Chapter 1
Johnny
One year ago, New York City
The room was blissfully quiet.
My mother had just left after her lengthy lecture, and my eyes stung from her hateful words. Most mothers would be happy if their daughters liked dressing nicely. Most would have been ecstatic if their daughter said they wanted to go to college and study business and literature. The only problem was that it wasn’t my mother.
I was her cash cow.
Her status symbol.
Not with the flashy rich people who live in the Hamptons and wear designer clothes. No, my mother wanted nothing to do with that. They were too neat and clean, or as she liked to say, they were too confined to their ideas. In the art world, however, having an artistic prodigy could be far more substantial in terms of status and money, bringing her everything her heart ever desired.
That is everything my father couldn’t have given, and the weight of her dreams fell into my lap at the tender age of three.
I stared into the mirror, not even recognizing who the person in it was.
A fluorescent pink wig and thick black makeup transformed everything that was me. The only thing that my mother let me show of myself was my eyes. One eye was gray, while the other was gray and half-hazel brown. It was edgy enough that my mother highlighted it. Gray eyes were rare, but to have gray eyes and be heterochromic as well… she hit the jackpot for her money-making prodigy. Not only did people come from all over the world to meet me and see my art, but they also loved taking photos of me with my identical twin.
My fingers pulled at the short pink and black skirt, hating the black nail polish covered in skulls and spiderwebs. I loathe dressing like this. Loathed it with a passion. I liked light colors. Pinks, lavenders, sunshiny yellow, and soft greens and blues. My style was silk shirts with pretty buttons and bows. Nice slacks, skirts, or jeans. I can’t stand the color black, and hate anything neon.
A knock came, and a toehead blond head popped in through the crack. “Hey, genius, how’s it going?” my twin sister, Billy, asked, tugging at the hem of her white button-down blouse. Her long, white, blond hair was pulled into a French braid. Her face is clean of any makeup other than mascara. When I glanced up from my lap, Billy gasped before chuckling, “Man, Mom went all out on that look for tonight.”
“Shut up,” I sighed, getting up from the chair and giving her the once over what our mother had dressed her in. I thought her look was more like Ann of Green Gables and smirked before saying, “She told me that some bigwig from France was making an appearance, and she even showed me a picture of him.” my hand started fanning my face. “Let’s just say Darlia is hoping for more than him wanting to buy some of my paintings. If you get my meaning. Wink, wink.”
Billy’s smile grew wide and mischievous. “Mom wants to be doing the naughty with some rich French guy… why am I not surprised?” she laughed, taking the seat I just vacated. “I did catch a couple of hotties out in the gallery,” she winked, pulling the gum from her mouth and playing with it like she was five. “They could be fun to mess with.”
Pulling the hot pink and black fluorescent socks over the black skull stocking, I tsked her. “I’m sorry, but hooking up with some forty-year-old pervert is not my sort of fun.”
“The older ones are fucking fun, John, and man, do they know how to fuck.”
“How do you know that guys our age aren’t good? Have you ever given one a try?”
“Hell no. When would I get the chance when we live on Mommy dearest schedule.” She shrugged, kicking her black ballet-flatted foot back and forth.
“See. Why not leave the perverts alone and just wait for the right guy?” I mumbled, already seeing the smirk on her face.
“Right guy,” she sighed. “You and finding the right guy is boring as hell. The older guys like to fuck you until it hurts.” then winded at me.
“Do you have to be so juvenile?” I grimaced, walking a bracelet over her and dropping it in her hand. “And what does that even mean anyway?”
“Your virgin ears wouldn’t understand,” she laughed, sitting up.
“Don’t tease me,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Is it really so stupid for me to want my first time to be with someone special?”
Billy latched the gold heart bracelet into place and pulled up the ridiculous arm sleeve our mother had me wear, matching the pink-and-black-striped stockings back into place. “No. It’s not. I’m just fucking with you, okay. The last thing I want is you jumping into bed with some random guy,” she frowned. “I’d kill some asshole who dared touch you if he wasn’t worthy of having you.”
My over-makeup brows shot up. “Wow. You’re crazy.”
Billy smiled, lacing her fingers in mine. “I can be when it comes to you.”
We both laughed, but my smile fell. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Bill. All the traveling, people never leaving me alone, it’s all too much. Let alone dressing like I dipped myself in some dark teenage goth novel. It’s not who I am, and mom couldn’t care less about how I feel.” My eyes hit the ground, and my lip trembled. “I don’t want to be the next Micheal Angelo… I just don’t.”
“I know,” she whispered, pulling me into her arms. “I know you don’t. Just like I don’t want to be looking like some kind of book nerd, but for now, we have to. We only have one more year until we turn twenty; after that, we are home-free. We’re old enough to get Grandma’s inheritance without Darlia’a say.”
“You and I both know that twenty thousand isn’t enough to get us on our feet,” I grumbled, thinking of how my last painting sold for a hundred thousand.
“Yeah, but it’s enough to get us out of New York and start college somewhere Mom will never find us.” My sister grinned, her hands now on my shoulders. “We’ll have to work hard, but hell, we’ve been working since we were little kids, and that was all for mom. This time, it will be for us.”
“I won’t be able to sell any of my paintings for money, you know,”
“Who gives a shit! You can do anything you want. I mean, you are an art genius, right? We’ll figure it out. But for now, we have to play it cool.” Billy tilted her head, looking me over. “One more year. Just play the obedient daughter for one more year, then we’ll get the hell out of here. Okay?”
I glanced at the rose and dagger tattoos peeking from under the black graphic t-shirt in the mirror and pinched my lips together when my sister said, “You can get them removed. Mom is such a bitch for making you get those tattoos.”
“At least I got to choose the flowers. Mom wanted spiderwebs and coffins,”
“She’s such a snooty bitch,” Billy growled.
Everything our mom did to me, Billy blamed herself. I was her weakness, and it made her feel helpless. She deems herself my protector, but in reality, she is the one who needs protection. So I’ll do whatever I have to to keep her safe. “One more year. We can save whatever money we can find and make a plan. Then, you and me will find a place where Mom will never find us.”
“Damn skippy,” Billy smiled her forehead going to mine. “We will make our own path, one where mommy dearest has no say.”
Without so much as a knock, our mother barged into the dressing room.
Darlia Vallin was a model back before she had me and my sister. With her curly blond hair and voluptuous figure, men still fell all over her. Too bad her personality was from the depths of hell. Even when all she wore was a plain white silk tank top, billowing black trousers, and black stilettos, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Her long, painted red fingernail tapped against her matching lipstick and hummed, looking me over. “I like the calf-high Convers, but maybe we should get your nose pierced to match the look?”
“Mother!” I screamed. The last thing I wanted was something my mother deemed necessary to bolster my bad-girl appearance. “I don’t need piercings,”
“Mom, I swear if you make Johnny get one more thing she doesn’t want, I’m going to…”
“Don’t lose your cool. They can look like piercings,” my mother huffed, placing a black spiked belt around my waist. “I believe I’ve seen some that make it look like you’ve got cartilage piercings.”
Wonderful. I’m going to look even more ridiculous!
“Fine, but next time,” I murmured, wanting nothing more than to rip off these stupid nails. For every show, I have to get my nails done to impress whomever my mother thinks is essential. “So, are we ready?”
My mother glanced at herself in the mirror, pushing up some blond curls that broke free from her French twist. “Yes, and I want you girls to behave.” She said, glaring at Billy in the mirror. “And that means no pulling men to the side and making out with them, young lady.”
My sister shrugged with an evil smirk on her face. “Are you worried about the competition? You know, a lot of the older guys like the younger women. But don’t worry; I’m just trying to get some. I’ll leave some for you.”
The carefree face of my mother fell, and her true nature appeared and showed in her icy blue glare. Those pointed red nails were at my sister’s chin, digging into her flesh as my mother sneered. “Billy Jean Vallin, if you think I will put up with your shit tonight, you are sorely mistaken. Multiple buyers are here to purchase your sister’s art, and I expect my girl to behave. I will not lose millions of dollars because you feel the need to get laid.”
Rushing over, my hand went to my mother’s arm, trying to soothe the nuclear tension that was forming. “Mom, Bill will be good,” I assured her, staring at my sister. “Right?”
Billy’s teeth clenched together, her hands forming fists. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” my mother asked, nails digging deeper.
“Yes, I’ll be good.”
“Excellent,” then Darlia smiled.
Dropping my hand from her arm, I thought the storm had passed, or at least hoped it had, when Mom whirled around and smacked me across the face, knocking me to the floor. My hand went to the hot spot on my face, glancing up at the woman who gave birth to me, refusing to shed a tear.
“What the fuck was that for?” Billy hissed, dropping to the floor and wrapping her arms around me.
“To ensure you behave,” Mom smirked, her eyes sliding to mine. “Johnny Cash Vallin, suck it up and get your ass out front and put on the fucking show like you’ve been told.” Her eyes narrowed as my mouth opened, “Do you have something to say?”
One more year. I only had to deal with Darlia for one more year, and then me and Billy were gone. Shutting my mouth, I shook my head. “Good. Then clean yourself up and get your asses out there and be the genius you’re supposed to be.” Darlia ordered.
I nodded once more, and Mom turned, taking the doorknob in her hand before glancing over her shoulder. “You’ve got five minutes.”
When the door slammed shut, I faced my sister. “Why did you provoke her when you were the one telling me to be cool?”
“Because she pisses me off. She hits you to make me behave.” Billy grumbled, helping me off the floor. She walked over to the small makeup counter, snatching the blush. “The bitch needs to get smacked. Hard!” she hissed, pulling me closer and slathering the pink powder on my face to mask the hot spot.
The headache that comes after a confrontation with my mother was taking root. I can see color in people’s emotions. Harsh anger was a bright, electric yellow that was blinding. “Just let it go. There is nothing we can do about it right now. Let’s just play her game and let her get her man. So, do not piss her off anymore, Bill.”
“Fine. But if I have to be good for mommy dearest, then tonight you have to draw a sex scene in your Manhwa book. I want Isamu to get hot and heavy with Amaya. Like tongue between the thighs kind of spice.”
With a roll of my eyes, I sighed and nodded. “Done, and if we pull this off with Darlin off doing her thing and leaving us alone for the night, you got it.”
“If we’re lucky, she’ll take her man and be gone for a week.”
“If you can get her to be gone a week… I’ll add more than a little tongue action.” I smiled.
“Done! I’m so amped!” Billy squealed, pulling me to the door. “You know, with the way your brain thinks of this kinky stuff, you could definitely need a man.”
“Yeah? Is that because you have to explain all the sex things to me?”
“I just explained the ins and outs of it. The rest was all you. ” Billy slipped on her fake glasses that our mother wanted her to wear and fixed the little string tie under her collar. “You should hurry up, finish the manga, and put it on one of those websites so we can make some money.”
“Love to, when Darlia isn’t watching my every move and forcing me to paint what she thinks will sell,”
“Ugh! She’s such a pain in the ass,” she grumbled.
“Yes, she is, so don’t take her man from her to tick her off.” I sighed, pulling free of my sister and getting my costume in place before saying, “Be good, Bill. I could use a break from Mom. And, if she’s gone for a week, I might be able to finish the comic for you.”
“Then let’s make sure Darlin gets laid,” My sister grinned.
The gallery lights were bright. Vivid colors of green and pink washed over my vision from all the chatter. My art hung on the walls, all from the Bible. Mostly Old Testament. Samuel, David, Job. All in a variety of sizes and textures. One might be oil or acrylic, and another might be watercolor. The piece speaks to me and tells me how it wants to be viewed, and I’m nothing more than the vessel that makes it come to life on the canvas.
It was showtime, and my dark persona was in place as I stepped onto the floor. Oohhs and ahhs sounded, and then a round of applause. I was not allowed to acknowledge them. Not allowed to smile or wave. I was supposed to be aloof, deep, and mysterious.
The lights blared down.
Eyes watching.
Staring.
Whispers.
Walking from the main section of the gallery, I strode into the singular room.
The lights were dim.
There was only one picture, and it hung on the opposite wall.
The lights cast a tranquil glow around the ten-foot-tall oil painting.
The frame was ornate and covered in 24KT gold leafing.
It was Genesis chapter 6
I called it “The Fall.”
It was the beauty of God and the Ugliness of the Devil.
It was Good vs. Evil
Light vs. Darkness
Hope vs. Despair
It was the life I wanted vs. the life I was living
And it was my masterpiece.
Murmurs erupted as I stood next to my work. I told my mother I didn’t want to sell this painting. It was mine, but she accused me of being selfish for not sharing it with the world. How selling it to one person to have in their house was sharing it with the world, I couldn’t say. I offered to give it to a museum, but she thought I was crazy.
Yeah, why give it away when she could make millions. So much for sharing my work with the world.
My mother stood in front of the painting, telling the crowd what her version of the painting represented, and that’s when I saw it. That look of wanting to own a piece of me. A piece of the child prodigy who could paint like Botticelli, Vangoth, and Renrea at the tender age of three. I was compared to Mozart, but with a paintbrush. That I was the next Micheal Angelo, and people salivated over my possibilities.
A bid came in for my painting at a million five, and I forced myself not to cry.
I don’t want to be the next Micheal Angelo.
I want to live the life that I want, not my mother’s.
To have fun.
Date.
Have a boyfriend.
Am I asking too much just to be me?
I just want to be Johny… and no one else.
