When I found out I was truly sick, not just different. I had to find a way to end it, to save her and myself from our connection that continued getting deeper.
I called upon Carlos, who had just become a lawyer, and he helped me do just that.
With Tris, there is no talk of love, but there is an earth-shattering urgency and need to be close to her, to allow her the closeness that she seeks from me. A magnetic pull to her.
God help me, I’m not sure I can stop it. The only silver lining is I know, even if she doesn’t, that she is unbreakable.
I need to be her friend, because that is all I can give.
I look at the canvas and realize I have mindlessly painted her again. The beautiful girl living amongst her monsters, as she calls them.
This time, her eyes … God, I love her eyes, so telling until they shut down, or close. Yet I still feel their affect. I see her trying to crawl out of the darkness that they become. If it is that last thing I do, I will make sure that happens.
I have thought day in and day out about how I can be in her presence and her in mine.
I must trust her with my reality and hope that she reacts the way I know she will.
In the strangest twist of fate, she, a girl who thinks she is broken, was thrown into the path of a man who truly is. And the truth in two negatives is, together, they become something positive.
“Are you going to clean up before our meeting? You look like shit, my old friend.”
I look over my shoulder as I wipe my hands to free them of paint before hitting the volume on my phone to lower the volume.
“Fernando Sor?”
I nod as I glance at the time. “You’re early, old friend.”
He looks well. Always a handsome man. Always takes care of himself.
“Well, I thought I’d come and see for myself that you’re mentally well. You’ve not been acting yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
“If all your faculties are straight, then tell me, Matteo, why is the thought of wedding Gabrielle even giving you a pause? She will take care of your legacy, your art. The rest, I will handle, as planned. And then you, my dear friend, can rest your mind and worries, which are taxing on your health.”
“She drew a line I am not willing to cross.” I walk over and open the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water for myself and Carlos.
“Then Gabrielle was right; you’re taken with this pops singer, this Tris Steel.”
Turning, I see him smiling. “None of this humorous.”
He points to his smile and shakes his head. “This is not in jest; this is because I know you all too well, and you do not fall in love often or easily. This smile, my friend, is genuine happiness.”
Anger boils inside of me to an uncontrollable heat, and I throw the bottles, one then the other, at the painting and watch as it tumbles to the ground. “This is not happiness; this is torment. This is a dying man finding someone who he could love easily, who he could build a beautiful life with, who is seventeen years old and has her whole life ahead of her. This is a man who has finally found contentment in his circumstance and accepted his fate, only to have found someone who may understand me. This is—”
“Matteo,” a sob comes from beyond my studio wall from the front, the empty storefront.
I must be hearing things, I think as I step to the side so that I can look around Carlos, who is filling the doorway, blocking my line of vision.
Black waves of hair hang down her neck, cascading around her shoulders, framing her beautiful face as light illuminates her from behind. She’s wearing a soft white dress, cashmere perhaps, and she looks like an angel.
This is it. My time has come.
My chest tightens, but not in a way that feels as if I may be suffering an attack. No, the pain is not physical; the pain is sufferance.
My head swims in clouds and thoughts. “Am I seeing an angel? Is it my time? Am I finally to meet my mak—”
“Matteo?” Tris whispers a sob as she hurries past Carlos to get to me.
“Este sería un bello final,” I whisper just before her arms wrap around my middle and she hugs my so tightly yet gently, as she rests her head against my chest, above my heart.
“This would be a beautiful ending.” The sound of the translation app comes from her hand that’s against my back.
“You are not dying. We’ll fix this, okay?” Beautiful hazel eyes, flecks of golds and browns in fields of green, shimmer behind the mist.
“I love your eyes. I could stare at them forever.”
“Then do it.” She forces a smile and sniffs back unshed tears.
Pulling her head to my chest, I whisper, “En otra vida.”
The app translates my words, “In another life.”
She clears her throat as she takes two steps back, continuing to fight tears. I can see the struggle in her to do so. She looks like an angelic warrior.
“The way I see it, we only have one life, right?” She holds up the app.
“Will you tell her you speak English well enough to carry on a conversation?” Carlos huffs. “You’re an educated man, Matteo.”
She crosses her arms and scowls at him. “I know he can, but if his head hurts, we do it this way. Our way.”
I could drown in this. I could lay beneath the waters and look up at her and never miss a breath.
Carlos chuckles as he walks over to the small table in front of the dingy floor to ceiling windows, surrounded by brick, and sets down his briefcase. “You’re fond of Matteo.”
She responds quickly with, “As are you, I’m sure.”
“Then you won’t mind signing this NDA, promising to never mention any part of what you may have overheard.”
“I’ll sign whatever after you give me every bit of information about his condition and why you get him medication from Arthur Schindler of London, England, and he doesn’t go to his own physician to help him get better.”
Carlos aches a brow as he looks back at me. “It seems you have kept some things from me, my friend.”
“How are you his friend if you are—”
“Tris, enough,” I interrupt her. “He’s loyal to me.”
I look at Carlos. “We need to reschedule our meeting.”
“No,” Tris says in a demanding tone and points to Carlos. “He’s going to tell me everything, because you don’t think I can handle the truth.”
“I see your strength and the beauty in your fight. I am aware—”
“And I see your struggle.”
She looks back at Carlos. “You want my autograph on those papers, start talking.”
“No,” I bark out like a rabid animal.
“Yes!” she gives back to me.
“What is it you Americans say? I wish I had popcorn for this show?” Carlos laughs as he sits down.
In a battle of wills, we stare at one another, both unwavering, both unrelenting.
Her eyes still pinned to mine, she sits down. “I’d like a bottle of water.”
I narrow my eyes, and she returns the gesture.
Carlos claps his hands. “This is fabulous. Like a dramatic—”
“I’m not leaving until I know, and I promised my grandmother that I’d be back in two hours. And, as you know, she will call the dogs out after me.”