Art Gallery (eBook)

Marcello Kline (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
250 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-0957-9 (ISBN)

Infos

The Art Gallery is a romantic novel told from the perspective of Jasper, a young novelist, who we first meet coming out of a dark place post-heartbreak. While trying to find life in the world again where the streets bustle four floors beneath his Los Angeles apartment, he finds himself eager to start anew with his eventual move to London, England. That is until an unexpected encounter at a pop-up gallery with a boy, Clayton, stirs his emotions and sparks the possibility of love. Only time will tell if the universe is on the side of such a fairytale romance or if their destiny is nothing more than mere memories left over from Polaroid pictures.

---

The Art Gallery is a romantic novel told from the perspective of Jasper, a young novelist, who we first meet coming out of a dark place post-heartbreak. As he stumbles through the motions of each waking morning, Jasper is determined to protect himself from experiencing such devastation again. What was supposed to be two one-way tickets to London, England, has turned into one-his fragile heart desires nothing more than to board the plane alone, where he can escape the memories of his former beau. That is until he has an unexpected encounter at a pop-up gallery with a boy, Clayton. Still terrified by the idea of letting anyone in, and after days of postponing the inevitable, Jasper sends a text to Clayton-sparking numerous games of twenty questions, dates along the Pacific, and nights sitting poolside beneath the moonlight at Jasper's childhood home in the hills. The two become nearly inseparable. But there is one problem. His frightened heart can not muster the courage to tell Clayton about his upcoming move. And once his secret's revealed, Jasper wonders whether they can weather the storm or if the romance was a mere fling, leaving only memories captured in photographs and two shattered hearts.

Textauszug

8:11 in the morning. Our bodies lay naked across each other, my legs crossed between his. C’s face was beautifully lit by the morning sun where we lay. Memories of last night projected within my mind, his face, his sounds, his touch. All so precious, all so real. Remnants of cum on my stomach were now dried, a reminder of its reality.

Here we were back in this bed, only this time there was nothing between us. He knew everything, saw everything, experienced everything. Life was new, C was all in, as was I. Our time was limited, with fewer than five months remaining; the hourglass continued to empty its sand and soon we’d be five thousand miles apart. Connected by text messages, phone calls, and FaceTime chats for maybe six hours before one would sleep.

The morning wouldn’t be filled with grief; I’d never get to relive this. Our first time waking up after a spectacle of an evening. I followed his sleeping face with my fingertips, feeling the warmth and smoothness of his skin. There would be no reason to hold back anymore. I gently leaned in and kissed his lips. His eyes fluttered, his lips curled into a smile, my body was pulled into his arms like a pillow held for comfort.

My eyes shut as he held me, his skin warm against my own, him inhaling and exhaling against my neck—a familiar feel from last night. The day was serene unlike any other, the moments passed slowly, but each one passed together. His moments, mine.

Not long ago was I stumbling with words, unequipped to speak aside from complimenting the dear aroma which captivated me from the start. Now, he had become a piece of me, that without my existence would cease to be. The touch of his skin being the spark that ignited my heart. His chestnut eyes that would stare back at me, a constant reminder of serenity. The fragrance that filled my air became the blood pumping through my veins. And his words and compassion that were spoken for me offered stimulation and will to continue my existence. He had no awareness around the depths of his control over me.

My desire for someone had never been greater than today, and when the sun rises tomorrow, it will be greater than now. Every hour, minute, and second that we were together, he became more my captor.

How I want nothing more than to chain him to my bed and keep him here, protect his body, his heart, and our time.

But that wouldn’t and couldn’t be. He’d think I was mad and I’d be the destruction of my own existence, alienating the only thing keeping me alive.

“Good morning, Antelope.”

“Good morning, Apricot.”

The next few mornings felt very similar; we’d wake up from a night of passionate sex, remember, and admire the beauty of each other while exchanging greetings for what would be the start of a day spent together.

Our days would begin lying in bed for nearly an hour, sometimes longer. This would be followed by a warm shower, he’d put soap in my hair, careful to massage it thoroughly, then would slightly bend his knees so I could reciprocate. Rather than washing our own bodies, we’d wash the others. I’d follow every inch of his, from the neck, down his abdomen, through his thighs, and finishing at the toes. More often than not, these washing favors would lead to another round of sex, where he would use the body wash as lubricant so that he could penetrate me.

C had extra clothes in his car, so he didn’t have to go home and pause our time together. We’d mostly only wear our swimsuits around the house, although I didn’t find a point since we’d seen each other naked several times. He quite literally knew me inside and out. I guess they still offered a version of comfort, not being totally exposed to the outside world, even though no one could see into my parents’ home because of the gate surrounding the perimeter.

We listened to various vinyls, dancing in the study or out near the pool. He would choose one of his favorites, and I would choose one of mine. The two of us would prepare light snacks in the kitchen, mostly fruit and bread, which we’d bring outside as we swam laps or read from one of my mother’s hundreds of books.

The smell of freshly ground coffee would fill the air throughout our day—a hot latte in the morning and as the day heated, iced became more appropriate.

As midday approached and literature overwhelmed the mind, I taught him how to play chess. He was terrible at first, referring to the knights as the horses and the rook as the tower. Once finally getting the hang of the game, C was near impossible to beat. Every move was calculated, whereas mine seemingly became predictable. When I played with my father, he would advise me to switch up my moves, that it was obvious what my next would be, yet I wasn’t competitive enough to care.

Perhaps it was that I wasn’t particularly fond of watching my opponents defeat.

These games would be periodically interrupted by hopping across the table to taste his lips, or tickle him. I enjoyed watching his body squirm. His face nearly had a laugh, yet when he’d say no, it was like he was serious, though he didn’t want to be.

Regardless, it brought great satisfaction and joy.

After chess, beneath the olive trees, we’d lay atop a blanket within the prickly green grass. Here our bodies would be as close as they could, our backs pressed to the ground, our fingers playing with one another, and our eyes up at the sky so that we could observe the clouds.

“Do you see that one over there?” He’d point to a spot in the sky. “A rabbit.”

“The one to the left of that, a baguette.” I chuckled at my own humor.

“You have to be more creative than that.”

I pointed to a new patch of clouds, separate from any direction he’d pointed in. “That patch there, the conglomeration of clouds. Very distinct in their own way, yet they perfectly complement each other. Do you see how they follow each other through the breeze? It’s a pack. They need the others; they don’t want to separate. That’s you and I.”

Our days would wind down with several glasses of wine. I fancied a pinot noir, and C, a pinot grigio. He wasn’t particularly fond of reds—too bold and complex. To which it became my goal to bring him around and heighten his appreciation for varying types from different regions.

Dinners we typically ordered out, otherwise we’d have to drive into the city for groceries. Neither of us even thought about leaving. Why ruin something so perfect? One night we indulged in pasta, another pizza, and others some variation of Mexican or Chinese.

After dinner we’d end up either back in the pool or by the fire, sometimes both. The two of us would stare up at the stars and romanticize the future, discuss life in the next three, five, or ten years. Each story would lead back to us, together in some way. Clayton would share more and more about his desire to explore London and that in the distant future, he could see himself there with me. The conversation never really got far, the idea of our reunion in London not being remotely close terrified me, so I changed the subject. Which he took notice of but didn’t want to press the issue.

As the fire would die down, our hormones erupted, our trunks would be ripped off, and within moments we’d be having sex in different places of the house, including outside by the fire. Each time felt better and better as we learned what the other enjoyed and explored different positions.

We’d fall asleep wherever we came and each time would fall asleep covered in our mess, careful not to ruin what we had created. Waking up to these reminders brought happiness and stirred feelings I never knew myself to be capable of having.

Those three words which flashed through my head days prior, suddenly returned. Although I dare not say them, nor did I want to think about them.

What we had here was good; he wanted me, and I wanted him. Should either of us speak them, everything could fall apart and there would be the risk of severely wounding the other, if not killing.

Never utter them, I would remind myself.

How I wish we never had to leave this beautiful place. C would frequently discover new pieces of art and items throughout the house. By the time he was to meet my parents, he’d likely be making offers on their belongings as if it were an auction. My favorite place, my childhood home, became his home—our home. A place where we would create so many of our favorite first memories.

Can we not just stay here for an eternity?

As eager as I was to forever keep him trapped here, there was enthusiasm about introducing him to my friends at tonight’s bonfire. To Sam’s surprise, he might remember the story of the boy from the bathroom—how I could tell him that it was my fumble that brought us together. Yet, it wouldn’t be entirely true. I’d tell them how C stalked me through the gallery that night, how when he saw me, he saw an us, and he knew how letting me go that night would lead us here to this house for days without stepping foot into the outside world. His steps were calculated, his desire possibly greater than mine, although now I was not...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 12.9.2023
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-0957-9 / 9798350909579