A.N.: Next instalment for nygirl4eva. If you review, you get new chapters and dedications; so please review!
Rose Amongst Thorns
Chapter Twenty
Edible
Rose drove up the lawn of the McGowans' property, still jazzed on adrenaline from completing a ninety minute, eight-mile run with the cross-country team, a little of her excitement brought on from the run dissipating. This was not a house she particularly wanted to be in.
After the colossal argument between Regina, John, Evan and Finn early this morning, Rose wanted to be anywhere but here. She knew she had been a little silly thinking she couldn't call John or Regina, but she hadn't wanted to wake anyone. They had appreciated that, but they had said if the little runts not being woken meant someone could abduct or attack her, they would bear Caleb's grumpiness the next day.
They couldn't punish Evan, because he had been home way before curfew, but they could hold him in contempt. When Rose was off her no-social-functions grounding, he, Evan, was going to make sure Rose was always safe at parties, that she wasn't left alone like she had been last night.
Finn had been grounded like her. John and Regina considered it a very poor show that Pogue had had to call them all the way from North Carolina to let them know what was going on with Rose, when Finn was supposed to be her friend and looking out for her.
The boys hadn't been on the defensive this morning; Finn had owned up that he should have known what was going on with Rose, because they were friends; he was beyond pissed at Evan, and at himself, Rose thought. Evan had been contrite and had apologised for last night when Rose had asked for her car-keys back this morning.
She parked up by the garage, noting Sean working on Finn's Impala, and climbed out. She walked up onto the porch, and through the open front door. The house was cool and strangely quiet. She walked into the kitchen and froze.
Regina was refilling her coffee mug. After the tongue-lashing she had received earlier this morning, sitting at this very table like a naughty kindergartner, she wasn't really sure she wanted to be back in Regina's firing-range. She glanced up and noticed Rose, stopped in her tracks.
"Did you have a good run?" Regina asked, smiling.
"I…I did, yeah," Rose said. Luckily, she hadn't been forbidden her running. John and Regina knew well that sometimes a person just had to get out of the McGowan house to keep from going stir-crazy. School obligations were taken into account during grounding.
"I hope you didn't take an extra-long run after practice today just to avoid me," Regina said. Rose blushed.
"I'm not avoiding you," she said quietly. I'm avoiding everyone else, she thought. This morning, after the tongue-lashing, Regina had apologised tearfully for her sons' behaviour, upset with herself that she had already probably caused Tim and Lily to wonder whether they'd made the right decision, leaving their only surviving daughter with her. Rose had assured her that wasn't true, but she hadn't told her what had upset her the most about last night. Finn. Finn, and Kayla.
"Well, I'd understand if you were," Regina said softly. "I know you were being the responsible adult last night with driving everyone home, and I'm very sorry we had to set an example by you and Finn."
"I know," Rose said quietly. She just wished Regina and John had used Evan as an example. If he hadn't taken her truck, she'd have been able to get home, not have to spend an hour trying to call him on his cell and find Finn at the party.
"Well…I have an apology plan," Regina said, glancing at her. "I have a gift certificate for this great little day-spa downtown, and I thought perhaps we could spend a day there, you know, spend some time together, just the two of us. We haven't hung out just you and me for a while. I thought, maybe we could have the whole works, you know, a facial, a massage, manicures and pedicures."
"That sounds really nice," Rose said honestly. "But—are you sure you want to use your gift certificate on me?"
"Please! I've been dying for an opportunity to use it," Regina smiled. "What do you say?"
"I'd love to," Rose said. After what she had gone through the past two weeks, she needed a full-body rubdown. "Um…I'm going to go and have a long bath, if nobody minds."
"Oh, no, go ahead," Regina smiled. "Take a book in there, or something. That's what I do when I need some alone-time."
Rose could understand that.
She went upstairs, rinsed out the bathtub and put the plug in place, letting the water run, hot; she grabbed the bottle of 'Field of Flowers' Philosophy three-in-one bubble-bath she had bought at the mall with the girls, the 'Violette' fresh candle she loved, her 'Sugar' body polish and face scrub, her iPod, her latest book and her towel and a fresh outfit and locked herself in the bathroom.
Rose had worked out her anger and upset and frustration during cross-country training and now, she relaxed. She'd felt horrible before practice, had felt like she was going to be sick and collapse, but she hadn't; she'd run off the booze and her hangover and now she just wanted to cocoon herself in steam and hot water. She slipped into the bath, her skin stinging because the water was so hot; the scent of a gorgeous florist's shop enveloped her, the scents wafting on the steam and in the thick bubbles, combined with the beautiful scent of violets, freesias and roses from the candle; she turned her iPod on to Ellie Goulding, the CD Regina had in her car and the song she had fallen in love with while Finn drove them home last night; 'The Writer.' She picked up her book, sank back into the deep, bubbly water, and started to read.
She really didn't want to leave the bath, when she had washed her hair and used her body scrub and treated her face to a moisturising scrub, the bubbles had almost gone, and she had to admit defeat. She climbed out of the bath, dried off, dressed in her favourite bell-bottom J Brand 'Love Story' dark-wash jeans, an Old Navy oatmeal-heather coloured raglan-sleeved Henley top she always wore when she was sad, her Hermés watch, her 'Karma' bracelet and her gold hoop earrings. In her bedroom, she blow-dried her hair and pinned it up into a low, messy bun; she applied minimal makeup, sprayed her 'Ofresia' perfume, and went downstairs. She was hungry. That Thai dinner last night seemed forever ago.
She froze once more at the threshold of the kitchen.
Finn was making himself lunch at the stove. She hadn't seen him since early this morning, when he and Evan and Rose had all been pretty badly hungover. The McGowan boys had the excellent genes to make them look even more adorable when they were hungover, instead of horrendous.
He glanced up when the door squeaked and blinked.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey," Rose said, looking anywhere but at him. She was battling between running and starving and just toughing it out and getting herself lunch. She needed something to drink, too; caffeine was prerequisite for her hangover cure. That, and copious amounts of running to work off the booze.
"You left early this morning," Finn said quietly.
"Yeah, I had practice," Rose said. She could smell melted butter and cheese, and her stomach rumbled. And there was something else, too…chilli. The vat she had used for pasta on Thursday was on the hob, simmering, and filling the room with the smell of chilli. It smelled good. And she was so hungry. She'd only had a Clif bar for breakfast, and on top of a hangover that was not enough.
"I…uh… Can we talk?" Finn asked, blushing. Rose was completely relaxed after her long soak, so she was in more of a forgiving mood. She sidled up to the refrigerator, grabbed a can of Diet Pepsi and leaned against the island, snapping it open. She only drank caffeine after a night out.
"What do you want to talk about?" Rose asked quietly.
"Well… I… I realised last night that I owed you an explanation and a big apology," Finn said quietly, catching her eye. He really was very ashamed of himself, she realised that right off, because those speaking eyes of his were practically weeping with self-loathing. "So…yesterday, at lunch, Kayla asked me if I was going to Christian Todd's party, and then she asked whether I wanted to go with her. I realised that in trying not to hurt her feelings by saying no, I'd hurt your feelings by not telling you."
"Why didn't you?"
"Uh…" Finn shrugged. "I didn't see you after lunch, then you had practice, and I had practice, and I wouldn't be able to talk to you before the game…so I blurted it out at the table over dinner. And I know that was really stupid of me, 'cause obviously it stunned you."
"Your mom wondered why you wouldn't have told me," Rose said quietly. Even tired-to-her-marrow Regina had noticed the two of them were getting really friendly.
"Yeah, well…in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not too good with the ladies," Finn said, blushing. Rose arched an eyebrow.
"You've made out with two girls since Tuesday," she said. "I wouldn't think that constitutes being bad with girls."
"Two girls?" Finn blurted, his eyebrows flicking up. "I've only kissed you—!" He broke off with a gasp, his eyes widening to immense proportions. "Unless you have an evil twin you haven't told anybody about!"
"What're you talking about? I'm talking about Kayla."
"I haven't kissed Kayla."
"What? Last night, when I called you…what were you doing?"
"I ran out of gas halfway to Kayla's house so I had to stop by the gas-station to fill up the tank," Finn said, looking perplexed. "She fell asleep in the car, she'd drunk too much. I'd left my phone in the car when I went to pay for the gas, and when I got back Kayla was talking to you."
Rose stared at him. And blinked. And churned that over. So, last night when she'd called Finn, Kayla had sounded sleepy and throaty because she'd been asleep not because she'd been kissing Finn; they'd been in Regina's car at a gas-station instead of in Kayla's bedroom.
She grinned. She couldn't help it. Her anger and hurt at Finn dissipated as quickly as it had come. He hadn't been kissing Kayla Bird. Her cheeks heated, but she couldn't help smiling.
"So, wait, you thought—last night, you thought I was—I was with Kayla?" Finn stared. Rose blushed, and shrugged.
"I owe you an apology for jumping to conclusions last night," she said, flushing hotly. "That's why I got mad and that's why I yelled at you in the car." Finn stared at her.
"You don't have to apologise for yelling at me, Rose," he said quietly. "You had every right to be upset last night. We abandoned you."
"Unintentionally," Rose mumbled, blushing.
"Now you're making excuses for us?" Finn laughed disbelievingly. "You really don't know how to bear a grudge, do you?"
"No," Rose said, shaking her head. Finn smiled, but it quickly slid off his face.
"You really should, you know," he said quietly. "Anything could have happened to you last night."
"But it didn't," Rose said softly.
"No, but it could've," Finn said, frowning. "And it would've been my fault."
"No, it wouldn't. It would have been Evan's fault for taking the truck. It would have been Hailey's fault for making a scene and running off, making Evan take the truck," Rose shrugged. "It was my parents' fault for dying and sending me to live here so Hailey would start freaking out…" She shrugged. Finn reached up and tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear, brushing his thumb against her cheekbone.
"Still…anything could've happened to you by the time I picked you up," he said soberly. "Don't tell me you weren't scared."
"Of course I was. I watch too much Supernatural," Rose said, shrugging: Finn smiled, but he didn't laugh.
"Come here," he said, and enveloped her in his arms, hugging her close round her shoulders. Rose smiled to herself and nestled her cheek against his shoulder, lacing her hands over his lower-back. It felt so nice to hug Finn. He smelt even more of tangy paint than usual, and she wondered why John and Regina hadn't forbidden him to paint, since he spent most of his time doing that rather than watching television. He was so warm and smelt so good, and standing there hugging him wasn't awkward like it was sometimes hugging other people. She could have stayed in his arms forever, which nettled for some reason. She shouldn't feel this way about someone she'd known for barely two weeks…but wasn't that the thing—love at first sight. Her parents had seen each other at a party in their freshman year of college and they'd been together until their last dying breaths. After twenty-five years of marriage and seven kids, John and Regina were still together.
"Are you gonna let me go now?" Rose murmured, perfectly happy to fall asleep standing in his arms. He was so warm and comfy.
"No. You smell good," Finn murmured against her hair. Rose chuckled softly and smiled. "Like a big bouquet of flowers or something." He inhaled deeply and sighed. "You always smell pretty."
"And you always smell of paint," Rose accused, smiling; she glanced up at him and he cracked a smile. "Have you been working in the studio?"
"I have," Finn smiled, and his eyes sparkled. "I've been working on some new stuff. I think you might like it. But I don't want you to see it yet."
"Pandora and her box, Finn; that's not fair," Rose pouted. "That's just asking me to sneak a look."
"Okay, well, I'll show you some of them," Finn amended. "But not all of them."
"How many paintings have you done since Tuesday?"
"About half a dozen," Finn shrugged. "Some of them aren't finished yet, though, which is why I don't want you to see them."
"So…Kayla Bird won't be seeing your studio, then," Rose said quietly.
"Definitely not," Finn said. Rose looked up at him, tilting her head thoughtfully. She was glad he had gone on a date with Kayla, just so he could get her out of his system, but as Ria said, would it be Rose's eye coming out of her forehead now that Finn's blue-phase (meaning Kayla Bird) was over? Would she be Finn's next phase? When he got bored of her would he move on to another girl? She didn't want to think about the possibility. Besides, they weren't even…
She smiled and hugged him quickly, then grabbed her soda and ducked out from his arms. He smiled and flicked his eyes over her.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Starving," Rose smiled slowly. He turned to the stove, and Rose watched him preparing a second grilled-cheese sandwich; he got two small plates and two mugs, filled the mugs with chilli and set the halved grilled-cheese sandwiches around them on the plate, grabbed two spoons and handed one plate to Rose.
"Wanna come down and eat in the studio?" he asked, and Rose nodded and smiled. In the backyard, Ian, Caleb and Doug were playing a mini baseball game.
"Sexy lay-day," someone sang, and Rose glanced over at Caleb, who was grinning at her and doing a sexy little (for a six-year-old) dance. Finn blurted a laugh and Rose giggled; she swooped down on him as she walked past, kissed his cheek before he could grimace and duck.
"Where does he come up with that stuff?" Rose asked, laughing, glancing over her shoulder at Caleb, who was wiggling his butt while he prepared to take a swing at the baseball Doug pitched in a perfect arc to him.
"I have no idea," Finn said. "He definitely doesn't get it from me." Rose laughed and followed Finn into the shed.
"Did you tidy up in here?" Rose asked, looking around. The aura of the room was still the same, but things were…organised. Blank canvases were arranged size-wise by the door, and his paintings were organised by genre; portrait, landscape, still-life, and her favourite, abstract. Some of the canvases had been draped with dust-sheets so she couldn't see the subjects. Rose realised there weren't any portraits. None of Finn's half-finished Kayla Bird paintings were visible. "Where are the portraits you did of Kayla?"
"Er…I painted over them," Finn shrugged, gesturing to the stack of fresh canvases by the door.
"You—what?" Rose stared down at the now-pristine canvases. They had lost the canvas texture and had obviously been treated and primed. "Why did you do that?"
"Well, I wasn't going to finish them, and I can't keep asking my mom to buy me new canvases," Finn said, shrugging. "It was good for me, though, it helped me cleanse my creative palate so I could start on something new."
"But…when you look back in twenty years, you won't be able to see those old paintings," Rose said, staring down at the blank canvases.
"I kept a few," Finn shrugged. "Little ones I'd nearly finished, the best ones. But the others…nah, I couldn't keep them. Come on, sit, eat." Rose sat down on the garden bench beside Finn, who sat with his long legs spread out, his jeans tucked into his paint-splattered lace-up army boots, the chunky silver ring he wore on his middle finger on his right hand glinting in the light streaming through the skylight, winking off the metal face of his chunky leather-strap watch on his left wrist, the two little silver beads on the leather ties of his wooden-bead-and-leather bracelet on his right wrist. He was wearing a faded heather blue t-shirt with Chunk from The Goonies on it, doing the 'Truffle Shuffle.'
"This is good chilli," Rose said, digging in.
"Dad's planning on dedicating a vat of it to the Smithsonian when he dies," Finn said, shaking his head, dunking his grilled-cheese into the chilli. Rose followed suit. "So, you really thought I was with Kayla last night?"
Rose flicked her eyes toward him and focused on her lunch. Finn laughed. "I can't believe you thought that—what did you think we were doing?"
"I don't know," Rose flushed. "I just…thought you were with her. So, are you going to show me those new paintings of yours?"
"Alright, I'll let you change the subject, but only because I want to show you this one," Finn said, downing the last of his chilli and cleaning the inside of his mug with the last of his grilled-cheese. He stood, towering over her, and Rose checked him out as he leaned over the small pile of still-life paintings and retrieved one of the largest canvases, draped in a paint-splattered dust-sheet. With the back facing her, he dragged the dust-sheet off and tilted his head, then righted the painting the right way up. He turned it round for Rose to see, leaning it against his legs. The top of the canvas brushed the tops of his thighs, and was just as wide as it was tall.
She paused, and stared.
Like the painting now hanging in Rose's bedroom over her dresser, it was like Finn had painted sex. The way he had used paint-strokes and the brushes he had used, the techniques, brought the gritty, sweaty textures of sex to life within the paint.
But unlike that lusty, earthy painting in her bedroom, this one was elegiac and at the same time, arrestingly sweet, and precise. He hadn't just painted two young lovers in a dreamscape of delicate, heavenly colours, in pale pinks and lilacs and palest blues, with dashes of cerise and violet and pale blondes and browns and a lot of diaphanous white, he had painted their relationship, their love-story. The colours were sweet like pretty spring flowers, swirling with emotions, harsh, threatening elements of the relationship, lust, anger, fear, love, echoed in darker, richer, brighter colours. It was like looking at a bouquet of flowers made into the sweetest dessert, captured in a dream of a spring afternoon tumbling in a sun-bleached meadow, though nothing of that sort was depicted in Finn's disjointed painting. Rose interpreted it all from the painting.
Finn's ability to replicate physical sensation was mouth-watering. The painting came alive with colours and designs that looked almost edible, creating the dramatic illusion of motion. Within the voluptuous surfaces of two interchangeable, intertwined figures so dainty and diaphanous they were ghostlike, erotic, delicious fantasies spontaneously unfolded, as if each brush stroke contained a dark and wonderful secret: the painting was opulent, sweet, and tainted with sin. It was gorgeous.
"Finn!" Rose breathed, unable to look away. She just wanted to eat the thing, to dive into those heavenly colours and spent eternity in that dreamlike place, savouring the flavours and emotions the painting brought on.
"Do you like it?" Finn asked quietly, biting his lower-lip. Rose stared at the painting.
"It's…it's incredible, Finn," she breathed. She meant it. She didn't know where Finn got his talent from but she wasn't in any kind of short supply. Finn's smile was slow and steady and his eyes were twinkling.
"It's you," he said softly. Rose glanced up.
"Me? What do you mean?"
"It's… I was thinking about you when I painted it. It's what came to my mind when I thought about what your lips look like when you wear that pale-pink lip-gloss, and the flowers you smell like because of your perfume. Or, perfumes, I mean…the darker bits are for your other perfume, the one you wear on special occasions, and how I feel when I smell that perfume."
"You…you were thinking about me when you painted this?" Rose asked quietly.
"Mm-hmm," Finn smiled with his eyes, and Rose's knees would have knocked together if she hadn't been sitting.
"Finn, it's…it looks edible," Rose said, licking her lips. The painting was making her hungry for strawberry toffee bonbons and a thick-thick chocolate-chip milkshake and Parma Violets and rock-candy and Caramel Chew-Chew ice-cream. And it made her want to wrap herself and Finn in a cocoon of warm, fresh white cotton-lawn sheets and…heat flamed through her body, rising to her cheeks as she licked her lips and ate up Finn's beautiful features.
"Well, I think you're edible," Finn said cheekily, his eyes crackling with intensity even as he blushed. Rose smiled warmly.
"It's so deliciously dirty," she said, eyeing the painting covetously. "You have a filthy mind, Finn, and I love it."
Finn smirked. "A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste."
"What else is in that filthy little imagination of yours?" Rose asked quietly. Finn's smirk turned into the most intense expression she had ever seen, so crackling with emotion; the air thickened inside the little shed, and her breath came in short and shallow little pants, warmth making her whole body overheat, in one place in particular.
For a minute, neither of them spoke or moved. Invisible fireworks were going off in the air around them.
The sound of shouting voices obliterated the silence. Voices coming from inside the house; for them to hear them here in the shed at the bottom of the back garden was something. Rose glanced at the door of the shed; the shouting was coming from inside the house and getting closer. The back door creaked open and slammed loudly, and the argument went into surround-sound.
"Are you gonna tell me the truth? Are you gonna tell me the truth?" Evan's voice hollered over and over again.
A.N.: I imagine Finn would be some kind of Cecily Brown protégé, with influences from Francis Bacon and Julian Schnabel and Picasso's Cubism phase, Wassily Kandinsky and Marilyn Minter's erotic, grimy artwork. I love Cecily Brown's paintings. They're so delicious and erotic.
