Sweet Boy by J. A. Hawke

Author:J. A. Hawke
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Romance, Kindle Free Program, Murder, homophobia, Small Town
ISBN: 9781501042461
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Published: 2014-09-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Sweet Boy made tea and cleaned up the pudding while I sat on the couch staring at the wall. He swept up the splintered wood, dumped it in the trash and closed the door. The lock was broken so he shoved a large overstuffed chair in front of it.

He turned on soft, quiet music and lit candles trying to make everything around me better but no matter what he did, it couldn't fill the abyss.

It was a big, black hole I'd had inside of me for a long time. I loved to paint. I loved everything about it, how smooth it went from brush to canvas and how you could mix the colors to create something new.

I had paintings everywhere in my room at the farm house. I hung them over my bed, over my desk and on all the walls. I put smaller ones above the doors. When my closet opened, in the back of it, on the wall were the more personal paintings.

I painted everything. I painted a portrait of my family; one of our dog, the horses, and the barn...I even had a painting of my father.

But the paintings in the back of the closet were the ones that got me into trouble. They were male nudes. I loved painting the male form, showing the strength in their bodies and revealing the tenderness in the expressions of their faces.

My mother found them one Sunday before we were supposed to go to church. She was looking for another shirt for me because she didn't approve of the one I was wearing. I couldn't stop her. If I protested in anyway, Dad had the way to make me quiet and obedient again.

I was told to throw the paints away. I was wasting my time and their money on something frivolous.

Sky set the tea down beside me and sat on the couch. “I didn't know you were a painter,” he said in a gentle voice. “What did you paint? People?”

“I painted the world,” I said, looking at him and smiling.

“Why did you quit?”

“I got tired of fighting with them,” I said. “First it was the paintings, and then all the questions came. Why wasn't I like my brother? Why didn't I want to play football? I wanted to make them happy so I played all through high school and I was good at it too but, it didn't matter. One night I'd had enough. I took all the paintings I had and piled them up, dumped kerosene on them and set them on fire.”

“You burnt all of them? I wish I could have seen them,” Sky said.

I glanced at him and then got up from the couch. I went over to the closet and reached to the back of it. My fingers touched the canvas and I pulled it out, handing it to Sky.

“Oh my God,” Sky said, “Who is he? You are brilliant! This is exquisite. His eyes, his eyes are like dark shadows and the lips...who is this man?”

“That's Riley,” I said.

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