BloodCon by S. Coop

Author:S. Coop [Coop, S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-02-23T07:00:00+00:00

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The next evening Lasandro felt well rested because he was finally able to put his concerns on hold long enough to get some shut-eye. He figured he had been “dead to the world” for far too long, and decided to put the home’s art room to use. Painting had always put him at ease in the past, so he set up an easel and went to work. As a product of the state, he was bounced from foster home to foster home, and learning how to paint was one good thing he managed to learn in the process. He thought back to one foster home in particular and smiled.

Good times …

Gabriel and Celeste Wenford were by far the best foster parents he had ever had, not because they doted on him, but because they were real. Lasandro was about twelve years old and much too jaded for his age. Fakes and phonies had already tossed him around like a ragdoll. The Wenford’s were a breath of fresh air and took him as a gesture of goodwill. Gabriel, a playboy and a starving artist, would paint by day and frequent bars by night. He called it “looking for inspiration,” although Celeste, a trust fund baby who was usually so doped up on Valium that she stayed in her room listening to music, would say otherwise.

They didn’t prepare meals and pretend to be a family, although there was plenty of food in the home. Lasandro had everything any twelve-year-old would need, except attention. He was okay with that, because he was used to doing his own thing anyway. He skipped school a lot to go see what Derrick and the guys were up to.

One night Gabriel called Lasandro to his art room. Lasandro had never been in there before. The room was astonishing and not in a good way. It was a disaster filled with crumpled papers and half-used canvases. The Cure’s “Love Song” blared from the stereo.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Gabriel said while slicking back his dirty blond hair. He found an unused canvas and plopped it on one of the three easels lined up in the center of the room. “Today, you will learn to paint.” Gabriel pointed to a naked woman resting on a brown leather chaise near the wall.

The woman giggled and waved at Lasandro with one hand while clasping a brandy-filled chalice in the other. He could see that she had no qualms about being naked in front of him. He could understand why. She had a beautiful figure. She had perky breasts and was waxed from head to toe. Her long black curly hair stopped just short of the jaunty peaks.

“The perfect specimen,” Gabriel touted as he squeezed various oil paints onto a tattered palette. He handed Lasandro a paintbrush, and the lesson began.

Gabriel realized that Lasandro was a natural, and over the next month, Lasandro feigned a stomachache so that he could miss school and paint instead. The Wenfords didn’t much care. He remembered Celeste saying that painting “soothed his soul” and would cure him of any ailment.

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