Tess
IT IS LATE AT night…
I sit on the edge of the bathtub and breathe in the herbal-laced steam which fills this space and tug on the towel wrapped around me, then work to secure one around my damp hair. I twist around and find myself staring right into my reflection’s eyes in the large gold-beveled mirror on the wall across the room. I am not the same woman I was this morning before I found myself on the attic floor with my skirt around my waist and my hair all over the place. I can say that I am uncertain of who stares back at me. Running a hand along my skin, I adore my own flesh in a way I never have, feeling and caressing and perplexed about how my body responded to her touch in a way that it has never been so receptive to Adriaan’s.
My belly twisted.
My thighs quivered.
Something incredible happened in my core which left me both speechless and breathless for hours. After placing a kiss to my lips, Mila urged me to stand. We quickly tidied up the mess of the fallen painting and broken easel and promised that we’d get back to work tomorrow.
I cannot wait until tomorrow…
Lust rushes through my veins hot and fast when I think about her and what she might do to me then. Shame affects me. Confusion takes my thoughts and twists them up into complex things I cannot understand…because I only understand color…
Looking around this hot room, I draw in the white walls and I’m reminded about what the color represents—purity. I once was pure. I was a woman who represented everything proper and right and now I’m not quite sure what I am even though it feels so right. But what we are doing is wrong…
I manage a small smile then go back to daydreaming.
Mila’s eyes whenever they land on me seem to be searching for something which I know I cannot give to her but having someone stare at me in that way is admittedly intoxicating.
After Mila left and Evi had returned Sadie, I spent the rest of the day in the kitchen, cooking and preparing a meal of oven roasted chicken and parsnips which Adriaan never made it home on time to eat with me. So, I sat to that table which overlooked the street below and had dinner completely alone and with my thoughts as I so often do, only I found much pleasure in it tonight.
Palming my cheek, my brows knot, a painful exhale leaves me, and I think, think, think.
“Tess.” Adriaan’s voice cuts into my ruminations.
I flinch at the sound of it and shift to face him. “Yes.” Laughing, I allow my posture to relax a bit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were home.”
“I’m sorry I’m so late—had a lot to do.” The left side of his mouth quirks up. “How was your day?”
The same questions…
I laugh softly. “Um, it was good. I spent most of it in the attic painting.”
The same answers…
“Ah.” He nods. “I see.”
“Yes.” I suddenly feel uncomfortable beneath his eyes, so I look away.
What was that?
Shame?
Guilt maybe?
Disappointment too?
I shove down my emotions and force myself not to get lost in a fantasyland. I must face reality and the truth is that I can never be what Mila wants me to be. My life will never be anything like hers. My world is simple and uncomplicated and full of the same…
This house. My art. My window.
Adriaan steps further into the bathroom and leans against the doorframe. “What is it this time?”
I frown. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckles loudly. “What are you painting, Tess?”
A vixen.
A wild and wicked woman.
A woman who has made me question everything about myself that I ever thought to be true.
I smile. “Oh, just more flowers, tulips mostly.”
“That sounds wonderful, Tess.”
Wandering closer to where I rest, he reaches out a hand and palms my cheek. “Are you okay?” A laugh rumbles his chest and he regards me as if I’m simply confused…which I just might be! “You seem a bit distracted tonight?” His hand finds my shoulder and massages, then squeezes it in a way that is always the prelude for something I just cannot deal with tonight.
Besides, what is ever in it for me?
Adriaan dips down to put his lips near my skin and I dodge the attempt.
Frowning, he stands at his full height and then runs his palm across my forehead in a discreet effort to take my temperature because deep down this man has always thought there was something wrong with me…
Finishing the painting of Mila is the only worry currently circling around in my mind. I am an artist. I fight the self-doubt. I work diligently to silence the voices which tell me I cannot do this. Maybe the canvas crashing to the floor earlier today is the best thing that could have ever happened for me. The lines were ragged. The colors bled into each other too much. The light wasn’t right. It was awful.
So, I must begin again…
Still, I remind myself that there is no such thing as “bad” art—it is all subjective…
Adriaan lingers watching me with those judgmental eyes of his which try their best not to convey that that isn’t what they’re doing but they fail miserably always. I wonder if he sees the blue fire in mine. It always there now as if the inspiration this young woman has brought to my life has become kerosene to my flame and each time I am in her presence she tosses more onto the flames, reawakening me, making me burn, making me come alive again. I welcome it all! I have never felt more connected to my work. What is an artist if they have no passion? What is an artist if they have no inspiration? What is an artist if they have no appreciation or understanding of color? My ability to create great works is undoubtedly dependent on a desire to connect with something that I long buried somewhere and told myself I didn’t need anymore. She is my connection. The passion her presence stirs up inside my heart is like my lifeblood and I’m certain I’ll die without it.
This may never be what Mila wants it to be.
But, I need her.
She is truly my art.
Only I feel as if it is me who is her masterpiece.
I take one last glance of myself in the mirror and finger-comb my chocolate strands and decide that I feel absolutely beautiful. I haven’t felt beautiful in quite some time. I feel adored. Appreciated.
Adriaan lingers and watching me with those distrustful eyes.
Patting his arm gently, I step past him. “I’m sorry, Adriaan, I’m really tired tonight. I just need some sleep.” I offer him a genuine smile then stride toward the door.
THREE
Tess
A FEW WEEKS LATER…
Mila rests on the blue velvet chaise across the room, sunlight pours over her and the giggle which breaks from her mouth encourages my own.
“Please, I need you to concentrate.” I dab the paintbrush in pink on the palette and make work of putting it onto the canvas.
“I mean seriously, Tess, I cannot believe you’ve never had an orgasm before.”
Lips flattening out into a firm line, I glower at Mila playfully. “I suppose there is a first for everything.” I make a face. “Please don’t laugh at me.” I laugh at myself anyways.
“It’s really not funny, Tess.” She frowns. “I guess I just thought with your age and experiences by now you would have had at least one.” A clipped laugh follows her words. “I mean it really is a shame.”