Title: Tainted Angels
Summary: He was a talented artist, showered with wealth and fame. She aspires to be just like him until she realized what his paintings really mean.
DEDICATED TO: CRESENTA'S LARK! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I know this is a day late but you can blame school and my lack of sleep.
She was in love with him.
She had to have been. To not be in love with such a man, one who creates such beautiful masterpieces with just his hand and his mind would be a sin. She could spend hours, no days, just staring at the work he created. Each stroke painted was a piece of perfection, like a puzzle that would eventually become whole when he finished his painting.
If she ever got to meet him…
Oh what a dream come true that would be! All she thought about was him, his paintings, and his ability to simply paint lines yet the meaning behind all of it! It was just astounding.
She fell in love with his artwork the first time she saw "Simplicity". Simplicity indeed! There were black, purple, and navy curves and swirls and patterns on the bottom of the painting, all crazy yet beautiful. The background seemed simple at first. There was a blue/green background but when one looked closely, you could see the different lines that formed the background. Different shades of light blue and light green were in short thin lines straight across the back.
But the painting itself wasn't what made Sam fall in love.
It was the meaning behind it.
How human life is so complex compared to the simple beauty of nature.
- Tim Scam
She could have died right then and there.
She frantically researched more of his paintings, falling in love with so many of them. All his paintings and artwork shared one meaning: simplicity. His designs were complex yet simple in so many ways, but the meaning behind each of them was so meaningful…
She loved another one of his paintings as well. "Inexcusable". On the left hand corner there was a white lily, with rain in the background. But there were harsh, bold lines cutting the picture diagonally, splitting the lily into three separate pieces. She wondered why anyone would harm nature in such a way, and at first was angered with Tim Scam. Why would he portray such violence?
And she stayed angry until she looked at the meaning behind that one.
How humans have behaved towards nature. Towards things who have never done anything to receive punishment for.
- Tim Scam
Of course, since she loved "Simplicity" so much, she had to love "Gone". The same black, purple, and navy curves that were present in "Simplicity" were present in Gone. They were darker and bolder at the bottom, and gradually grew lighter and lighter when it reached the top until it faded away from existence.
A message to those who have been hurt… that evil people do get what they deserve.
- Tim Scam
She just fell in love with him more.
So obviously when she heard about him being there for a workshop at the Palace Museum of Art, she jumped at the chance and reserved a spot to be there.
Ten days from now.
… She couldn't wait that long!
She ran around her house to get a paintbrush and paint and began painting a picture inspired by him.
Ten Days Later:
She eagerly entered the museum, excited and all, with a couple of 10 by 8" canvases in hand. She couldn't wait to show Tim Scam her artwork. It wouldn't be nearly as great as his, but she thought it was quite good!
She entered the private room and took a seat, taking note of all the other people in there.
But other people didn't matter. Not when she was about to meet him…
Fifteen minutes later, he entered, and she was squealing in her head little a little fangirl (1). She couldn't believe it! It was him! It was really him!
He began speaking, and Sam was blown away by the richness of his voice. The deep quality, the way his words melted her heart…
She was falling in love with him even more.
She didn't know if it was her imagination, but she always noticed how his eyes glanced to her from time to time as he spoke.
Nonsense… He's supposed to do that…
Pushing the thought out of her head, she resumed to cling to his every word, every technique he told them, her, but throughout the whole workshop, she could only notice how his eyes kept glancing back at her. Eventually she started painting, and she resisted the temptation to smile every time he passed by her and her painting.
"Wow." He said, sitting down next to her. "Impressive. That's quite the painting you have there."
She blushed. "Thank you. It's really not all that great."
He rolled his eyes. "Beautiful is not the same as 'all that great'. Besides, it seems to echo who you really are." His finger traced the painting in midair. "Simple yet beautiful. Meaningful." He began to whisper, and his eyes were somewhat glazed over when she looked at him.
She blushed again, but not before realizing what he just said.
Did he just… indirectly call me beautiful?
He stood up and walked away from her, his words echoing in her head.
At the end of the session, they all stood up and thanked him, and shook his hand. Sam stayed back, hoping to be the last one out.
She did her best not to blush (again) and smiled at him. "H-hi."
What was wrong with her? She sounded like such an idiotic schoolgirl!
"I wanted to show you these." She hesitantly handed him the paintings she drew at home, afraid that they wouldn't be nearly as incredible as Tim's, but she took a chance, knowing it was the only chance she had.
She bit her lip and looked down, afraid he wouldn't like them.
He sifted through the paintings, and although Sam didn't know it, he was mesmerized by each one, not having seen art like this since…
"This are magnificent." He said appalled, having never removed his eyes from the paintings.
He had to see some more of her work... he was beyond amazed.
I need to see more.
"Listen..." He began to say, since he was too captivated by her artwork to realize what she had said. She had already captured his attention when she entered the room... She was so much like his paintings, his own living, breathing painting, and he knew he needed to have her with him, by his side.
And this was the perfect opportunity to bring her closer.
Her paintings... as if they were painted by an angel... He began to see her in a totally different light. He looked up at her blushing, smiling face, and he saw the halo that outlined her form.
She was to be his.
His own painting.
"How about you come over to my place one day?" He asked, sending her a smile. She went red in the face again.
He wanted her to come over? To his house?
Dream come true! She screamed in her mind, yet managed to keep a small smile on her face without giving away her thoughts.
"S-sure!" She said beaming, unable to keep the grin off her face. How could she? Her hero, her dream man, her everything, invited her to his place.
He grinned as well, knowing that he would have to plan her visit, and he knew if he wanted her to be the one to keep his paintings alive, she would need to know the secrets.
All of them.
He smirked; he was amused that her reaction was not to his expensive penthouse apartment, nor was she delighted by the extravagant size of it. In fact, her reaction was based off the paintings done on his walls, by himself of course.
"You did this by yourself?" She asked, her eyes brightening with excitement, and he could only wish that he was the only one allowed to see those eyes, wishing that every part of her, her smile, her eyes, her face, her body, his angel, would belong to him.
He chuckled, walking closer to her with his hands in his pockets. "Of course. What kind of artist would I be if I made another artist paint for me?"
"A lazy one?", was her rhetoric and sarcastic response, still starting at all his paintings even though she saw so many of them. But today she found out he was a man of surprises, shocking her with new paintings that even she, his biggest fan, never laid eyes on.
Chuckling again, he continued to observe the angel before him, wishing to paint her...
Yet he knew no matter how long he painted, he could never capture her beauty. Beauty this elegant, this magnificent, could never be captured by anyone.
He gave her a tour of his penthouse apartment, never being one for big houses if he was the only one living in it. He eyed the beauty next to him, thinking hopeful thoughts of her living with him, yet he knew it could not be possible until she knew his secrets.
An angel like her needed to sin every once in a while right? As much as he didn't want to hurt this untouchable beauty, he had to... To corrupt her was his way of marking his woman. She belonged to him, and after today, she would belong to him only, that is, if everything went well.
Which it would. He was Tim Scam after all.
She was talking of her past, her life, and each time she mentioned any male figure in her life, he would burn with jealousy, and wished he could paint a picture with his jealousy fueling him.
But no. Not now. Not when he had her in his grasp. She had entered the lion's den, his den; she was bound to pay the consequences.
Silence ensued between them, and he asked the question that he was itching to ask since she arrived.
"May I paint you?"
She stopped in her tracks, shock overcoming her mind and body, and he wanted to step back to let the situation dawn on her, but he went against his wishes. Instead of stepping back and letting her enjoy her comfort zone, he stepped closer to her, taking her hands in his and pulling her slightly closer to him.
"My dearest Samantha..." He whispered, knowing that any loud noise would shatter the bond they had formed right then and there. Their hands created a connection between them, and he intended to create a bond with their minds as well. He wanted to make sure that she knew that he didn't have to be near her in order to be close to her. "Ever since I saw you..." His left hand slowly drifted down the left side of her body, his fingers fluttering against her body without touching her. "I realized that you are such an ethereal beauty who cannot be painted... Yet", his eyes met hers, "You are so much like my paintings... Simple yet complex. You are quite simple are you not? But every part of you that seems simple has such depth, such meaning to it, that it cannot even be called simple, just like the strokes of my paintings." His head moved closer to hers, and she, although in shock, did not resist. He breathed over her right ear, slowly letting his mouth come close to her cheek, her neck, yet he wouldn't touch her. He would toy with her, play with her, she realized, not doing anything until she allowed him to paint her, allowed him to do whatever he wanted with her body on canvas.
And she agreed.
How couldn't she? She thought as she looked into his sea-foam eyes, so much emotion in them. How couldn't she sacrifice her body for the man she worshipped so much? In fact, it would be an honor to be painted by him!
That's how she found herself sitting still, letting his eyes wash down her body and back as many times as he wanted. Yet she wasn't afraid to "loan" herself to this man. Any other man would have met with resistance.
But with him, Sam found her defense walls breaking down into crumbles.
A few hours after he was finished, he stood up to let the painting dry. Looking over it, he was impressed by himself. He somehow had managed to keep her beauty on a piece of paper, but there was a piece missing... A gap in the painting, and he knew he was not able to capture the beauty she had.
Only she could fill that missing gap by staying with me.
It wouldn't be enough for her to leave right now and leaving him with the picture for memories. No, he wouldn't stand for that. He needed her to be with him for the rest of eternity. She was an immortal angel, created only to be sent to him.
He was the Devil after all.
And you know what they say. Opposites attract.
He sat down next to her and massaged her aching muscles, thanks to sitting so long in one position. He found that her body was smoother than he had imagined, and she found that his fingers lighted a fire within her every time he touched her.
When she saw the painting, she had to blink back to hold her tears.
She stood up when he did, feeling more connected to him than ever before. He led her to his private gallery, where he stored all the paintings that meant something to him personally. Most of his paintings were about the world, but what Sam didn't know, what the world didn't know, was that most of his paintings were a lie.
A beautifully crafted, tainted lie.
He closed the door behind him, and put his hand on her left shoulder to direct her to each painting he wanted to show her. She didn't know when he had come so close, but she felt his chest touch her back occasionally, and she inwardly smiled at how lucky she was today. She had only come to try to get a glimpse of him, and now look at her.
He led her to "Simplicity", and she commented that this was one of her favorite paintings by him. She walked closer to the large painting, gently touching it with her fingers. "You know what I love the most about your work?" She asked him in a daze. She was so up high in her clouds, nothing could bring her down now. "The painting itself is gorgeous, stunning. I spend days staring at each brushstroke you make, every technique you use, hoping that maybe I'll be able to paint just as half as well as you do." She closed her eyes. "But you know what I love the most?"
"No I don't. Why don't you tell me?" He asked, placing his right hand on her hip, and when she didn't resist, (he didn't really think she would at this point), he placed his other hand on her stomach, slowly moving up and down against her body.
She smiled and leaned back against him before talking. "I adore the meanings behind your paintings. I never knew how anyone could put such depth into simple, beautifully crafted lines and designs, yet you were able to do just that." She leaned his head against his shoulder, still high up in the clouds. "It's the reason it's one of my favorites, you know?"
He was careful not to let his entire body go rigid when he heard her words. He wanted her in his arms after all, but she ... she had said something that made him mad. Angry.
Those meanings behind the paintings? She cared about those did she?
Well than, if she were to continue his legacy, he would have to change that.
He gripped her body tighter, letting her know something was wrong. She turned her head around, bewildered, and her eyebrows furrowed when she saw his frown. She opened her mouth to speak when he chuckled, his head down, a smirk replacing the smile that had been on his face before.
He pointed towards the painting hanging on the wall before them. His finger landed on the dark purple and blue swirls that were on the bottom of the painting.
"Let me give you a small lesson in history Samantha."
With his left arm he grabbed her waist and forcefully pulled her closer, and placed his mouth next to her face, their cheeks touching. "You see those pretty little swirls Sammie? You know what they represent?" She, too shocked by his behavior to respond, said nothing, and he continued to talk in anger. "They don't represent human life in general; those stupid lines represent my good-for-nothing mother!" She flinched when he yelled mother, and he knew she understood. "Those green and blue lines represent me; this whole painting isn't about nature, no! It's about how my mother RUINED MY GODDAMN LIFE EVERY FUCKING TIME SHE SIDED WITH MY FATHER!" He screamed into her ear, and she put her hands over her ears since he was hurting her eardrums.
But what was this about his father and his mother?
"I... I thought it was about—"
He scoffed. "You believed that? No darling, I'm just amazing at bullshitting." He roughly pulled her to another painting, this one being "Inexcusable".
"This one over here?" He asked, his rage controlling his actions at this point. Usually that never happened but he was angry. He needed to use that anger to make Sam understand what her job was from this point on! "This one is not about how humans have tortured nature." His eyes, gleaming with malice, and his mouth, curled in a feral grin, and he spoke again. "This one was about how my bastard of a father tried to KILL ME SO MANY TIMES! He tortured me, abused me, and that good-for-nothing whore I had to call a mother sided with him!" He pulled at her arm to another painting, giving her only a few seconds to think about what he had said. He had to go through this all his life? Being tortured as a kid... that must have been horrible! What kind of parents would do that do their own son?
When he pulled her to "Gone", she made the connection right away. The swirls were the same swirls from "Simplicity", and they represented his mother...
His face was now impassive, his eyes being the key to his true emotions. Raw fury was finally being unleashed after so long.
"When she died I wanted to throw a party. I've been wishing for her to die since I was born."
Her eyes widened at his words. She understood that he hated her, but to wish his mother's own death?
How bad were they?
"You're a smart girl Samantha. This one is about how she was such a burden in my life until she died in cold blood."
Her head whipped towards him, but he simply glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
"The bastard killed her when they were fighting about some stupid thing that I could care less about." He scoffed, staring at the rest of his paintings. "He's been wanting to have some claim to my fortune since he heard I became famous."
She crossed her arms, not expecting any of this to have happened. He continued talking with his back to her.
"I only wish I could kill him off."
He scoffed again and turned around to face her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, and this time she resisted but he was stronger than she was. "Listen to me Sam. My father beat me, made me bleed, whipped me, broke my bones, did everything you could possibly imagine because he enjoyed seeing little kids cry." He saw the fear in her eyes, but he ignored it. He got this far; he wasn't going to stop now. "He deserves to die a painful and torturous death. But you know what?" He asked, malice gleaming in his eyes. "I don't even want to kill him. I just want to torture him for eternity, never letting him die. That would be too much of a blessing!" He shouted, but he calmed down when she placed her hand on his shoulder.
I need to calm him down and let him regain his senses.
"Tim?" She asked hesitantly. He looked at her and she gulped before coming closer to him, staying in his embrace. She felt his stiff body calm down and she felt his arms curl around her. They stayed silent and in each other's arms. When she felt he was calm enough, she spoke again. "Tim?" She snuggled closer into his chest. "I don't want you to be a killer." He said nothing. "I understand that they hurt you more than I could ever imagine... but..." She cradled his face in her hands, hoping this would work. "I don't want you to be a murderer." She sighed. "I need you here... you've inspired me so much throughout my own life. I wouldn't be an artist without you; I would have been miserable and lonely if it weren't for you." She let her nose touch his. "Please don't do this."
"I have to. And I'm going to."
She inwardly groaned at his stubbornness, but didn't give up.
"Seducing me isn't going to work, although I'm not complaining."
She blushed again, despite the situation. She raised her finger at him. "Listen to me, you are not going to do this, do you understand me?"
He rolled his eyes. "The real questions is whether or not you understand me."
"Then you know that I have to do this."
Her eyes began to water. "You can't!" She cried out in agony, not willing to let him ruin himself.
His eyes searched hers before speaking in a whisper. "You really are a saint, aren't you?"
She narrowed her eyes in confusion, not understanding where that sentence came from at all. "What are you saying—"
He interrupted her with another question. "Would you be willing to take my place in the artistic community?"
"WHAT? Stop changing the topic!"
"Would you do it?"
She sighed and stared at him, the distance between them growing farther apart. She suddenly felt cold, as if she missed his warm embrace, his touch, his breath on her skin, his eyes staring into hers.
"Only if you're here with me."
He sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing they were getting nowhere. He walked closer to her and pulled her to him again, their faces touching, the lips centimeters away from each other. Yet he wouldn't kiss her. "I need you to do me a favor. I need you to take my place as Tim Scam, or change your name if you want to, and I'm going to torture my father to death and if I come back, I come back. If I don't," he whispered to her. "Then I'll leave you this as a reminder of me." Their lips met in a searing kiss, and Scam found his hands touching her whole body, with clothing or without, and Sam found herself letting him do whatever he wanted to her, her resistance crumbling once more. She wrapped her hands around his neck, and opened her mouth to let his tongue enter. As their lips battled for dominance, she moved her arms so that she could claw at his back, it being the satisfaction for not having as much control as she wanted. He kissed her again and again, moving from her lips to travel down her neck in hot-breath, open mouth kisses, and he pulled down the collar of her shirt, knowing there were too many barriers between them. And then he gave her a reminder she would never forget.
She found he was an excellent kisser, and he found out that some angels could be tainted.
And she was one of them.
She used to be a rebel, fighting for what she believed in, but when she met him the walls that were her barriers broke down. She shouldn't have met his demands; she shouldn't have given in so easily. Now he was off in God-knows-where, and she was listening to the news, and found out that Thorne Scam, Tim's father, was "missing", and Tim Scam was still painting but did not show himself in public anymore.
Lies. She sighed and wiped away a tear, regretting the fact that she let him on the path of a murderer. She instead concentrated on the painting before her, finishing it off before signing it as Tim Scam. She did everything he wanted. She sighed, knowing that if she didn't paint for him, the public and the media would question his sudden disappearance... If they linked him with his father's "disappearance"...
She crossed her arms again and walked to the front door when she heard someone knocking. She looked through the peephole and opened the door quickly, not believing her eyes.
In front of her stood Tim Scam.
The same one who went to kill his father.
The same one who had left her.
The same one she couldn't stop from leaving.
She didn't know what to do. Should she hug him or glare at him or...?
His eyes were glazed over, and she could see the faint traces of blood but maybe she was imagining it. She walked back to let him inside, knowing that her resistance was crumbling yet again. He would use her and throw her away and pick her up when he needed her, but she yearned for his arms, his hands, his touch, his kisses...
He slowly walked into her house, and when seeing a blank canvas, he picked it up, and then looked for a can of red paint. Finding one after a few minutes of searching, (with Sam looking as confused as ever), he splashed it all over the canvas, and put it on the easel to dry. His hands, smeared with red paint, (oh how she hoped it was paint), reached out to grab her arm and pulled her close again, and he smashed his lips against hers, as compensation for not being there for so long. She couldn't stay away from him. She wanted to show some self-control but she couldn't do it, not around him.
He bit her lip, and she gasped, letting him enter her mouth. His hands held her tight to body, not letting her. Her hands were playing with his hair at this point, making a fist of it and using it to push him closer to her. They separated for a minute to catch their breath, and he found that her eyes did not sparkle as they did before unless he held her, and she found that his eyes were only glazed over when he wasn't with her.
Soon they separated to let him take a shower, and when the bathroom door closed, she stared at the red paint splashed over the canvas, and, even though he was in the other room, she felt it was her duty to help him when he needed her the most.
She signed the canvas for him.
(1) You know where this is from Cresenta
HAPPY BIRTHDAY CRESENTA! (I KNOW THIS IS A DAY LATE. FOR THE RECORD PEOPLE, HER BIRTHDAY IS JANUARY 5). I hope it slightly makes up for the fact that you had to go to school on your birthday :(
If the ended doesn't make any sense, it's because I wrote it at midnight when I'm half awake and I winged the ending anyway since I didn't know how to end it. :(
Hope you enjoyed it!!