Saturday, February 26, 2011

Clear and Bright: Chapter Seven: Tell Me


"Claire? Hello? Have you heard a word I’ve said?"


"Huh?" I shake my head, and Nadine laughs. She’s enjoying this, seeing me not in control of myself. She has forgiven me for yesterday, as I knew she would. I’m trying to be responsible today. I’ve never had to try before. I tore myself away from him, much to his protests. I normally don’t go in to the gallery on Fridays, but when I got home and called Nadine, she insisted. I knew why. Not because she needed me, but because the curiosity was killing her, and she couldn’t get away. I quickly showered and dressed, trying to compose myself before I got to my inquisition. My efforts were futile. From the expression on her face when I walked in, I knew that my own had betrayed me before I’d spoken a single word.

"Tell me everything!" was all she said.

I replayed the events of my day to my dearest friend, and my morning’s surprises. I found myself repeating the same words over and over: "I don’t know how to explain it…" but each time she would just smile an absurd smile, or giggle like a schoolgirl.

I attempted several times to move on to business, but she wasn’t having any of that. I probably would have failed miserably anyway, I can’t keep my mind from running back to that kiss. Again, and again… No one has ever kissed me like that before. I thought I’d been kissed passionately, I’ve felt passion before… but this… this was different. The way his hands felt on my face, holding me desperately to him. His mouth… my God, his mouth. He assaulted me with that mouth, there’s no other way to describe it. And it was so…

Her laugh snaps me out of my reverie. Damn her.

"You may not know how to explain it, Claire, but I do."

I sigh, knowing what’s coming will be some romantic notion of love at first sight or something just as ridiculous.

"You’re in love."

Aaaaaand, there it is. I roll my eyes at my head-in-the-clouds friend. "Don’t be ridiculous, Nadine."

"I knew you were going to say that," she says.

"Just as I knew you were going to say that."

"It’s true. You are."

"No, I’m not. No one falls in love in a day. It isn’t possible. You have to know someone to love them. I don’t know him. You have to spend time…"

She cuts me off, "You spent the whole day with him. You blew off our meeting. You spent the night with him. I know you, Claire. That is a big deal. I know you’ve never believed in such things. You woke up yesterday morning expecting to have a normal day, according to your tediously thought out plans, I’m sure. Well, let me tell you something. Life is full of surprises. You’ve managed to have control of your life for a long time. You were long overdue for something unexpected. Now it’s happened. Don’t try to rationalize it into something it isn’t. Your day didn’t go according to your plan. You fell in love. No one plans love, Claire. It just happens. It finds you when you least expect it. Don’t try to make sense of it. Just enjoy it. Live it. Give up control. I promise you it doesn’t hurt."

"I don’t take that word lightly. You know that."

"Yes, I do know that. And you know that I don’t take fate lightly."

"And you know me well enough to know that I don’t believe in fate. Our lives are the product of the choices we make, the way we live, the work we do. I know we can’t control everything. We can’t control death, we don’t get to choose it. Well, we’re not supposed to…" my voice trails off as a wave of pain washes over me. She waits. She gives me time. She knows. I just need a minute…

I take a deep breath, and look at my friend. We’re so different, she and I. Sometimes it seems impossible that we could have such a close friendship, but it works. We balance each other. "That’s just not the way I see the world. Meeting Jaimin on the street yesterday was coincidence, not fate. It’s easily explained. We were in the same place at the same time."

"You’re rationalizing."

I ignore her, and continue "A day hardly constitutes time. I admit that I’m out of my element here. I don’t deny that I feel something, or that it’s something I can’t explain. I don’t deny that my actions yesterday were reckless and irresponsible. And yes, I spent the night with him, but don’t make it sound like anything it wasn’t. It was innocent."

"I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, Claire, I’m sorry. I’m just happy for you. Excited. It’s nice to see you let your hair down. It’s nice to see a light in your eyes that came from something other than art. I don’t want you to talk yourself out of anything because you don’t understand it. You were glowing when you walked in here, but it’s already fading. You want it to make sense, I get that. It’s who you are, how you think… but it doesn’t mean there isn’t another way to see the world. I’m not asking you to change, I love you just the way you are. I only want you to keep your eyes and your heart open. Life unscheduled can be a wonderful thing."

I’m considering her words when I hear my phone. I’ve never been so excited by that sound. I want it to be him. I really, really want it to be him. God, when did I get so pathetic?

Yesterday.

Oh goody, she’s back. Who asked you?

I ignore the snickering that only I can hear, and check my message. Seeing that it is, in fact, from him fills me with joy.

J:  So, it would seem that a smile on my face is an unfamiliar sight to my staff. I don’t believe that to be true, but they’re quite enjoying themselves, in any case. I blame you.

I can’t help but giggle, and quickly type my reply.
C: Ever so arrogant. You hold me responsible for far too much. Broken dishes that couldn’t possibly have been my fault-as my ‘collection’, as you referred to it, is without a crack. Now a smile, apparently foreign to your features? Man up.

His reply is immediate.
J: Say that to my face, oh adorable one.

Oh!

His next text arrives before I can form a coherent thought.
J: I had briefly considered that I had been a bit too unrestrained with you this morning… I no longer have such thoughts. This pleases me.

He thought what? How could he?

He’s too fast for me.
J:  And I assure you, you are absolutely responsible. The dishes were broken by me, but only because I was infuriated by you. That makes it your fault. As for the smile, which is widening by the moment, it’s all you. Thank you. How is your day, beautiful?

I can’t even see him, and he still has the power to turn me to mush. Nadine is a captive audience, and unabashedly happy. I’m never going to hear the end of this.

How to reply?
C: You’re very welcome. And my day is quite wonderful so far. That is all you, but don’t let it go to your already swollen head. May I presume that your widening smile is an indication that your day is pleasant?

His reply takes longer this time.
J: You may. As for your other remark… it’s all I can do to remember my manners.

Hmmmm… I wonder… although I probably shouldn’t, I decide to bait him with my next reply.
C: Your manners seem to come and go. They’re as lovely in their absence as they are when present.

I don’t wait for him to respond as I type my next message.
C: ‘My other remark’? I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to. Hmmm… let me think…  ’swollen’, perhaps?

This is so unlike me, but I’m enjoying myself. I hope he doesn’t misinterpret my playfulness. What’s taking him so long? Speak of the devil…

J: Be careful, Claire. I know where you live. I wouldn’t want you to regret sharing that information so soon. Behave.

Oh! Careful is starting to feel foreign to me. And boring. I can’t resist.
C: Regret? Well, if I were at home, I would be running to UNLOCK the door. As for careful… if I were careful, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.

His response is again immediate. And it makes my heart pound.
J: WHERE ARE YOU?

Uh oh. Suddenly I don’t feel so brave. Jouissance is less than two blocks from here…

My, he’s impatient.
J: ANSWER ME.

I decide to continue with playful.
C: You told me to be careful.

He’s quick.
J: I changed my mind.

Really quick, and getting more impatient.
J: CLAIRE.

Well, I suppose I made my bed...
C: I’m at the gallery. I know I said I’d be working at home, but Nadine asked me to come in. I couldn’t very well refuse her after yesterday.

After this morning’s revelation, we realized we’d spent almost an entire day and night talking without ever getting around to our respective careers. He reacted in a way I couldn’t quite read when I told him of my painting, and the time I put in at the gallery. Perhaps it was just the knowledge of how close I had really been.

Mr. Manners is back.
J: I’m more than happy, and not too arrogant, to take full responsibility for that. Are you hungry?

I know he’s a chef, and his restaurant is close, but his question in all it’s simplicity melts me. I know there is pure sweetness behind it.

C: Are you offering to feed me?

J: Anything you want, and a peace offering for Nadine, to make up for yesterday.

I decide to take another stab at playful, a bit in defiance at my mushy insides.
C: You’ve added indulgent delivery to your services?

Mr. Arrogant is back.
J: NOT A CHANCE IN HELL.

Maybe the sweet, flirtatious approach.
C: Not even for me? I know you can’t see me, but I’m batting my eyelashes and pouting at you.

J: I’m sure it’s adorable. I’d like to see it. You should come and show me. I’ve got something for your pouty mouth.

Nadine breaks her silence before I can reply, "I don’t know what he said, but red looks good on you." She is beaming at me.

"That’s good to know, because he’s seen a lot of it." I give her an exasperated look, then add, "We’ve been invited to lunch. Hungry?"

"Famished," she answers with a sly grin.

I’m pretty sure what she’s famished for is to see us together. I think before I say yes, I’ll toy with him just a bit more.
C: As tempting as that is, I was really hoping for delivery. I thought you’d make an exception for me. It’s rather heartbreaking to learn that I’m not worth it. Perhaps I misunderstood a few things. I should really get back to work now. Enjoy the rest of your day.

I hit send, wishing I could see his face when he reads it. Grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair, I stand and ask Nadine "Ready?"

She’s already purse in hand, waiting. We’re nearly to the door when he bursts through it, his phone clenched in his hand. Uh oh.

"Is this supposed to be funny?" he asks, with what sounds like anger, but looks like hurt.

Oh, that wasn’t my intention at all. What have I done?

"Do you think this, you, are some kind of game to me?"

I shake my head. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll just make it worse.

He’s just looking at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His brows crease together. I’m starting to recognize his expressions. I want to kiss it away, like last night, but I don’t move.

He takes a deep breath, appearing to try to calm himself. He looks briefly to Nadine, then back to me. "Where are you going?"

No more games. "I was coming to you."

His face instantly changes. He gives me the most beautiful, innocent smile. "You were?"

"Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just teasing… I went too far. I feel terrible. I really am sorry."

He comes to stand just in front of me, and lifts my chin, so that I am looking up at him, "I may have overreacted. I don’t want you to feel terrible." Touching my bottom lip with his thumb, he adds "I don’t ever want to see this pretty little lip pouting from sadness."

"Forgive me?" I ask sweetly.

"There’s nothing to forgive. Still coming? Are you actually going to grace us with your presence?"

"If we’re still invited. And, I have dined there many times, for your information."

"Of course you’re still invited. In fact, I insist. Many times? That is new information to me. My staff knows you… certainly they would have mentioned it to me if the source of my weekly tantrum were dining in."

I laugh, I can’t help it. "I come in every Monday morning to pick up my order. Haven’t you ever considered why you’ve never managed to catch me? I knew you wanted to, they’ve told me. It amuses them, that’s why they help me." His eyes narrow, I know he’s getting irritated, but I continue. "They distract you, and help me get in and out before you can come and ring my neck. If they go to this much trouble, why would they tell you when I’m dining in and give you the chance to poison me? It would spoil their fun."

I can’t control the giggles, and Nadine, who is fully aware of all of it, is laughing with me. He really doesn’t look amused.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and shakes his head. "I did want to ring your neck."

"I know. But you still gave me what I wanted. I always got my way, in the end. And as for my collection of your plates? You have only yourself to blame for that. It isn’t my fault that you’re too pompous to put your delicacies in a box."

One would think I had slapped him by the expression on his face. God, he’s so arrogant. It just makes me laugh harder. I don’t want him to have a chance to form his response, so I feign impatience. "I’m hungry. Can we go now? I want to be indulged."

At this he laughs, but now he’s determined to not give me my way. "Some things are worth waiting for." He looks at me intently, then his gaze travels around us. "Some of your work is here, right? Show me something."

Nadine speaks up now, "Actually, you’re quite familiar with Claire’s painting. In fact, you own several. It’s an impressive collection you’ve built."

We both look at her, stunned, and ask a simultaneous "What?"

She smiles a knowing smile at us, it’s clear to me what she’s thinking. Fate has returned to the forefront of her mind. She looks straight at Jaimin, and says "I’ve often wondered where you put them all. And to clarify, everything you’ve purchased here was hers."

I look at him now, he’s frozen in place, his eyes closed. I reach out and touch his hand, he takes it firmly in his, and whispers "You were right here. You were there. You were all around me. So much wasted time…"

His voice trails off, and he pulls me into his arms. Maybe Nadine was right. The world suddenly looks very different to me. It’s just too much. Not even I can deny that. I can’t reason or rationalize it. I don’t even need it to make sense.

He pulls back slightly, and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Come on, let me feed you."

Everyone turns to look when we walk in, smiles spreading across their faces. I wonder how much they know. I’m sure he announced that there would be no more ‘to go’ orders, probably his greeting this morning. He’s that cocky. Maybe they figured out the reason for his smile. He must have stormed out of here like a bat out of hell, they seem to have been anxiously awaiting his return.

He seats Nadine and I at a table, and as he walks towards the kitchen, mutters "Traitors." They all burst into laughter.

Is she ever going to stop looking at me like that? She looks like the cat that swallowed the canary. "I can honestly say that the two of you are the cutest thing I have ever seen. He is crazy about you. You’re good for him, and his ego."

"Maybe, if I can keep my foot out of my mouth. I went too far today."

"You were just having fun, Claire. You unknowingly hit a sensitive spot for him, the place where he holds you. It just proves that his feelings for you are deeper than you understand. He felt something for you before he even met you. Now that he has, those emotions have exploded inside of him. Don’t you see how vulnerable he is? You can hurt him. You can take it all away."

She stops, smiling at something behind me. I’m sure it’s him, and within seconds I feel his hand on my hair as he sets a plate between us. It’s a lovely spread of bruschetta with asparagus and tomatoes, and cheese stuffed mushrooms. I’m sure he’s added his touch of heaven to both.

He drops down beside me, looks up at my face, and wiggles his brows and asks "Chosen your indulgence yet?"

I’m thinking of Nadine’s last words as I look at his beautiful face. I know this is a strong man I’m looking at, confident and proud, but I see the vulnerability she spoke of. He doesn’t hide it from me. I shake my head, and say quietly "No, you choose. Surprise me."

He raises a single brow this time, as he asks "Are you still afraid I might poison you?"

I smile and try to make up for my earlier offense. "No, that’s no longer a concern. I rather believe that I’m far too important to you for that." In any other context, my words would be assuming, but I know that he won’t take them that way. The smile he gives me in return is worth a thousand words.

Nadine gives him her order, and as he stands I add "I do have one request."

"Anything."

"If you’re not too busy… I’d love it if you could join us?"

He doesn’t answer, only winks at me, and with another stroke of my hair, walks away.

I’m mush.

Nadine is laughing at me. "Well, perhaps the balance of power has shifted a bit. You, my dear, need to work on your poker face."

                                                

We’re enjoying our lunch, he prepared me a wonderful Halibut Provencal, and discussing his collection of my paintings. "Where are they?" I ask. "I didn’t see anything in your apartment."

"Different places. Some are there. They’re in my bedroom, that’s why you didn’t see them. I have two in my office here, I’ll show you when we’re finished if you like. As for the rest…  I have a vineyard, they’re hung in the house there. I’m hoping to show you everything. In time, of course, if you’ll allow me."

"I’d like that."

"So would I."

Nadine clears her throat and says, with a shameless grin, "Actually, I can see to it that she’s free for the rest of the day if you’ve got something to show her."

"Nadine!" I gasp, but he is laughing. He winks at me again, and I forget my shock, and most everything else…  How does he do that?

They are getting along well. I know they’ve met several times, but that was business. This isn’t, and it’s obvious she’s not immune to his charms. Is anyone? I bet women throw themselves at him. Shameless women, with offers of…

I’m suddenly feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought. It’s irrational, but I can’t help it. I don’t like this feeling. I don’t remember ever experiencing this before. No, I’m sure I haven’t. I’d remember this. I definitely don’t like it. Do I even have the right to feel this way?

I feel him squeeze my hand as he whispers "What’s wrong?"

"What? Nothing."

"Then why are you pouting?"

"I didn’t know I was."

"Well, you were. Please tell me what’s wrong."

"Nothing."

"You’re lying to me. Don’t do that."

"I’m not. I promise, it’s nothing. I was just thinking… it’s not important." I smile sweetly at him, hoping he’ll let it go. I’m sure as hell not going to tell him.

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t ask me again. He motions to someone across the restaurant, and a moment later we are presented with Petits Pots de Creme topped with raspberries. We try to protest, but he doesn’t play fair.

"You’ll hurt my feelings."

Once today is enough for me, so I dig in. Nadine already had her spoon in hand while she was pretending to say no. Who does she think she’s fooling? I know about the stash of sweets she hides in her desk. Like everything else, it’s heaven.

After a few minutes of filling my arrogant chef’s head with shameless praise for a wonderful lunch, Nadine stands to go. "I’m going to run an errand, then head back. No rush, Claire, a proper game of show and tell takes time." And with that, she rushes out before I can strangle her.

"You’re blushing."

I try to bury my face in my hands, but he pulls them away. "Don’t do that, I think it’s adorable." He sits watching me for a moment. "Would you like anything else?"

"No, thank you. Everything was perfect. I have been thoroughly indulged."

"Actually, you haven’t." He stands and takes my hand. "Come with me."

I let him lead me. He opens the door to his office, and I step inside. The instant the door closes, I’m up against it, his hands on either side of my head.

"You didn’t think I forgot, did you? I told you I had something for your pouty mouth."

Oh! I think he’s going to give me a replay of our kiss in his kitchen, but he surprises me. He brushes his lips against mine so gently, so softly… every nerve in my body ignites. His lips feel like rose petals, his kisses like feathers. He’s teasing me relentlessly. It’s beyond erotic. I feel his hands in my hair, as his tongue traces my bottom lip. I open my mouth to him, wanting to taste him. I think he’s going to give me what I want, the tip of his tongue briefly slips between my parted lips… but then he is whispering against my mouth "There’s nothing I want more, EXCEPT to know what upset you a few moments ago. Tell me."

What? Is he serious? Now? Crap! I can’t tell him that. I look into his eyes, willing myself to see humor in them, but there isn’t any. "Please? It was nothing. Don’t be cruel. I seem to remember a promise of kindness."

"TELL ME."

He’s serious. His words come back to me… I will never lie to you… he said it more than once. He needs me to answer him. He said I was lying to him… he said don’t do that… oh no. It’s such a stupid thing. Why is it so important to him? It isn’t stupid to him. He thinks I lied to him.

"CLAIRE."

"Okay. If it’s so important to you that I humiliate myself, then I’ll tell you."

"I would never want that."

"Then don’t make me tell you."

He takes my face in his hands, his eyes are heavy with concern. "I don’t know what that means. I only know that something was bothering you. Whatever it was, I don’t see how telling me could humiliate you. You can say anything to me. There is nothing that you can’t tell me. Please, Claire."

I close my eyes, wishing I could disappear. I can’t deny him. He wouldn’t understand. He’d think it was something else… He’s vulnerable… so I’ll be embarrassed, I’ll get over it. "Okay. I was jealous."

He looks completely confused. "Jealous? Jealous of what? Who? At lunch? Sweetheart, I don’t understand."

"That’s because it’s stupid. It was nothing. I tried to tell you that."

"It’s not stupid to me if it’s something you felt. You looked unhappy. I didn’t like that. Tell me. Make me understand. Give me a chance to make it better."

I want to get past this. It’s so ridiculous. It’s in the way… "I was watching and listening to you interact with Nadine. You’ve got her wrapped around your little finger… "

He interrupts me, "Your friend? What could I have possibly said or done to her to make you jealous? I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you… if anything, I was rude to her."

I shake my head. "No, of course not. You didn’t let me finish." He makes a gesture of zipping his mouth shut, it makes me smile, in spite of how embarrassed I feel. "It just made me start thinking… is any woman immune to your charms? I imagined women throwing themselves at you… I didn’t like the thought. It made me jealous. I’ve never felt jealousy before. Not in any relationship, not ever. I didn’t like the way it felt. I guess my face gave me away. That was all. It was stupid. When you asked me what was wrong, I didn’t want to tell you that. Can you understand that? I wasn’t lying to you… not really… I was just too embarrassed to answer."

My head is down, but I know he’s looking at me. He’s quiet, and it makes me feel worse. This isn’t me. I’ve been behaving like a silly little girl. I don’t know why, I’m never like this. It must be so unappealing to him. Maybe he’s already wishing the face on his walls had stayed a dream.

He finally breaks the silence. "Look at me."

I do as I’m told.

"You have nothing to be humiliated or embarrassed about. Absolutely nothing. It isn’t stupid. Certainly not to me. A person doesn’t feel jealousy unless they feel something else. Jealousy is two things, the way I see it: Wanting something someone else has, wanting it badly. Or having something you can’t bear the thought of someone else wanting. It’s an irrational feeling.

I was jealous from the first moment I saw your face. Jealous that someone got to be near you, when I couldn’t. I tried to get information, but all they could tell me was that the artist had passed and that his mother was selling all of his art. And that the girl in the paintings I was purchasing was named Claire, they thought. That’s it. I thought it would be easy to find out more information, I was wrong. God knows I tried.

If there were other images of you, I wanted them. I wanted them all. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else looking at you. I didn’t even know you. It didn’t matter. I wanted to know you. I didn’t know the story of the paintings, but I was insane with jealousy that this man had known you… had loved you. Maybe I should be embarrassed by that, but I’m not. It’s how I felt. I knew I wouldn’t feel so strongly if you weren’t important. I knew you would be meaningful in my life, I just had to find you.

I never would have stopped looking. I didn’t know what I would do when I found you, how I could prevent scaring the hell out of you. I knew it was probable that you would run screaming… but when you looked at me… it was there in your face. If I was careful, you’d let me explain it to you. That is, if I could get to you before the traffic did."

He makes a horrified expression that makes me laugh, but I don’t say anything. He continues, "You have nothing to be jealous of, Claire. I’m happier than I can say that you feel enough for me to experience that kind of emotion, but it isn’t necessary. There’s no one else. Women do throw themselves at me, quite often. I’m not being cocky, just honest. I told you I’ll never lie to you. I don’t want you to be jealous of that, they aren’t important. They aren’t you. I know how to deal with them. Please trust me to do that. I’ve finally found what I was searching for. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to focus on keeping it. And I’m sorry if I was cruel. Can I try to make it up to you?"

I simply nod my head, and his hands are on my face, his mouth on mine. I cover his hands with my own, needing to feel the way he holds me. His lips are again gentle, his tongue asking for permission. I part my lips for him, letting him give me what I wanted. But it’s so much more than that. His kiss is tender. It’s sweet. It’s vulnerable. It’s words he has yet to speak. It’s questions he has yet to ask. It’s thanks that I’m here with him. It’s promises. It’s perfect. We fit. Our lips, our tongues, our hands… we were made for each other.

I feel dizzy. I don’t know if it’s from our connected mouths, or my newest realization. I feel my legs start to give, thank God I’m against the door.

He feels it. His arm is instantly around me, holding me securely. My hands fall to clutch his shirt. I won’t fall, he won’t let me. He breaks the kiss, and rests his forehead against mine, his other arm wrapping around me.

His voice is a whisper, "I won’t let go, Claire. I won’t ever let go."

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Clear and Bright: Chapter Six: Something More

                                   

It’s dark when I wake, the only light a sliver of moonlight and the soft glow of the fire that has nearly burned out.  I know where I am, I can hear him breathing beside me, feel his fingers still entwined with mine. We are lying on the floor, nestled in a haven of pillows and blankets he had arranged in front of the fireplace. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. He was like a young child making a grand fort, his face beaming with pride when he was finished. It was another mush moment for me, to his unhidden delight. No one has ever had that effect on me before. It’s new for me, like so many things I’m feeling now. My pulse quickens as I replay the events of the last several hours in my mind. He stirs next to me, somehow feeling this subtle change.


He lifts our hands, and brings my wrist to his lips. "Is something wrong?" he asks, kissing it gently.

It’s such a tender gesture, it derails me. All I can do is shake my head in response.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" he asks, and again, I shake my head.

"Are you cold?" he asks, tucking the blanket more tightly around me with his free hand. Another shake of my head.

Worry crosses his face then, "Frightened?"

He thinks I’m frightened? How could he think such a thing? He has been a complete gentleman. We spent the day talking, about everything and nothing. He made us dinner, my God, the man can cook. We watched a movie. Well, sort of. He turned it on, but we mostly just watched each other. When it got late, and I said I should go, he got tense. He didn’t want me to leave, like I would be lost to him if he let me go. He didn’t have to do much to convince me to stay; I didn’t want to go. Another new. I’ve never spent the night with a man I’ve just met. It isn’t me. I just don’t do things like that.

Didn’t,  I hear now in my head.

Where did she come from? To my pleasant surprise, she had been silent for most of the evening. I should have known it wouldn’t last. What’s her problem, anyway? He’d been nothing but sweet to me, and maybe I’m naive — although I don’t think so — but I didn’t believe he had any hidden agenda. He just didn’t want me to leave.

Nothing happened!, I scream silently at her, he didn’t even kiss me!

I wait, but hear nothing. Silence. Good. It was the truth, and she knew it. He hadn’t even tried. We sat close, often with fingers entwined, like now, but nothing else. It was enough. He’d given me something to sleep in, and we’d settled into our little nest and talked until we fell asleep. He’d done nothing to frighten me in any way.

I realize when I look at him, and see his troubled expression, that I haven’t answered him, too lost in my own thoughts. "Do you always worry so much?" I ask him.

His brows crease together, but he doesn’t answer. It tugs at my heart. I lean forward, and kiss the place where they meet, hoping to soothe him. Almost instantly, I feel his tension slip away. He releases my hand and places his own on either side of my face, gently holding me in place. He seems so vulnerable in this moment, as if I hold all of the power. Maybe that’s what it feels like to him.

"I’m not frightened," I say, his skin warm against my lips. "Nothing is wrong, and everything I need is right here."

He raises his head at my words and looks at me, and it is him that now appears derailed. He sits up and pulls me into his lap and buries his face in my hair, wrapping his arms tightly around me. He whispers a simple "Thank you", but I know these words are anything but simple to him.

We sit this way, not speaking, not needing to. I feel many things, things I haven’t felt for a very long time, some I’ve never felt until now. I feel happy. I feel adored. I feel protected, and safe. I feel hope, not in my usual way — I’m a confident, optimistic person, and I’ve always been hopeful about what life would bring, what I would achieve — this is different. I am overflowing with excitement and anticipation for something new. Someone new. I wasn’t looking. I wasn’t lonely. I was content, happy with my life, but now… what? I’m not sure I know. The only thing I’m sure of, being here with him, is that now I want more. Yes, I feel hope. Hope for something more. Hope for this. It’s my last conscious thought as I drift peacefully to sleep, still nestled in his lap, with his arms wrapped tightly around me.

                                                  
                                                 ~


It’s light when I wake this time. He’s no longer next to me, or holding me, and there’s a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen. It’s a familiar smell, but I think I must be dreaming — he couldn’t possibly be making that. I jump up and grab my bag, grateful for my be-prepared-for-anything compulsion, and dash to the bathroom. I know I don’t have much time, but I’m nothing if not efficient. I must have slept like a baby, there’s barely a hair out of place. I don’t wear a lot of makeup, so not too much of a mess there either. I can be presentable in three minutes. I can see him in three minutes. Whoa … did I really just … ? Yikes. I’m in more trouble than I thought. Perhaps I should wash my face with cold water. Very cold …

Exactly three minutes later, I stroll somewhat shyly into the kitchen. I feel a bit nervous, like a child on the first day of school. I don’t know why, nervous is another new for me.

"Perfect timing," he says without even turning around.

How on earth did he hear me? His back is to me, giving me a glorious view of his sinfully-fitting jeans. Mercy! He’s making ‘art’ of breakfast, just as he did with last night’s dinner.

"Good morning, I hope you slept well. Breakfast is rea... "

He doesn’t finish his sentence as he looks at me. He’s standing with our plates in his hands, just staring at me, mouth dropped open in … what? Oh no. What did I do?

"Good morning," I say tentatively. "What’s wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"Yes, apparently. Did I do something?"

He places the plates on the breakfast bar, and motions for me to come to him. I oblige, of course I do, but I’m feeling uneasy now.

He takes a deep breath, and gently lifts my chin, tilting my face upwards. "You’re beautiful. That’s what you did. You took the breath right out of me."

What? Is he serious? Beautiful? I’m still in his sweats and t-shirt, my hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and all I’ve done is brush my teeth and wash my face. Beautiful? I think he must be crazy. Maybe he drinks. Before 7:00 AM? Hmmm …

He laughs, as though he could hear my thoughts. "Adorable," he says, shaking his head, "and yes, very beautiful. Now sit." He kisses the tip of my nose, and pulls out my stool, and like the good girl that I am, I sit.

I know I am blushing, I can feel it. Again, something new. I don’t blush.

Didn’t.


Oh, shut up! I need to distract myself. Miss Smarty Pants is making me question my sanity. I can feel his eyes on me. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Or maybe I don’t. I focus my attention on the plate in front of me. What the … ? It is definitely familiar. It’s my weekly indulgence, Brouillade de Truffes, and it looks exactly like the plate I pick up every Monday, though not without unnecessary difficulty, on my way to work. Exactly. Maybe he frequents my favorite restaurant with it's temperamental Chef. It’s near where I saw him yesterday…

Well, he may have exacted the look, but taste is another thing entirely. Good cook or not, he won’t have matched it. No one makes it like him. I take a bite, expecting disappointment and hoping I can conceal it. Boy, am I wrong. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect. It’s exactly the same. How in the… ? I look at him in complete astonishment.

"You don’t like it?" he asks with a look of incredulity.

Well, aren’t we cocky? "It’s delicious, actually. I was just wondering if pirating another’s creations was a hobby of yours?"

"Excuse me?"

Oh, now he looks mad. And it’s… hot. I ignore his stunned glare, and my own rising temperature, and take another bite. It really is delicious.

"Claire?"

"Yes?" I ask innocently.

"Would you please explain your question?"

"Was it not clear?"

Oh! He’s definitely pissed. It really wasn’t my intention to make him angry, but the result is not unpleasant. I’m rather enjoying it. I can see that he’s trying hard to control his irritation, anger, whatever it is.

"Jouissance," I say simply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at his arrogance.

He looks even more stunned now. Busted! "Do you know it?" I ask, although I’m sure the answer is yes; my breakfast is too perfect for it not to be.

He smirks at me. "Why, Claire… yes, I know it. Is that a request? It would be my honor to fulfill it."

What? What is he… oh. OH! I break out into what must be a thousand shades of red. That wasn’t…

He’s laughing at me now, quite pleased with himself. I might be mad if it wasn’t so absolutely…

"Adorable." He takes the word right out of my head.

"That wasn’t what I meant," I say timidly.

"Wasn’t it?" He’s smirking again.

"No, it wasn’t. I think you know that. It’s a restaurant, a very pretentious one, but I think you know that, too."

He tries to feign innocence with his expression, but gives it up quickly. "Perhaps, and yes, I’m familiar with it, but pretentious? That seems a bit harsh."

"Harsh? As if the name itself didn’t warrant the term, the Chef is the epitome of it."

He nearly chokes on his coffee. He seems to be taking my remarks personally. Maybe he knows him? Maybe it’s a friend of his? Would a friend share his trade secrets? I don’t think so. Certainly not him.

He’s regained his composure, but I can’t quite read his expression. It appears to be confusion. I continue my attempt at getting a confession out of him. "Do you frequent the ‘establishment of pretentiousness’?"

His mouth twitches. "I spend a fair amount of time at Jouissance. I’ve never seen you there. We’d certainly have met sooner if I had. You seem to have an aversion to the Chef. May I ask why? You haven’t even met him. Of this I’m sure."

"No, I haven’t, although I don’t know how you could possibly know that?  In any case, he’s an arrogant bastard. He’s pompous, pretentious, rude, and he infuriates me. If he wasn’t so God damn brilliant, I’d find another source for my indulgences."

He regards me intently, a hint of a smile on his lips. He’s amused by something, "Indulgences? And what might those be?"

"Actually, you’ve just unknowingly replicated one of them to perfection. You asked me to explain my question… your ‘Brouillade de Truffes’ are exactly like his. He adds something… it’s distinctive… it’s heaven. No one else in Paris prepares them that way, that I have found; believe me, I have looked. Now you… so either you pirated his recipe, or perhaps he shared his secret with you?" I smile at him sweetly, and add, "You know, you could save me from him, at least one day a week… are you free on Monday mornings?"

Something has changed. It happened the instant the words were out of my mouth. His face… his eyes went wide, his mouth dropped open. Then something else… I’m not sure what. Recognition? Clarity? Then his eyes narrowed, and his lips formed into a mischievous grin. And now, he breaks the silence with an eruption of ear-splitting laughter. I don’t understand. What is so funny? He is literally cracking up, I think I may actually see tears forming in his eyes. Oh, what now? His laughter isn’t the only sound I hear - she’s joined him. She’s laughing, too. Traitor. WHAT? I’m clueless. What the hell is so funny?

He finally decides to take pity on me, and gathers himself. He wipes his eyes — I knew I saw tears! — and stands. He spins me around to face him, takes my hand, and, kissing it, says, "Allow me to introduce myself: Pompous, pretentious, rude, infuriating-yet-brilliant, arrogant bastard. It’s a pleasure to meet you."

OH. MY. GOD.

He can’t contain his amusement at his revelation, or at my shock. He is beaming at me as he continues. "As to your inquiry, my Monday mornings are quite busy. You see, I have a beautiful, and equally infuriating, woman to indulge. She’s stubborn, difficult, and as I have just come to realize, absolutely adorable. It has also just come to my attention that she thinks she needs saving from me. Although I admit I find this amusing, I assure you I won’t be allowing it to happen. Not a chance in hell. I have a lot invested in this woman… she’s single-handedly responsible for a plentitude of broken dishes, although she may not have been aware of this fact, not to mention the large collection of plates she has managed to assemble for herself from my ‘establishment of pretentiousness’. I have to place frequent orders, at substantial cost and annoyance, to replace these items. Add to this the ‘Gallery of Her’ that adorns these walls… the countless hours of searching for her — clueless to the fact that she was just a few feet away from me the entire time — and the unabashed bliss that has so recently filled this arrogant bastard’s life… well, Claire, it would appear that my Monday mornings already belong to you. That being said, I think a change of routine is certainly possible. In fact, I insist on it. I will continue to indulge you with breakfasts made of heaven, and anything else you may desire, but you have had your last insulting-to-this-pretentious-chef ‘to go’ order."

And with that, his hands are on my face. His lips crash into mine with an intensity I’ve never known. I can feel his passion in every part of me. I can feel how much he wants me. I can feel every moment he searched for me. I can feel the moment he found me. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating. The scent of him… the taste of him… pure heaven. I’m floating, weightless. I’m sure I’ve forgotten my own name. I’m on fire. He’s not gentle. I don’t want him to be. Mr. Sweet and Sensitive has left the building. The arrogant bastard is here claiming me with his kiss.

Oh… it’s a pleasure to meet you, too... 

Clear and Bright: Chapter Five: Clear and Bright


                                   
A smile spreads across his face, a smile for me. A smile for us. There will be an us. There is an us. We're already here.

He reaches up and wipes what's left of my tears from my face, his fingertips like gentle flames against my cheeks, soothing me in every sense. "I did. Finally. I don't have to search anymore. You're here."

The relief in his voice fills something in me.

I thought I was whole.

Is it possible that a person can fill an emptiness in us we don't know is there?

His words do this to me now.

He takes my hand in his, and turns me back to the source of my tears. "I don't ever want to cause you pain. I don't want to see hurt in your eyes. I want you to cry tears of joy, not sorrow. Your face, this face that has haunted my days and nights for so long, is so much more beautiful than he portrayed. He loved you, I can see that, but he didn't see you clearly. I know there is a story here, a story of one man's loss. I know his unspoken words have caused you pain, but I would like you to hear those words now the way I hear them. It was, for him, a tale of regret. I can't blame him for that, how could he not regret losing you?"

I interrupt him now, with a few questions of my own, "How could you know that I'm someone worth trying to keep? Someone you wouldn't want to lose? Surely you can't know that from painted images of my disappearing face?"

My words silence him momentarily. He seems to be considering his response, as he looks again to the paintings that he must have committed to his memory.

I wonder how long he has had them here?

How long has he been searching for me? The me he has created for himself.

What is she like?

Is she anything like me?

Can I ever even hope to compare to his imagined version?

He doesn't look at me when he speaks, he seems lost in the images before him. "I was drawn to your face instantly, I don't deny that. I will never lie to you. These are empty words to you now, but you will learn their truth in time. We have time." He smiles as he says this, content in his belief. "You see, Claire, for me your face isn't disappearing."

I gasp at his use of my name, but he only winks at me. This simple gesture renders me a puddle of mush. How can I be so affected by him? I have never been that girl. I don't get butterflies and goosebumps and wobbly knees. I don't!

I hear her now, sensible Claire. She's laughing at me. You didn't, she corrects.

She's starting to get on my nerves, but she has brought me back to solid form. I'd like to push her into the mush puddle that now lies beside me. Focus, Claire! How does he know my name? I'm about to ask him, when I see his amused expression hovering over me. Crap. Either I was actually talking to myself, or he knows about the puddle he created. Is that a smirk on his face? Yes. Definitely a smirk. He definitely knows about the puddle. Smug bastard. I stick my tongue out at him. Immature? Yes. Gratifying? Absolutely.

He laughs, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Crap. I return to my previously mushy state. That didn't take long. My face is betraying me, it must be, partners with my traitorous legs and thumping heart.

Once again, he knows exactly what he's done to me. He laughs again, and leans in to whisper in my ear, "You're adorable."

No one has ever called me adorable before, it surprises me. I'm too serious for adorable.

You used to be, I hear in my head.

Oh goody, miss smarty pants is still here. How is it I've never heard her before? She's always there, a part of me, but she's never spoken to me until today.

That's because I didn't need to UNTIL TODAY! 


What? She's yelling at me now? I don't care. She can yell all she wants, he thinks I'm adorable. This makes me far happier than it should. When did I become such a girl?

I know she's about to say something, so I cut her off. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but could I please have a glass of water or something? I'm feeling a bit out of sorts."

A look of irritation crosses his face, and he says "Of course, I've been a terrible host. Please forgive me."

He leads me across the large expanse of a room, to intricately etched glass doors that open onto a balcony. There is a lovely courtyard below, and I find myself wondering if he spends much time there.

"Perhaps a bit of fresh air will help," he says as he pulls out a chair from the wrought iron table. "Relax, I'll be right back."

Relax? Easy for him to say. I may have noticed bits of cautiousness or desperation in him before, but that's all gone now. Getting me here was what frightened him, that I might say no, but now that he's accomplished that he is confident. My puddles left in the other room only add to it, I'm sure.

Perhaps I am starting to relax. I think it's being out here, a mix of fresh, cool air and being away from the 'gallery of me'. He wants to explain it to me, tell the story in his words, and I want to hear it. I want to see something other than pain in those images, see what he sees.

My thoughts jump to Nadine, my friend and forgotten lunch meeting. Why hasn't she called me? She should be worried sick that her responsible, sensible, always-on-time-and-courteous-enough-to-call-if-I'm-going-to-be-later-than-15-minutes-early, friend has stood her up! My bag is inside, where I deposited it when we came in.

As if he's read my mind, my beautiful stranger appears with arms full. I'm going to ask him his name if I can focus, I swear I am. In one hand he holds a tray with 2 bottles of Perrier, 2 glasses of ice, and a plate of bread, cheese and fruit. In the other, he has a blanket and my bag. I jump up to help him, but he waves me off with a flourish of his tray-holding hand. Maybe he's waited tables before, or maybe still does, it's not like I know anything about him.

"You missed lunch," he says, sitting the tray down on the table.

My eyes on his other hand bring his next words "It's a bit chilly, I don't want you to be cold."

He drapes the blanket lightly over me, and hands me my bag, adding "It was ringing. You were rushing somewhere before... perhaps someone is worried?"

His expression no longer bears the confidence it had a few moments ago. Has it just occurred to him that I may be attached? Had he not considered this before?

I smile at him, and say "I wouldn't have gone with you if there was that kind of someone to worry."

Oh, there's that beautiful smile again. I'm grateful to be sitting this time, my traitorous legs rendered useless against me. I pull my phone from my bag. Nadine has called me 3 times, and texted me twice. I guess I didn't hear it. Okay, she was worried. Shamed with guilt, I type a quick text letting her know that I'm okay, apologizing for standing her up, and telling her that my explanation will, without any doubt, make her forgive my rudeness. I hit send, knowing that it will drive her mad with curiosity, but that she will wait to hear from me.

He's waiting politely, watching me. "Thank you, you didn't have to go to so much trouble," I say finally.

"It was no trouble at all. I'm sure I've quite disrupted your day, though I'm not at all sorry for that," he replies with a cheshire cat grin.

Mercy. Mush, mush, mush. Focus, Claire. I take a sip of my Perrier, and find my voice. "I know I interrupted you before, and I want to hear the story you want to tell me, but I think it's only fair that I know your name first." Finally. Now he just has to answer.

"More than fair," he says, "Jaimin. It is my honor to finally meet you, Claire. My words are more sincere than you know."

I beam at him. I can't help myself. I believe him. As crazy as it seems, I know his finding me today has filled a tremendous longing in his life. He has had my face covering his walls, a dream of some sort, and now finally has me here.  What I don't know is if I will disappoint him, and the idea of me he has created in his mind. Oh, I hope not. I want to know. I need to know. I have to keep him talking. "Thank you" is all I can muster, then add "Please continue. I won't interrupt again, I promise."

He slides the plate he has so thoughtfully prepared closer to me. "You eat, and I'll tell you anything you want to know. Are you warm enough?"

I nod my response, and pop a grape into my mouth like an obedient child.

"Adorable," he says again with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Perhaps I have found a way to affect him too. Although not my intention, I'll take what I can get.

I am instantly mesmerized as he begins. "He painted you in a progression of loss. I understand how deeply he must have felt this loss, his vision brought to life vividly on the canvas. His pain is clear, moving. You were retreating from him, at least he felt you were. You were fading, farther and farther away until you were gone, leaving him with darkness.

You referred to it as your disappearing face. This is what I want you to understand, Claire. From the first image of you, he painted you in a fog. He didn't believe you were his. Maybe he didn't think he was worthy, maybe he was too unsure of himself to really see you. I don't know, and I don't mean in any way to make light of his emotional struggle. I know only that he was a troubled young man, who lost his fight with the darkness inside of him. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for him, and I'm sorry for you.

I saw your pain today, you cared for him a great deal. Whatever happened between you, whatever caused him to lose you, it has brought you here. I'm not sorry for that. I'm too selfish, and I've waited too long. I was captivated by that face, with it's different expressions. Confusion. Trepidation. Fear. Sadness. I didn't know if those feelings were yours, or just what he thought he saw reflected back at him. I wanted to know. I wanted to know you. I wanted to see you in light, not the endless fog. I wanted to know your face, understand your expressions for myself.

I've waited for you. I've been living in darkness waiting for you. As you saw, I've arranged your face as a progression of focus and light, each clearer than the last. You were coming closer to me. Closer, and closer, but always out of my reach until today. This is the final image. You. What I see before me now. No haze, no fog. Certainly you must know the meaning of your name. 'Clear and bright'. That is what you are, Claire. I've had to see you in a fog for all of this time. My world exploded with light the second I saw your face today, and now you are here. You are right here with me, and you are clear, and you are bright, and you are beautiful.

You asked me how I could know you're someone I wouldn't want to lose... I'm not sure I can explain it to you. I only know that I've lived my life without you until today, and that life was empty. I don't feel empty now. You are here, and the emptiness is gone. I don't know anything about you, except for your name, and the fact that someone loved you and lived in darkness and pain from the loss of you. I've searched for you for a long time. I searched every street, every cafe, every museum and shop. I searched every place there is to look for a person, the person who would make everything bright. I knew I would find you if I just kept looking. You're no longer out of my reach. I can see you. I can smell you. I can reach out and touch you."

I am so moved by his words, that tears have begun to stream down my face.

"Please don't cry," he says softly, as he reaches out to wipe them away once again. "That isn't what I wanted. I just don't want you to go. I know it must seem crazy to you, and maybe it is. I live surrounded by you, with only your face and the knowledge of your name. Okay," he laughs, "that definitely sounds crazy, but I don't want you to be afraid. I could never hurt you. I just want to know you. I'm asking you for that chance. The fact that you're here gives me hope.

There's something between us. I know you feel it. You felt it on the street, before you knew any of this. You feel it now, your tears prove that. I'm not perfect. I don't claim to be. There will be days I'll irritate you, and days I'll infuriate you. The only promises I can make to you is that I will be kind. I will laugh with you. I will support you and comfort you. I will talk to you and I will listen to you. I will share with you all that I have. I will give you more than I ever ask from you. I will adore you and protect you, and I will never, ever lie to you. This is what I can offer you, for now. Can you take a chance, Claire? For me? For us?"

I want to answer him, but when I open my mouth, no sound comes out. I want to throw myself into his arms, but if ever I was mush, it is now. My legs would certainly fail me, just as my voice has. I don't want him to misunderstand. I'm not afraid. I'm not confused. I don't need time to think. I'm not going anywhere. I want to know him, too. I reach my arms out to him, hoping he will know the meaning of my helpless gesture.

He knows. Of course he does. He is on his feet and lifting me into his arms in an instant. It feels right, more than anything I've ever felt.

This day began for me in a hectic whirl. It continued in a blur of senses and emotions, but now... here... everything is clear and bright.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Clear and Bright: Chapter Four: Choices


                                                       
Where did he? How did he? Why does he?

Me?

Me.

It's me I see. My face. Everywhere. It's all around me. Paintings. A veritable gallery. Of me.

"Ive looked everywhere for you," I hear him say quietly from behind me.

I do not reply. I do not speak. I do not make a sound. I am stunned into silence by what's before me, surrounding me.

I'm suddenly filled with a sense of sorrow. I recognize one. I know it. I know it well. I know who. I know the story behind the image. I know what it represented. To the artist. To him. It's my face, confused contemplation visible in every feature. It's blurred around the edges, focus diminishing, as if you can actually see it moving backwards. A haze covers it in the slightest subtle way. He was talented. His brush held brilliance, fueled to life by his hand, fed by his deep and ever pensive mind.

Alex. My Alex. My anguished love. He said he was losing me. I was slipping away from him. Fading, like something loved, but not protected from harsh elements. He was the harshest element. His love, meant to pull me close, pushed me out of his reach. That was what he said. His words, again and again. I loved him. I did. I tried. I did. He was troubled, so very troubled. He had demons inside of him, anger, rage, sorrow. For so long, he didn't let them touch me, touch us, but they were there. They consumed him. Some I knew of...

He never got over his father's death. Never came to terms with the loss of that man he loved so much. Never forgave his mother for the choices she made after. Alex was an American, moved to Paris by his mother and her romantic dreams.

He didn't want to leave his home. He didn't want to leave his father behind, all of the memories of him. She was cold. She was selfish. She shed no tears for her husband, the man who loved her, the man who had given her everything. She gave her son no comfort, no compassion. She didn't help him heal. She ripped him from everything he knew, every comfort he might find in his home. He had lost the most important person in his life, with no warning, no goodbye. His father was taken from him suddenly, tragically. His life as he knew it was forever changed, and she took everything he had left in much the same way. He hated her for that. I'm not sure she noticed. If she did, she didn't seem to care. She cared about herself. She cared about things. She cared for the countless men who left their scents on her pillows. They never stayed long. She blamed her son for that. They didn't leave because of him. They left because she had nothing to offer them. They left because she was shallow, selfish, and greedy. They left because a whore's bounty is quickly pillaged.

She didn't like me. She didn't want me in his life. She didn't like the changes she saw in him, although it shocked me that she saw them at all. He was happy. Well, he was happier. His painting brought him peace. I brought him joy. His words, said so often. I loved him, he knew I did. It took him time to believe it, that anyone could, but he accepted it eventually. I wanted to help him heal. I wanted him to see what I saw, how special he was. I gave him everything I could. It wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted too much. He needed too much. Me. He needed me too much. It suffocated me. It frightened me. I knew he wouldn't hurt me, but there was something that I couldn't quite wrap my head around. Something dark. It was as if he wanted to consume me. His love for me was changing. Changing him. Changing us. I tried to talk to him, make him understand. He needed to understand that he was scaring me. I tried. He didn't hear me. He showed me the painting, told me it's story. I told him it didn't have to be that way. He didn't have to lose me, watch me fade... he didn't hear that, either. He got worse. I got more frightened. I had given all I could to this troubled young man. I gave him my heart. He wanted my soul. I couldn't give him that. I left. I had to. For me.

I never knew about the other paintings. These paintings that surround me now in my beautiful stranger's apartment. He had painted me many times, but these... he must have done them after I left. They seemed to be a series, beginning with that one he had shown me. Each one more unfocused. Each one a different, more distant expression. Each one farther and farther from his reach. Oh, Alex. My heart breaks as I look at his pain. The last image cuts. It's like the others, only my face is barely visible, so far away. There's a hand reaching towards me... As an artist, it's breathtaking. As the subject, how can I put into words the pain I feel for him? I can't. There are none.

I've been looking at these paintings long enough to know their intended order. This is not the way they are displayed here. They are completely reversed. It is now that I realize that the hand reaching for my disappearing figure is not the last. Next to it is a simple canvas of black, covered in a subtle, foggy haze. Simple? No, it's anything but simple. It's tragic. Although I know I shouldn't, I step closer to see the date in the bottom corner. My heart stops. Tears well in my eyes. No. Please, no. I know this day, this terrible day. Alex painted this darkness on the day he took his own life.

I can't feel my legs. I can't breathe. The pain is consuming me. He is taking from me what I wouldn't give him. I don't want to give it now. It isn't my fault. She blamed me. Is this why? That wretched woman! She didn't even cry for him, her lost son. I cried. I cried for him. I cried until the tears would no longer come. I'm crying for him now. His hurt. His pain. His demons. His loss. His desperation. His fight. His surrender. He surrendered. I'm not responsible for that. My heart breaks to know that his thoughts were of me on his final day, but I can't carry that blame. He made a choice. I couldn't save him.

I reach out, I don't even know for what. I need something, something to hold onto. He is there. Of course he is. He's been standing somewhere behind me, giving me time. How long have I been standing here? How long have I been lost in this onslaught of painful memories from the past? These new wounds formed with new knowledge? Has he spoken? No, I'm sure he hasn't. Not since... what was it that he had said? I hear his words as if he is speaking them now ... I've looked everywhere for you... I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. No, he won't consume me. The past won't consume me, I won't let it. He made his choice. I have to make mine. Forward. I want to go forward.

I turn slowly. He's so close. My heart starts beating again. Beating hard. It's almost painful, but I like it. It means I'm alive. It means I can feel. I see sorrow in his eyes. For me. He knows he has caused me pain, but I had to see. He needed me to see. I trusted him to show me. I'm glad sensible me left me alone. I see now. He waits patiently. He knows I'm going to speak. Does he know what my words will be? Do I?

Yes. I know.

I reach up with both hands, and gently touch the corners of his down turned mouth. I want him to smile. I want to make him smile. Looking into his eyes, with a smile of my own, I say simply ...

"You found me."

Clear and Bright: Chapter Three: Need



We’ve been walking silently, with the exception of his few words. We’ve been stealing glances, he as often as I. My hand feels warm in his, and small. I feel the tremble, certainly he must feel it too. I feel the moisture, and although he must as well, he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s something else, something I can’t describe. Excitement? Anxiety? Insanity? I’m not insane, although some might disagree, given my current state of recklessness. Intrigue? That’s putting it mildly. Nothing seems to fit quite right. Nothing, except for my hand in his. His grasp is firm, yet gentle. Electric, yet comforting. He holds it with calm purpose, yet I sense something else coming from him. Through his calm exterior, bits of desperation seep through. It’s as if he is afraid of something. What could he possibly fear from me? I’m the one that should be…

My thoughts are interrupted when he stops. I look questioningly at him, and he simply says “We’re here.”


He’s stopped us at what I’m sure is his apartment. My heart begins to race as I realize this. Where did I think he was taking me? I didn’t think at all, I suppose, but I wasn’t expecting this. Alone. Alone with this beautiful stranger who has made me unrecognizable to myself in an instant. Or am I? I hear her now, the voice of sensible me: NO, NOT ALONE.

His hold on my hand grows instantly firmer, it’s as if he’s heard her too, and is afraid I’ll run from him. “Please?” his song of a voice asks.

I start to utter a response, of what I’m not sure, when he looks pleadingly into my eyes and whispers, “Please let me show you something? I need you to see.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. His voice is so beautiful, and so gentle in his plea. Can I deny him? See? See what? My head is spinning, yet my hand lies firmly in his. I never even tried to pull it free. Did my body answer him, although my mind has yet to decide? I don’t want to let go, I don’t want to run, but surely he could have taken me somewhere else? Anywhere else… but this place. His place. What did he want to show me? Need. He said need. What does he need me to see?


I’m listening. I hear nothing. Where is she? HELLO? A little help here? Complete silence. Great. Sensible me has left me alone. Alone with him. Damn her. She’s probably in my studio organizing my brushes, while I’m here facing the greatest moment of indecision of my life. Her incessant need for order, although usually appreciated, is at this moment highly inappropriate to me.

I take a deep breath and look up at him. He’s still looking at me, watching me, waiting for my reply. His eyes, those eyes, are so tender that I feel myself soften. Melt. He said need, and I see it. I see it there in his unwavering gaze.

 My voice is small, barely a whisper. “Okay,” I hear myself say, “Show me.”

The relief that floods over him nearly takes my legs from under me. I know suddenly, and with absolute clarity, that I have nothing to fear from him. He won’t hurt me. His smile lights up his entire face. No, this doesn’t describe what I see. His smile lights up EVERYTHING. The universe is bathed in light, his joy that palpable. It takes my breath away. I don’t understand. What could I have done to bring about such a reaction?

We’re moving, he’s leading me to this thing he needs me to see. He releases my hand to retrieve his keys from his pocket, and opens the door. When he retakes my hand in his, I am stunned. HE IS SHAKING. What? Why? He pulls me inside and closes the door behind me.

 My mouth falls open in pure and utter disbelief.

Clear and Bright: Chapter Two: First Spoken Words



He unfurled his arms from around me, and took the smallest step back. NO!, I screamed inside my head. The ache I felt from the loss of his touch was immediate, irrational, a burning fire put out. I didn’t want it put out. I needed it. I needed him.

I didn’t have to suffer long. He took mercy on me, as if he had heard my silent scream. He looked into my eyes with his, those eyes, and held out his hand.  “Come” was all he said.



This was his first spoken word to me, the first time I heard his beautiful voice. It was a single word, yet I felt as if I’d just heard the most beautiful song my ears could fathom. I gasped at the broken silence. He smiled at me, a knowing smile. He knew the effect he was having on me.


“Come,” he said again. It wasn’t a request. He spoke softly, but his soft command was not to be refused, not by me.


I placed my shaking hand in his, electricity shooting through me as we reconnected. Was there no sense that this stranger didn’t control in me? I feel a moment of alarm for the first time. Stranger… but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Beautiful stranger, I tried to rationalize, as if this would make him known to me. It didn’t, of course it didn’t. I knew this, knew it in my muddled head. I knew I should not go with this man, this man with his eyes and his voice and his fiery touch that had taken control of me. I knew. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care. I couldn’t.


I let him lead me, my meeting forgotten. She would understand. It was business, but she was my friend, and she was a hopeless romantic. I was the sensible one. I was, until today. Was I still? My whole life has been careful, sensible, controlled by ME. Certainly this man could not have changed all of that in an instant?


The only thing I did in my life that was irrational was my paintings. They weren’t always, but sometimes images were born from my brush that couldn’t be explained. I get lost in my painting. I don’t think. Time disappears. The world disappears. The canvas speaks to me, calls to me, answered by my brush. I let it guide me. Now I was letting him. Was it the same? No, how could it be? My painting was safe, even if the images sometimes startled me, they came from somewhere inside of me.


Was this man safe? How could I know? I should pull away. I shouldn’t go with him. He has spoken a mere two words to me, the same words, words of command… but I can’t pull away. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be rational. I don’t want to be sensible. I don’t want to be in control.


I leave my hand in his, trusting this beautiful stranger, because I have no will to do otherwise. He seems to know this quite absolutely. He walks slowly, with me silently by his side. He glances at me often, with those eyes that brought us here, as we walk along. His eyes do not frighten me, despite all of their power over me. I tell myself that if there were danger, I would see it there. I would sense it, wouldn’t I?


He glances at me again, and I hold his gaze. He stops walking, staring into my searching eyes. Does he know what I’m searching for? He doesn’t seem to mind, he doesn’t look away. His eyes are endless depths of deep brown, almost black. They’re stunning, those eyes, my captors. I search and search, but find nothing to change my current course.


He senses this, and smiles a reassuring smile at me that makes me instantly forget what I was searching for. Yet again, he utters a single word, “Come,” and resumes our walk. I oblige, of course I do.


I want to talk to him. I want him to talk to me. I want to hear the sound of him, his song of a voice. I want to ask him where he is taking me. I want to ask him his name. I want to ask him if he’s planning to cut me into pieces and strew my parts in a field in the middle of nowhere. What? Where the hell did that come from? Maybe I am afraid. Maybe he hasn’t completely taken over my senses. A shiver runs through me, and he stops again.


He looks at me cautiously, concern suddenly erupting in his eyes. He turns slightly, so that we are facing each other. He takes one small step closer to me, just short of contact, and whispers “Don’t be afraid.”


Three words. Three more words from him, my beautiful stranger, and my sudden moment of anxiety falls away.

I am his to lead.

Clear and Bright: Chapter One: In An Instant

                                                                                
                                                      
I almost didn't notice him there, watching me. I was rushing, running impossibly late.

I was never late, not to anything...

Today, however, was different. I was running and rushing...


Time seemed to be rushing, too. Right past me. It's as if I was frozen, unable to move, while everything swirled around me.


Perhaps notice him isn't quite right. I didn't actually see him. I felt him. I felt his penetrating stare. It was searing straight through me, literally stopped me cold, right in the middle of the street. I didn't have to look for him. I knew exactly where he was, I felt him that strongly.


It was the briefest second before our eyes met. Those eyes. Those beautiful, soul stealing eyes. I was lost in them. I was lost in him. I was completely unaware of where I was, what was happening around me. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. Nothing existed but those eyes.


Nothing, that is, until I felt his arms around me. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Still, like I was, in the middle of that damn street. Time wasn't standing still, though. It could only have been seconds. Seconds before he was there, seconds before I was in his arms, being whisked out of the perilous path that my frozen state had left me in.


That he had left me in.


His eyes.


Those eyes.


It didn't matter who he was, this man. I was his. I knew it. He knew it. His eyes had told me.

Those eyes. 

He hadn't spoken. He hadn't touched. He hadn't even moved. He had merely looked at me, although intently, and I was his.


He looked at me now, with those eyes. They held me, as his arms held me, but stronger. He hadn't let go. I was out of harm's way, but still he hadn't released me from his gaze or his grasp. I was glad. I was thrilled. I was overcome. I didn't want to be released.


I was his.


He still hadn't spoken, not a sound, but it didn't matter. I wouldn't have heard him. The only sound in my ears was that of my furiously thundering heart. Or was it his? Ours? I couldn't be sure, of anything, except that my life was changed in an instant by this man and those eyes.


That was how we met.

Clear and Bright

It's a tale of two people. I don't know where it's going. There may be laughter, there may be tears. I make no promises. I make no apologies. I'm following no rules. I'm doing it my way, and theirs, I suppose. This is their tale, she's telling it to me. I'm telling it to you through her eyes and her voice.


                                                                                            ~Chloe