Devon Hartford - Painless

“Tempting,” he smirked, “maybe next time? I really need to get back to work.”

“Oh wait! You haven’t seen the new lingerie I bought!” I jumped out of bed and grabbed it out of my chest of drawers. I ran into the bathroom before he could object. “It’ll only take a second for me to put it on!”

“When did you buy lingerie?” he called from the bedroom.

“Last week,” I hollered as I tried not to trip over myself while I hastily threw it on. “I went shopping with Mads.”

I walked out of the bathroom decked out in a black lace babydoll tied at the throat, black thong, and black thigh high stockings. I’d planned on saving it for a special occasion. Sparing Christos the tragedy of his missing red slash seemed as good as any.

“Holy shit!” Christos blurted. “Why didn’t you tell me you had sexy lingerie!”

The lingerie was good for another hour of love making. But I couldn’t keep Christos in our bedroom forever, as much as I wanted to.

While we showered together after sex, I considered sneaking out and calling in a bomb threat on Christos’ studio. But I was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to tell the police the bomb threat was in your own house.

I was out of options.

When Christos was dressed, he beelined for the studio. I followed him, ready for disaster. I kept an eye on my exits in case I needed to beat a hasty retreat.

He stood in front of the canvas.

Moment of truth.

If he murdered me for ruining his painting, I wouldn’t press charges. It was the least I deserved.

“You’re frowning,” I said nervously, “Why are you frowning?”

“I’m not sure,” he said absently. “Something about the painting of Sophia…”

Crap. I’d been right all along.

I’d ruined it.

Christos was going to dump me and kick me out on the street for ruining his career. I’d end up one of those broken old homeless women with leathery skin who kept all her possessions in a grocery cart. I’d tell anyone who was kind enough to give me spare change or a half eaten sandwich that I’d once been in love with the greatest artist on the planet, until I’d ruined his life and his career.

Christos picked up a brush from the work table beside his easel. “It’s not really working for me,” he said thoughtfully. “What do you think?”

I walked around and stood beside him. “Oh, no! It’s perfect! I mean, this is a work of genius! I’ve never seen anything more amazing!” Wow, were my exclamation points as obvious to him as they were to me? I figured I was four seconds away from being covered with red slashes after Christos stabbed me to death with the blunt end of a paintbrush for what I’d done. I wouldn’t put up a struggle, no matter how much it hurt. I deserved a slow painful death.

Christos set the brush down and smirked at me. “Okay, agápi mou . You can be honest with me. You don’t like it, do you?”

Did he mean the painting as it was now?

He hadn’t said anything about the red slash.

“Err, no?” I said with what I suspect was an incriminating degree of guilt. “I mean it’s really good? What’s not to like? I can’t imagine anyone not liking it? Can you?” I stopped myself before I used any more guilty question marks.

He chuckled. “Thanks, but, I don’t know. It seems lifeless to me. Like it needs something to spruce it up.”

Like a red slash?

Shit! Had I said that out loud?

Fuck!?!?!

I took a deep breath. “It’s amazing, Christos. I mean, I couldn’t paint anything this nice.”

“Thanks, agápi mou . I know it doesn’t suck, but it’s not grabbing me. There’s millions of good paintings in the world, but less than a hundred, maybe less than a dozen, that people remember. I mean, how many famous paintings can you name off the top of your head?”

“The Mona Lisa? Van Gogh’s Sunflowers? Munch’s The Scream? Monet’s Water Lilies? Dali’s Melting Clocks? Uhh…Rembrandt’s Night Watch? Uhh, I’m running out! Help me here?”

I didn’t sound nervous, did I?

“See what I mean?” he said casually, “It doesn’t take long for the average person to fall short. Most people don’t get past the Mona Lisa. Beyond that, about the only other thing people remember is Picasso’s Blue Period, because it sounds funny.”

Oh geez, he was dangerously close to putting the clues together. I needed a distraction quick! Guilty exclamation point! D’oh! I meant, d’oh. I’d already used my body to full effect in the bedroom, and it hadn’t stopped the inevitable. All I could do now was string together the first ideas that popped into my head. I said, “I know, right! A blue period? The first thing I think of when I hear ‘blue period’ is pulling my tampon out one day and it’s Cerulean blue! And that’s like, the most expensive paint of all, right? I could turn myself into a paint factory if I bled Cerulean blue! But I could only sell paint once a month because it’s such a rare color!”

What was I saying?!? I was crazy!!!

!?!?!?!?!?!

Guilt! Guilt? Guilt! I needed to have my brain removed! ASAP?

Christos chuckled, “Blue period. Have I ever told you how much I enjoy your bizarre ideas, agápi mou ?”

Bizarre was too kind a word. I giggled nervously.

He put a loving arm around my shoulders. “All this talk about blue periods has got me thinking. I need to come up with my own thing, like Picasso. Have any ideas? I bet you could think up something no one’s ever thought of.”

How about a red slash period? Oh wait! You already thought of that!?!?!?!?!

I was three seconds away from collapsing into a puddle of tears. I couldn’t take it anymore. I cracked like fine china on cement.

“I DID IT, CHRISTOS! I WIPED AWAY YOUR SLASH OF RED GENIUS YESTERDAY! I’M SO SORRY! BUT YOU WERE DRUNK! I THOUGHT IT WAS A MISTAKE! I WANTED TO CLEAN IT OFF BEFORE IT DRIED AND RUINED YOUR PAINTING!!!”

I sobbed.

He wrapped his other arm around me. “What are you talking about, agápi mou ?”

After I calmed, I looked into his loving eyes. They welcomed me with warmth and affection. I wiped tears from my cheeks and sniffled, “When I came home yesterday, you’d fallen asleep drunk. There was a big red slash of paint on the canvas. I cleaned it off, thinking you’d done it by accident, but then I thought maybe you hadn’t! Now I’ve ruined it!” I sobbed some more.

“A red slash?” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t even remember that.” His face darkened into a frown.

Oh no, this was it. This was the moment he realized what I’d done.

He smirked, “I feel like an idiot, agápi mou .”

Him?

I thought I was the idiot.

He shook his head with disgust, “I’ve been drinking so much lately I can’t even remember what I’m doing anymore.”

Hope. Maybe I hadn’t snipped off Christos’ red slash period at the bud.

“So,” I said, “you don’t think you put the red slash on the painting on purpose?”

“Are you kidding? I was probably so loaded I didn’t even know what color paint was on my brush,” he chuckled.

“So I didn’t destroy your genius?”

“My genius?”

“It was a pretty awesome red slash,” I quipped.

His face went serious and he arched an eyebrow, “Then maybe you should’ve left it alone? Sometimes genius works in mysterious ways…”

Gulp. I wondered if I could commit suicide by holding my breath until I suffocated. It was the only escape option I had while wrapped up in Christos’ arms. Tears welled in my eyes, so I buried my face in Christos’ shirt out of embarrassment and guilt.

Guilt!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!

I inhaled deeply. Christos had been drinking so much, I assumed he would smell of booze, and I was hoping I could inhale enough booze fumes to get a contact buzz and finally calm down. Nope. Apparently, he’d sweat all the alcohol out of his system during our vigorous lovemaking earlier. I would have to go back to holding my breath until I suffocated. But, after our shower, he now smelled like the sexiest man on the planet. There was no way I could hold my breath if it meant not getting to inhale more of his manliness at close range.