Complementary Colors Read Online Free PDF

tubes of paint. A clump of orange went directly on the canvas.
    The fight to capture the moment began with blocks of color and lines of movement stitched together by negative space. Dark pushed the light. Colors hummed at the edges. Gradient shades took blistering hues into the background and shoved the rest to the edge.
    I carved through the layers of oils until I gasped for air, dimples formed in the calluses on my fingers, my shoulders burned, and cramps twisted the muscles in my back. My sweat fell like tears, mixing with the paint.
    The image emerged from the mass of color. A boy. A smile. Kind eyes. I searched for more of him, but there was only the sunlight through broken leaves. It covered him in glorious fragments of golden light.
    I’d held his hand. I’d cherished his laugh. His lips had been so soft against mine.
    What was his name?
    I didn’t deserve him after what I’d done, but maybe on some deep level, I hoped by honoring the moment before the darkness he’d forgiven me and I’d be granted peace.
    It wasn’t unusual for me to pass out after completing a work. Tearing off pieces of my soul was not only painful but exhausting. At least when I fell asleep, I didn’t dream.
    ********
    “Paris? Paris, wake up.”
    Grit concreted my eyelids, and I shivered from the bone-deep chill courtesy of the tile floor.
    Alice wrapped a robe around my shoulders. “You need to get up before Julia gets here.”
    Because she wouldn’t show me the same kindness Alice did.
    “At least she wouldn’t have to exert the effort to knock me down.” I tied the robe closed.
    “You shouldn’t provoke her.” Alice picked up the bottle of pills from the bench. “Did you take your medicine?”
    No. “Of course I did.” I staggered to my feet. Pain went from my hand to my arm. I rubbed the bruise near my elbow.
    Alice cocked her mouth to the side. Even when she scowled, her smile seeped through. “Are you sure?”
    “Cross my heart, hope to die.” I made an X over the left side of my chest.
    She put the bottle back on the bench and turned her attention to the canvas. “It’s very pretty.”
    Alice never gave empty compliments. She also didn’t pretend to understand what I created. To her, my works were just pretty colors on canvas.
    “Thank you.”
    “What are you going to name it?”
    The Kiss. “Why don’t you name it?”
    Her eyes widened. “Me?”
    The scent of wet earth was followed by the whisper of a tarp over dead leaves. Dread rose up in my throat with a burn. “I need a drink.”
    Alice followed me into the kitchen. “I don’t know anything about naming a painting.”
    I leaned against the counter and pressed my palm against my eye in a sad attempt to hold back the pounding in my skull. “Where’s the vodka?” I got a glass out of the cabinet.
    Alice brought me the bottle from the freezer and a carton of orange juice from the fridge.
    I splashed enough juice in the glass to give the vodka some color.
    “I think you’re supposed to use more juice than that.”
    “I’m being efficient.” I drank too much too fast, and the alcohol threatened to ride up my nasal passages. “Well?” The word came out on a squeak.
    “Well what?” She put the juice and vodka away.
    “What are you going to name the painting?”
    Alice worried the hem of her blouse. “You know I don’t know anything about art.”
    I waved the glass around. “Just name it something biblical or sexual.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re making fun of me.”
    “I’m not. I swear.” I saluted her confused expression with my drink. “The only rule you need to know about art is that religion and sex sells.” I shrugged. “When all else fails, people get kinky or find God.”
    “Paris…”
    I pecked her on the cheek. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
    She pulled the glass out of my hand and herded me to the stairs. “You need to go get cleaned up. It’s already after three o’clock, and Julia will be here soon