Jamal winced.
“What’s wrong?”
“My shoulder.”
Unbuttoning the oversized shirt, the man pulled it away from Jamal’s body. “Which one?”
Painfully, Jamal lifted his right shoulder. Inspecting it, the man determined it was only bruised. He adjusted the pillows behind Jamal and asked if he was comfortable.
“Yes. Thank you, sir.”
“Santiago.”
“Thank you, Mr. Santiago.”
“Just Santiago.”
Santiago pulled up a chair and grabbed the bowl. Silently, Santiago fed Jamal. Afterwards he gave Jamal the water. Jamal thanked him and asked for a second glass. When Santiago returned, Jamal had his eyes closed again.
“Do you remember anything from last night?”
Jamal’s eyes popped open as he sat up to drink the water. “Bits and pieces, we decided to split up in the woods. I thought to hitchhike…”
Santiago set the glass down and returned to the chair. “Anything else?”
