The Artist’s Rival (HER RIVAL #2) by Emily Hayes EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Emily Hayes
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
TATIANA
To accompany the sky’s rumbling thunder, Tatiana Khan’s brushes fall
to the floor. She bends to pick them up, weary from work. The still
moist leftovers of paint on their hair splash all over the wood, creating
vivid bursts of color.
“Ah, Pollock,” she sighs.
Grabbing a wet rag to clean up the mess, she shakes her head at the
overused joke. The yellow paint stains her fingers, slimy and yolk-like.
Wanting to get up, she reaches for the table’s support, inattentively leaving
yellow marks behind. A sign to finish work, she nods. I am leaving behind
trails of sun, she recites, trying to remember the poem without success.
Making her way to the bathroom, Tatiana has to jump over her
crumbled messes, belongings laying in strange combinations. Tangles of
clothes stretch and curl, intertwined so tightly and chaotically that one
could mistake them for lovers, sprawled around the wooden panels. The
fabrics seem almost to breathe, in and out, flowing with the animal rhythm
of deep sleep. She likes the image and reaches for her sketchbook instead of
the bathroom door.
She draws a stormy riverside, maybe abandoned. Women, wanting to
wash their clothes, could be driven away by the harsh weather; they have
left in haste. Out of their baskets dark shirts and undergarments must have
fallen, tossed about by the wind. The tumbling materials stretch out on the
sand, wild, unintelligible.
Their outlines speak to an animal quality—when
she draws them captured in motion, their sleeve limbs appear to run. Here
and there, the sketch is marked by traces of warm yellow paint, still stuck to
her fingers. Satisfied with the idea, she leaves the sketchbook on the floor,
determined to finally wash her hands and rest.
The switch clicks and a flood of bathroom light hits her eyes with a
piercing harshness, putting in spotlight the toothpaste-stained sink. Solitude
seems to double Tatiana’s tendency to forego cleaning. It also seems to
triple her artistic potency, which is how she has been justifying leaving
sinks cluttered, floors littered, and bedsheets unchanged. She can easily
disregard caring for her space when she thinks of it more as a studio, rather
than home.
Sometimes she wonders whether her unwillingness to rent a
space to paint truly comes from financial motivations as opposed to her
liking this state of intimacy with art, unseparated from her private life and
overflowing in every room.
–
“Come on, Terry’s playing tonight!” Connie shouts on the phone.
It’s pouring heavily, and Tatiana looks out the window in resignation.
She shivers, thinking of stepping outside into the mud, bathing in evening
rainwater.
“The weather’s horrible,” she says, all the same slowly letting go of her
plans for a peaceful night inside.
“Good thing the club has a roof,” Connie concludes, hanging up with a
brief, “See you there!”
With no heart to dim her friend’s excitement, Tatyana begins dressing
up to go. Stumbling over piles of belongings, she manages to dig out some
clothes of dubious cleanliness.
To remedy the uncertainty, she buries her
face right in, smelling only the reassuringly delicate scent of the laundry
detergent. Notes of vanilla stroke her skin as she shuts her eyes close,
preparing to face the unpleasant air outside.
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