Intaglio: The Snake and the Coins

by Danika Stone

  Cole followed Ava as she unlocked the studio door, pulling it closed behind her, and locking it again. It had become her habit in the last few days of painting him nude; Cole was glad she’d done it today, if only by routine. He didn’t know how he’d handle Chambers wandering in off the street this morning, wanting to talk to her. Things might get really bad.

  Ava was quiet and pensive as they walked up the narrow stairs to her studio. Cole followed the curve of her hips, fighting the urge to touch her as they ascended. He shoved his fingers deep in his pockets, dropping his eyes to the dusty floor, forcing his rebellious body to comply. Ava pushed open the door to her studio, stepping out of the way and letting him in.

  Cole went motionless.

  On the wall was a portrait of Ava… so full of anger, it unnerved him. Her face was etched in a series of slashes, white against livid purple shadows. There was a smear of blood-red lips, blue shadows seeping into the undertones of her skin. Her expression was furious. Cole stumbled closer, panting as the rest of the image came into focus.

  She wore a grey cloak that swirled as she barrelled forward, confronting the viewer. The cloth rippled in broad, rough swaths of colour – barely rendered – but they clashed with violence. It reminded Cole of being on the ocean during a storm, the death grip a wave could give a boat, tearing it out of control, destroying it in a whim. The female figure was cloaked in this destruction – waves of homespun fabric swirling around her face, white caps lining the threadbare hem, deep hollows of inky shadows and crested peaks forming the shape of her body. Her face, in the cowl, was seconds from disappearing under the water.

  “Oh my God…” Cole whispered, scalp crawling.

  He tried to wrap his head around the garish painting, the secrets it held. Underneath the glare of sunshine, images and shapes emerged, smears of pigment and words hinting at another story entirely. In the image, her face was wild and angry, tears running down her cheeks. Cole wasn’t sure how he knew, but this painting was a confrontation to him. He could almost feel himself standing behind her, wobbling in place.

  ‘Watching her leave me behind…’

  Cole’s footsteps echoed in the studio as he moved, dreamlike, toward the makeshift canvas. It was raw fabric stapled directly to the wall – but that felt more fitting in its dishabille than any stretched and gessoed board would ever have been. How could anything else have captured this explosion of fury? His chest constricted as Cole began to pick up bits and pieces of words. Some were curses, seething and angry. Most were illegible, but one he could pick out.

  Kip Chambers.

  He took an involuntary step backward. If someone had asked him, a moment before, how he’d feel seeing, he would’ve answered fury… now, he was engulfed by pain at seeing his name. The painting bothered him more than he’d expected, left him unexpectedly bereft… like he’d been wondering this all along, and now he knew. ‘She’s leaving me...’ a voice inside him whispered, the words unlocking some secret in the narrative. He knew what it meant.

  Ava’d already made her choice…

  “I’ve uh… I’ve gotta go, Ava,” Cole stammered. “I… I can’t—”

  Reeling with unbridled emotions, he spun on his heel, but she stepped in front of him, blocking his way. She put her hands against his chest, holding him steady. They were both shaking.

  “Don’t go,” she whispered.

  Ava’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed; raw pain seethed under a mask of control. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, her features sharp with anxiety.

  Terrified.

  He considered pushing past her and heading down the stairs, but she was here with him... and she was asking.

  “O-okay...” he whispered. “But I need to know what… ” he said, nodding back (not even looking at it), “that means.”

  “It’s what I was feeling, last night,” she said simply. “I had to get it out.”

  “Oh.”

  Cole wasn’t sure what else to say, so he waited, reacting physically to the image behind him. It was like driving past a car accident on the highway. He knew he shouldn’t, but part of him wanted to turn around and look at it, to find more of what she’d written. He didn’t dare. Didn’t know if he could manage it. The image horrified him. She’d made a choice. ‘She’s leaving!’ his mind kept screaming.

  “I was pissed off at Kip,” Ava began, pulling him out of his rioting thoughts, “that’s why I was talking to him last night at the party...”

  She was toe-to-toe with him, hands still resting against the lapels of his jacket. (Closer than she actually needed to be to have this conversation.) Cole took slow breaths, trying to quell his panic. She was watching him, eyes bright with worry.

  “It’s… it’s okay,” Cole muttered, not knowing what he was supposed to say, but knowing he couldn’t look at THAT anymore. “Y— you can talk to whoever you want to. I get that. You’re right, Ava.”

  He closed his eyes. He could still see her running away, furious and crying. The image was sharper even than the painting, like he’d seen it somewhere.

  ‘Dreamed it before.’

  Opening his eyes, he took a ragged breath that came out as a sob.

  “Ava, I’m sorry. I’ve gotta get out of—”

  “It is okay that I was talking to Kip,” she interrupted, fingers tightening on his coat, holding him steady, a single mooring for a boat tossed on the sea, “but that’s not the only thing that was going on last night. I was, um… I was looking for trouble.” She held his eyes and Cole was terrified. “I went in to find Raya Simpson. I wanted a fight. I was just so fucking mad about the arrest.”

  That, for some reason, made total sense. Cole nodded, pulling the crumpled cheque from his pocket. He stared down at it in his fingers. It felt like a hundred years had passed since the moment in the bar. He struggled to make sense of what he was supposed to do with it.

  ‘Can’t look back! Can’t look at it!’

  “Here...” he said, pressing the paper into her hands. “Raya said to give this to you.”

  She nodded, but didn’t even look at the cheque, just dropped it onto the table next to them.

  “I went into the back room of The Crown,” Ava continued, “and I was mad, Cole... so fucking mad! I would have started a fight with her...”

  One hand dropped nervously to her hips, sitting there for a moment, then swinging out again. She was jumpy and unsettled, her body warring with unspoken emotions. “Kip saw me come in...” she said warily. “He tried to talk to me, but I was so angry, Cole... I was just yelling the whole time.”

  Cole nodded, her words slowly filtering through his panic like images in murky water. He could remember why he was angry last night... but the painting behind him scared him. In the morning light, that seemed more pressing. Everything else had faded in intensity.

  “It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s okay…”

  “When I ran into you,” Ava continued, her hands fluttering down to wrap her waist as she shifted nervously, “I’d just walked away from Kip... I had, Cole! That’s why I was running. And it just...” she sighed, closing her eyes. “It just got out of hand. Sorry.”

  Cole took the step forward and she met him halfway. Their arms lost the natural grace they’d always had, struggling to fit against one another. Her hands moved like wings over him before finally settling. Ava tucked herself around him, her arms sliding around his shoulders.

  “Sorry,” Cole repeated, his face against the curtain of her hair. He was glad that they were facing away from the canvas.

  “I’m sorry too,” he said quietly. “But I want to move past it... if we can.”

  She lifted her face, hesitant and almost shy.

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  For a moment, neither moved. They stood, arms circling one another in her studio, the balance between them shifting, but not quite tipped. Ava moved closer, lips brushing the edge of his jaw, her fingers sliding up to brush the hair at the back of his collar.


  It started out softly, their mouths careful and wary, full of unspoken pain and fears. His hands moved slowly from her shoulders to the back of her head, holding her steady as he kissed her, his tongue dipping into her mouth once, testing. Ava sighed, her hands shaking as they tangled in the fabric of his coat, dragging him forward. Desperate need began to surge under the hesitancy, each kiss bringing it closer to the surface.

  Cole moaned against her mouth, his fingers tightening as he felt her tug at the zipper of his coat. Sliding his mouth sideways, he brushed past her cheek, heading for her neck. His hands were tight, holding her arched against him as he trailed kisses down to her collarbone. He found the pulse-point and paused overtop for a moment, licking and sucking. Ava began to squirm in his arms, her fingers wheedling their way inside his coat to his shirt, then tugging frantically to get it free. Releasing her neck, he lifted his mouth to hers, kissing her again. There was no hesitancy this time.

  He pulled back to look at her, eyes dark with passion.

  “Can’t here,” he muttered in frustration.

  “Why not?”

  Ava turned away from him, striding to the door of the studio, and locking it without a second word. When she returned, she settled down on the couch, pulling off her clothes in reckless abandon. In less than a minute she lay naked atop a layer of coats and clothing, the cool air of the studio leaving her body pebbled with gooseflesh. Cole struggled with his own clothing, zippers and buttons hindered by his haste. A thousand fantasies that had sprung up when posing nude for her, were playing out in the here and now.

  Laying down atop her, Cole grinned. The sofa was short but plenty deep enough for them to move. Ava giggled and he leaned in, dropping a light kiss to her lips. She reached up to the back of the couch, pulling down a drop cloth on top of them. The fabric was stiff with paint and it ballooned and snapped like the sails of a ship in the wind. When it settled down, they were hidden underneath, cut off from the rest of the world. Ava wiggled her way into a comfortable position, her hips bouncing against his and Cole groaned in reaction..

  “God, you feel good,” she murmured, rubbing her face against the crook of his neck. “You’re so warm.”

  He brushed the hair back from her face, leaning in to kiss her again. Ava moved into the embrace, opening her lips against his. Her tongue dipped into his mouth for a moment, sweet and warm. Cole had most his weight on his elbows, but the feel of her wrapping around him – her legs sliding up to hitch around his hips – was too much. The desire was an ache, impossible to deny. He took a shuddering breath, forcing his hips to remain still while the kiss dragged on, passion coiling deep inside him, ready to release.

  “Love you,” he whispered, words strangled and hoarse.

  Ava’s eyes fluttered open, and she put her hands to the side of his face, holding him still. Cole’s heart tightened at what he saw reflected in the depths.

  “I love you too...” she said quietly. “And I don’t want you doubting that... okay?”

  He nodded, unable to talk. Seeing her like this, after everything that had happened with them, left him raw. His throat ached with unshed tears, his chest tight. He shifted his weight sideways, letting his fingers roam down her body, following the dip of her waist before pulling down to the triangle of blonde curls. The kiss deepened as Cole’s fingers began to tease. He circled in on the small nub of nerves, revelling in the feel of Ava’s legs shuddering and jerking with each motion.

  She gasped against his mouth, breaking the embrace as her head tipped back against the cushion. Fighting his own need for release, Cole’s lips moved down her neck. His teeth grazed over her skin, not biting, but testing the boundaries of pleasure and pain, leaving Ava moaning. His fingers increase their pace, dipping inside her, following the tune of her cries. His tongue circled one nipple before pulling it into his mouth to suckle greedily and the n moving to the other. Ava’s pants had grown until they were rough sobs, Cole’s body jumping in time to her sounds.

  Unable to pull Cole back up on top of her, Ava’s fingers became frantic, scoring over the skin of his back and shoulders. With a frustrated hiss, she dropped a hand down, reaching between them and taking Cole in hand. Bright flashes of light begin to pulse behind Cole’s eyelids as she began to stroke, his control wavering.

  “God, Ava, I need you,” he growled, placing one hand under a knee and pulling her wide.

  He slid forward, plunging into her in a single motion. Her arms wrapped tight over his shoulders, holding him near. Cole set a steady pace, thrusting hard in time to her cries. His arm was shaking where he was holding himself up, so he shifted sideways, the cushions giving slightly as he did. Suddenly he was grinding deep and hard against her, the sensation expanding like wildfire. Ava’s sweat-slicked body writhed beneath him, her legs wrapped tight around his pumping hips.

  “Faster,” she moaned. “Please, oh god, please Cole... keep going.”

  Her voice grew frantic as Cole struggled to comply, his body wavering on the precipice for a moment, then two, then three... holding out for the moment when she would reach the top with him. He was still thrusting hard and steady when he felt the first internal shudders as she broke around him, her body arching with release. Riding the ripples of her climax, Cole let himself be pulled under, shuddering along with her, waves of ecstasy riding over them both.

  He gasped, falling slightly to the side, their bodies still joined. The pounding of blood in his ears was the sound of the surf. They were wrapped together, the paint-flecked sheet blocking them from the rest of the world, Ava’s crumpled clothing underneath. Somewhere, it seemed, he could hear sea birds calling.

  Breath slowing, he opened his eyes to discover her watching him, bruised lips half-parted with spent desire. Spent and tired, the day’s events returned – the studio and the fight and the painting. Cole turned, catching the sight of the image scrawled on the far wall.

  With her laying warm in his arms, it was easier to see other aspects of it. The shape of men behind her, fighting – ‘me and Kip,’ his mind announced – the crowds of people turning, the whispered words, written in angry scrawls. This painting was Ava last night… but it wasn’t her this morning. She was here. She was real. She was in his arms.

  As if reading his thoughts, she spoke.

  “It’s what I have to do sometimes, when I’m too angry to deal with things on my own.” Her hands were against his bare chest, unwilling to break contact. “Just paint it out,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It’s that or go down to the train yards.”

  She raised an eyebrow, and Cole chuckled despite himself. She nuzzled closer, her breath warm against his cheek.

  “Does it help?” he asked quietly.

  Ava nodded.

  “Yeah,” she said, “it actually does.”

  Cole stared at the painting, struggling with the emotions it instilled.

  “I… I’ve destroyed more sculptures than I’ve kept,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I always regret it afterwards.”

  Ava nodded, hands reaching up to touch his chin, tugging gently until he looked away from the painting and back at her again. Her face was peaceful like the ocean after a storm, her smile leaving him aching. Cole swallowed against the knot in his throat. He felt like he’d been flayed, his body naked and bleeding. He wanted to have control, and when he let go, it scared him.

  To do this… make something like this… terrified him.

  “It’s important to have an out,” she said, her voice quiet. “One that isn’t through destruction.”

  She lifted up his hands between them. The evidence of the bar fight was still there, hands bruised and battered. She brought his hands to her mouth, kissing his knuckles.

  “Something other than fighting,” he muttered.

  Ava nodded, catching his eyes.

  “You have to find a healthy way to let it out, Cole, otherwise it’ll always be in control of you.”

  He took a shaky breath and smiled, feeling the peace of this moment wrappi
ng around the two of them. He wrapped his battered hands around her smaller ones, keeping them safe between his own. He could feel tears under the surface, though he couldn’t explain why.

  “I love you, you know that?” he whispered. (‘Should have told her that then,’ his mind echoed, but it didn’t even sound like him.)

  Ava nodded, a sobbing laugh coming from her lips.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

  Things were a long ways from perfect, but unlike her painting, they were here together... and that was better than they’d been only hours before.