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I can’t say that I understand a lot of his pieces, but of course I’m proud.
Doctor Kelly checked on Reese and found he had crashed in front of one of his movies, fully clothed, curled up on top of his blankets. She carefully tucked him in. His shirt was smudged in paint, and several new paintings were strewn about—one hidden behind his trash can and one with an old t-shirt artfully draped over it, hiding the anguished face in the canvas from himself.
She needed a new painting for the blank space on the wall between the bathroom and her office. It… couldn’t be this one.
It was a dark-haired figure, perhaps Reese himself, embracing… something like his other self, head rested against its face, arm inside the creature’s giant maw. It showed a tender moment, the arm emerging from the other side of its jaw without a drop of blood on it, cupping its giant face gently.
The sheer impossibility of the image struck her like a punch in the gut as she gazed down at it, remembering the last time she had seen those fangs.
He had truly seemed like he was about to bite her that time. As he flew into a fit of rage, he had grown a foot taller than her and surged toward her across the dining room, eyes glinting yellow and fangs bared. And unlike when he was a younger child, he hadn’t turned back the moment he had seen her cowering in fear.
He’d yelled that she was being ‘emotionally manipulative’ with her tears and she couldn’t just get out of this argument by ‘acting’ like that. And he’d followed her into the medical supply room when she’d run away, continuing the argument, refusing to let her have any space.
If she hadn’t had tranquilizers on hand, she didn’t know where she would be now.
Possibly dead.
The thought of hugging him in that state… she couldn’t imagine it. He would tear her to shreds in an instant.
She carefully steadied her breath, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, mentally shelving the urge to cry. Or to wake her son and hold him tight.
It would have to be a different painting for the hallway. Looking through the others, she carefully evaluated each one, contemplating the emotions they brought over her and deciding which she could live with seeing every day.
She settled on one with a small, ghostly child cupping a floating light, a dozen hands reaching out for it or for him. It was hard to be clear of Reese’s intent, but she could read this as a sign of optimism. A hope for a cure, perhaps. The figure appeared lonely and desperate with the hollow circles around its eyes, but beautiful.
Seeing it every day could help motivate her, perhaps.
Perhaps she could think of a better solution for all this, with enough time and research.