The Colors Between Us

by Kate Hawthorne

  Donny came to the front door of Roland’s penthouse and found it open. Pete was dangerously close to making a break for it, but Donny scooped him up on his way inside and closed the door behind him. Pete’s water bowl had been knocked over and there was a puddle of water in front of the fridge, the doors of which were open.

  “Roland?” Donny called out, carefully placing Pete on the back of the couch and petting down his back before making his way further into the house. Donny heard noises coming from the studio, so he went that way. The door was open and Roland was indeed inside.

  “Roland?” Donny asked again, this time from the doorway, with his voice quieter. Roland was behind an easel, partially obscured from Donny, but his head snapped up at the sound of Donny’s voice. Roland was a mess. His cheeks were tear streaked and he had smears of black paint across his face. He’d taken off his blazer and had more black paint down the side of his white shirt in the shape of his fingers, like he’d tried to wipe his hand clean and failed.

  Roland’s mouth tipped up in a snarl. “Why are you here?”

  Donny stepped back, shocked. “What do you mean, why am I here? You took off without a word. Gabriel said you looked upset, and you weren’t answering my calls or texts. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  Roland slammed his hand into the canvas in front of him which sent it toppling to the ground, taking the easel with it. The bang of wood against the floor ricocheted through the mostly empty room, and Donny flinched.

  “What is your problem?” Donny stepped back into the room. He dared a glance down at the canvas Roland had pushed over and found it to be a vase of flowers. Or, it had been a vase of flowers. It looked as though Roland had squirted black paint directly onto the canvas then smeared it around with his hand, which would explain the streaks on his face and his shirt.

  “What is your problem?” Roland mocked him.

  Donny realized now that something must have set Roland off at the party. He hadn’t had a bad day in a while, and Donny hadn’t ever seen him this destructive before, but he recognized the self-sabotage for what it was.

  “Why are you destroying things, Roland?” Donny’s hair fell into his eyes and he left it, hoping it would obscure the mix of emotions that were playing across his face.

  “It’s what I fucking do. Or did you not listen when I told you that before?” Roland stalked past him and banged around in the kitchen before coming back with a knife.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Donny’s voice was loud, and he couldn’t mask the tremor.

  Roland raised the hand holding the steak knife into the air and brought it down in the corner of the canvas. He tore it free and stabbed the flowers again, and again, and again.

  “Roland!” Donny yelled, hoping anger would mask how scared he felt. He wrapped his arms around himself to try and hold his heart inside his chest.

  Roland stabbed the canvas again, then looked up and Donny and threw the knife against the wall behind him. It clattered against the drywall before it fell to the floor.

  “Happy fucking birthday, Adonis,” he kicked the canvas across the room toward Donny.

  “What did I fucking do to deserve this, Roland?” Donny leaned down and picked the canvas up, then set it aside against the wall. He held his hands up in the sign of surrender and took another step closer to Roland.

  “Did you ever really want to be in a relationship with me?” Roland spat.

  “Of course I did. I wouldn’t have even brought it up if I didn’t. What is going on with you tonight?” Donny was so far beyond being able to handle Roland with kid gloves right now. He’d never seen Roland this distressed, and he wasn’t entirely confident he wouldn’t go for the knife again. Donny could see the tension in Roland’s entire body as he stalked back and forth across the studio space, kicking things over and away as he went.

  “Did. I knew it.” Roland nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets as he stopped walking and turned his back to Donny.

  “Did what?” Donny took another step in the room.

  “Did want to be with me. You don’t anymore. I don’t blame you.” He turned to glare at Donny. “I told you this would happen.” Roland bit out a self-deprecating laugh that made Donny cringe. It sounded far worse to his ears than nails on a chalkboard.

  “What? I did. I do.” Donny’s eyes began to sting with the threat of tears. He couldn’t make sense of what was wrong with Roland. He didn’t know what Roland needed from him.

  “I’m not good for you,” Roland said, and his voice sounded accusatory, like it was somehow Donny’s fault that Roland found himself lacking. He scrubbed his hands down his face, then twined his fingers into his hair and pulled it back. It smeared more paint, leaving a large portion of his face obscured with the dark color that trailed into his hair.

  “I told you before, you don’t get to decide that for me.” Donny had reached Roland, and he stretched a hand out and pressed it softly to Roland’s chest. He could feel Roland’s heart slam against his ribcage like it was desperate to either explode or escape.

  “Then I’m deciding it for me!” Roland yelled at him. “Do I not fucking matter? Do you have any fucking idea what it feels like to know I’ll never be good enough for the man I fucking love?”

  Roland swatted his hand away. Donny put it back, grabbing the fabric of Roland’s shirt in his hand and pulling him closer. Roland had tears falling freely down his face, streaking the paint and clumping his lashes. Donny raised his free hand and wiped them clean from Roland’s cheeks as he felt his own eyes fill from the same heartbreak.

  “You love me?” Donny asked quietly, releasing his grip on Roland’s shirt and stepping back half a pace.

  “It doesn’t mean anything now.” Roland’s hair fell into his face and he pushed it aside, again turning his back on Donny.

  He placed both hands delicately against the small of Roland’s back.

  “It means everything,” was Donny’s honest reply.

  Roland stepped away from him and crossed the room, tucking himself into the corner near where Donny had propped the flower painting. Roland raised his hand to his mouth and bit at the side of his thumbnail, his demeanor shifting from pure rage to a terrified kind of nervousness.

  “Did you paint that for me?” Donny gestured to the canvas.

  Roland nodded.

  “Are those daisies?” Donny crossed the room and stood nearer to the painting, nearer to Roland.

  “They were,” he admitted.

  “Why did you ruin it?” Donny squatted down to take a closer look at the canvas. He could make out some white daisies, and pink and orange flowers underneath the angry smears of black.

  “It wasn’t good enough for you.” Roland slid down the wall and wrapped his arms around his calves.

  Donny was sure Roland was talking about more than the painting by now. “That’s not something for you to decide, I told you.”

  Roland pushed up from the floor and grabbed the canvas and threw it across the room.

  “Yeah, you told me. I don’t get to fucking decide. And that’s bullshit. I do get to decide. And this is me deciding.”

  “What are you deciding?” Donny swallowed thickly then swiped at his cheeks, which were already damp from his tears. He had a feeling about what was coming, and he didn’t think he could talk Roland down from it.

  “What I’ve been trying to tell you all along!” Roland paced across the room and kicked the canvas into the wall, then kicked it repeatedly until the wood frame splintered. “I’m not good enough for you, and no matter what you try to do, I won’t ever be. And it’s just too much to try and pretend I ever could be. It’s not fair for you to ask that of me. It’s not fair!” His voice cracked.

  “You don’t need to pretend! You are enough as you are now! Why don’t you fucking get that?” Donny approached Roland and grabbed his face, maneuvering him until they were staring, two pairs of swollen red eyes, desperate for the other. “You are all I want, all I need.”

&nb
sp; Roland screwed his eyes shut and Donny watched tears fall down Roland’s cheeks at a quickening pace.

  “You said you loved me. Just tell me you love me. We can fix this, okay?” Donny begged. Roland shook his head, pulled out of Donny’s hands and stepped back. Donny dropped his hands and closed his eyes, biting his lip between his teeth.

  “You need to go,” Roland said, his voice laced with hurt.

  Donny shook his head.

  “Go back to your party and get a date with that guy with the tattoos. There’s people better than me for you. We both know it.” Donny felt the contempt in Roland’s words wash over him.

  “I don’t want anyone else. I’ve told you that.”

  Roland looked at Donny and shook his head.

  “I just want you,” Donny choked out.

  “And I’m telling you that you need to leave.” Roland sniffed and directed his attention to the wall.

  Donny felt like Roland had just reached into his chest and ripped his heart out. He’d always told Roland he would decide when it was too much for him, and right now, Donny felt like his entire body would collapse under the weight of Roland’s rejection.

  Maybe this moment here is finally too much.

  His mouth parted and he looked up at Roland with watery eyes. His chin quivered and he couldn’t control it.

  “Roland,” he pleaded.

  “Get out! Just fucking go! Stop making this so hard,” Roland yelled, his voice crumbling on the last word.

  Donny sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit it until he tasted blood. He nodded slightly, then stepped backward until he was out of the studio. In the living room, he did his best to contain a strangled cry as he picked Pete up and tucked him carefully under his arm.

  He rode the elevator down to the lobby and called a car to take him home. He managed to contain himself the entire ride, chewing away at his lip and swallowing the coppery blood while he focused on the way Pete’s fur felt under his fingers.

  When the car pulled up to his house, Athena was sitting on his front porch.

  “Where did you fucking take off to during your own birthday party?” she shouted at him when he got out of the car. He dropped his head and walked to his front door, trying to push past her, but she grabbed his arm and spun him in her direction.

  “Adonis. What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice much softer and more concerned. Donny looked up at this sister, not even minding her use of his name. He couldn’t hold himself together one second longer. He let out a half-sob and collapsed into her waiting arms.

  Chapter 25

  There Is Nothing That Can Stop Me

  Roland had destroyed everything.

  It had been three days since Donny walked out. Or rather, three days since Roland had thrown him out.

  You can sulk, and yell, and throw things, you can even close your eyes when I come inside you, but the next time you throw me out of your house will be the last.

  Donny’s words from the beginning of their relationship bounced around in his head painfully, like jagged rocks. Roland may have overreacted, but the truth of what he meant and what he said was still irrefutable. Donny deserved someone better than him. Someone who wasn’t at constant war with himself the way Roland was. The fact that Roland was ready to be a better person had no bearing on the situation at all.

  He’d texted and called Donny and was met with silence. He’d gone by Donny’s house and banged on the door until the neighbors threatened to call the cops, but no one let him in.

  Last night he’d even had a fleeting thought about Cody. If Roland had only known that staying on his medication would make no difference, he could have told Cody—you can stay with me, because I’ll be this way no matter what. There is nothing that can stop me from destroying the best parts of my life.

  In the past two days, he’d barely left his studio. He hadn’t changed clothes, he hadn’t showered, he wasn’t even sure he’d eaten. He’d drank though, two-drink-or-less rule be damned. But most importantly, he’d continued to take his medication.

  Today was day three, and just as he swallowed his tiny pill with a big swig of vodka, his phone rang. His heart jumped in his chest. Donny, a hopeful voice inside his heart said before his brain promptly laughed until it drowned the thought.

  Roland glanced at the screen and accepted the call.

  “Hello?” His words sounded slurred and scratchy, even to his own ears.

  “Mr. Wilson?” a peppy female voice questioned.

  Roland chuckled. “Sure.”

  “Hi. This is Kathryn from Gallery 17. How are you?”

  Shit. Kathryn was the name of the assistant curator at the gallery he was supposed to be showing at this weekend. The owner had been so excited, talking about all the acclaim they’d receive by showcasing new pieces from the one and only Roland Wilson, but Roland wasn’t sure what he had was up to par.

  “Yes,” Roland said, taking another drink.

  “Yes? Okay, well, we were just calling to confirm everything was set for this Saturday. Do you have a final piece count yet? I was told it would be at least four, but you’d indicated there may be more.”

  Roland had planned to ask Donny if he could hang the birthday flowers in the show, but now Donny wasn’t here to ask and the birthday flowers were destroyed, so it was a non-issue. He glanced across the room at the four canvases which he’d packaged up before Donny’s birthday and safely tucked in the corner. They’d been spared his rage, if for no other reason he hadn’t been sober enough to get them open.

  “Four,” Roland told her. “Possibly five or six.”

  Roland couldn’t recall the coloring he’d used on the sunrises. It felt like they were something he’d painted a lifetime ago. He was concerned they weren’t as good as Donny had led him to believe. So, the showing could go one of two ways— really well or spectacularly catastrophic. Maybe people would see him for the hack he'd been the past ten years and this would be his last opportunity to share his vision with the world. Then everyone would leave him alone— the final nail in the coffin, and he could just live on his savings until it was gone.

  The idea of this weekend being his last gallery showing, surprisingly, settled like a brick in his gut. He didn’t want this week to be the end of everything. Bearing the weight of Donny’s absence was already more than he could manage.

  Then show them who you are his heart whispered.

  “That’s great. We’ll have room. Can you have them here Friday night so we have time to hang them, please?” Kathryn was extremely cheerful.

  “That’s fine.”

  “Great! We’re so looking forward to the event, Mr. Wilson. Please call if you have any questions.”

  “Will do. Bye.” Roland hung up the call before Kathryn could respond. Once the screen returned to normal, he pulled up the app for Frank’s Delivery to order some new art supplies. He didn’t have much time before the weekend, but he felt a familiar spark of inspiration curl around his heart and he refused to silence it again. He tapped out his order, and not so secretly hoped Donny would be the driver. That he could see him again, even for a moment, to try and explain. He dropped his phone to the floor and banged his head against the wall. He slid his knees up, and rested his forehead against them, waiting for the delivery to arrive.

  A decent amount of vodka later, there was a knock at the door. Roland stood, grabbing his phone, and stumbled into the living room, smoothing his hair behind his ears before cracking the door open and peeking out. It wasn’t Donny. Just a kid with unremarkable brown hair and uninspiring brown eyes. Roland glared at him, as if it was his fault that Roland was in the situation he was now in.

  “Where’s Donny?” Roland asked him while he signed the kid’s clipboard.

  “Dunno, man. Haven’t seen him in a couple days.”

  “Oh.” Roland thrust the clipboard back at the kid and slammed the door closed in his face. He looked down and cupped his fingers together behind his neck, taking a deep breath. He dug his pho
ne out of his pocket to send a text to Donny.

  Roland: It’s been three days, and I still miss you.

  As with the previous messages, it went unanswered.

  Roland set the new canvases up in his studio and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard it looked like fireworks behind his eyelids. He dropped his hands and stepped backward, out of the studio. He went to his bathroom, turned the shower on, and stripped his clothes off. When steam was billowing out of the shower, Roland stepped inside. The hot water immediately turned his skin red and he didn’t shy away from the sting. He washed his hair and washed himself.

  He wrapped a soapy hand around the base of his cock and gave a few experimental strokes. He hardened under the touch, the pressure quickly building inside his balls after days of being ignored. Roland braced a hand against the wall of the shower and jerked his cock with short, rough tugs until he came in a gush that promptly washed down the drain.

  His orgasm felt empty.

  He washed himself again and then turned the shower off, stepping out to towel dry. Wiping a hand across the mirror to clear the steam, he was taken aback by the man reflected— sunken eyes, and four days’ worth of facial hair curled out from his cheeks. He scrubbed his hands over his face and shoved them into his hair, pulling violently at the roots. He screwed his eyes shut and screamed. Roland yelled at the top of his lungs, a cry so furious it shook his entire body. He braced himself against the edge of the sink, chest heaving while he tried to catch his breath.

  This life wasn’t fair. To exist the way he did and always be at war with his own mind was a cruel joke played on him by some malevolent god somewhere. He just wanted to paint. He wanted to be healthy. He wanted to be good enough for Donny to give him another chance. He wanted to stop fucking everything up. He wanted to have something good of his own for once. His mind flicked back to Cody and he startled as a long missing puzzle piece clicked into place. He’d backed Cody into a corner that day, and like a skittish horse, Cody had reacted by bucking up and bolting. Roland’s denial of how serious his depression could be had made their relationship toxic, and he’d made the same mistake again with Donny.