WARNING: This story will later contain self-harm and other related themes brought about by mental disorder(s). If you are disturbed or triggered by such, I recommend not proceeding.
CHAPTER 1
Wanted: Muse
Late afternoon in early autumn, Arthur Kirkland wandered around the city park and waited for his muse to fall from a tree. He chuckled at the silly thought, wallowing in the desperation as the main problem ensued: he needed a muse.
Would he ever find one? What is an artist without his muse?
Once again, he scanned the uninterrupted view of foliage and sunset. Leaves continuously danced into descending swirls, kaleidoscope hues of red, yellow, and green carpeting the pavement. After a moment of enforced appreciation, the corner of his lips sank into a frown. The beauty wasn't enough to fuel his creativity.
The absentminded perfectionist corrected his woolen scarf beneath his jet black jacket, and swung his leather boots for the stride home. His fingers combed his windswept hair, originally blond but currently dyed crimson with black highlights, as plain crimson made him a carbon copy of Allistor, a sorry excuse for an older brother. He wrinkled his nose at the thought and made a note to change his hair color when he got home.
He silently cursed all those artists who have enough inspiration in the form of their loved ones, instantly discovering their own muses, and taking them for granted most of the time.
Rain pattered against his exposed skin, distracting him from his long list of cursing as if the heavens heard his profanities and scolded him for doing so.
Shit, he thought and ran for cover.
Arthur Kirkland's little residence was nothing but an understatement compared to their magnanimous Hyde Park apartment on the other side of the Atlantic.
He kept it modest with minimum furniture, nothing fancy. It only had two bedrooms: he occupied one for personal space, and transformed the other into a studio where he worked his freelance flair. He'd double the effort cleaning each time his mum would pay a visit, which happened twice a year if she wasn't too busy being a high profile interior designer.
After freshening up and changing his hair color (tomorrow his hair would be back to blond, boring blond), he slipped on a comfortable oversized shirt and a pair of pajamas to prepare for a light supper: cinnamon roll and a cup of rose tea. He turned the TV on and propped up on the couch, his gaze occasionally slithering to the phone.
The news was on. Were there any other options aside from the no-brainer reality shows? He clunked on the remote control until he found a replay episode of Adventure Time. A childish grin crossed his lips as Lady Rainicorn came zooming in.
He loved Lady Rainicorn.
On the coffee table sat his new book, teasing him, and he didn't resist the temptation. He snatched the book from the table and stretched his legs across the couch, damp hair dangling on a throw pillow. Perhaps the dream world could help him escape his lonely reality, even just for a couple of hours….
"I'm so sorry!"
A voice inside Arthur's head jeered: I told you it wasn't a good idea to spend the morning at the park. Look at you now: caked with filth and dog spit!
He cringed at the last two words.
"Oh my god, I'm really sorry! Are you alright?"
Arthur felt a pair of arms supporting him for balance, probably the wanker who owned the disgusting beast.
"Aside from getting pounced at, falling to the ground face down and escaping your dog's fangs by a centimeter, I'm perfectly fine. Thank you very much," he answered, ready to storm away, knowing he had nothing to do there anymore.
"Listen, dude, I'm really sorry. She doesn't usually jump at random people like that. It's totally my fault. I should've known better than tying her around a tree trunk while I took a leak."
A few minutes ago, Arthur was sitting on a park bench under the shade of a magnolia tree while reading his old copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray, appreciating the Indian summer. But when a rocketing husky tackled him out of nowhere, he knew he should've gone somewhere else.
"And sorry for the crappy apology," the wanker said and face-palmed. "I know it doesn't do any good."
Arthur almost creased up. His drinking buddies would always ridicule the Canadians for their comical apologies but the man's West Coast accent told Arthur that no, he was definitely not Canadian.
From where he was standing, Arthur could only see the stranger's silhouette backlit by the sun. All he could make out was his towering form in a jogging ensemble, skin glinting with sweat, white shirt hugging a well-sculpted torso.
"I believe this is yours?"
Arthur's face crumpled in disdain at sight of the tattered book oozing with saliva.
"I-It belongs to the wastebasket now." He felt his heart explode as he scooped the strength to utter the words. It was one of his favorites after all!
"Man, if Dorian lives today and sees his painting looking like this, he may have stabbed me to death by now," the stranger commented, pointing at the cover with Dorian Gray's incompletely distorted portrait, now even misshapen as it was chewed by the dog.
"Oh, I can do him a favor," Arthur nodded.
"Forget that I said that." The stranger waved a dismissive hand in the air.
As if realizing how the two had forgotten its company, the husky barked at Arthur, who squinted in return. The stranger laughed and scratched his head, tugging the leash with more firmness to keep the dog away from its former victim.
"Funny how looks can be deceiving, like how an attractive packaging shelters a present. You can never really know what's inside until you tear it down," the stranger continued, probably referring to the story, Arthur assumed. "Who knows if inside it was rotten meat after all… or worse, what if there was nothing inside all those shiny and frilly and pretty wrappers just like what Lord Henry wanted?"
"Well, Lord Henry was a hedonistic bastard infatuated with worldliness, thinking that nothing else matters more than outer beauty and creating self-obsessed monsters like Dorian," Arthur replied. "The world would do better without a Lord Henry."
The stranger placed a hand on top of the dog's head, ruffling its silvery fur. "Cat lovers like you might not find Cookie attractive, with her looking like a big bad wolf and all, but believe it or not, she didn't mean any harm. She only jumps at people she wants to play with, mostly people she's familiar with, but for some odd reasons, she ran into you."
Arthur glanced at the dog. Was it really obvious he hated hounds so much? He sighed.
"There's more to life than what meets the eye," they chorused in conclusion.
"Exactly," Arthur gasped. He couldn't believe his ears; he hadn't encountered anybody who'd stop by just to talk about the story, let alone share the same opinion with him, not in that light at least.
"You know, I really can't let you go without a peace offering." The stranger smiled. "What about a cup of coffee? There's a nice bookstore with a coffee shop just two blocks away. I know I can't just replace your book with a new one, judging how it looks like, it must have a strong sentimental value for you, but I'm guilty as charged."
The stranger shrugged his shoulders, a faint light of hope glowing from his sundrenched face. As he shifted to a different angle, Arthur was able to distinguish a few more features of the curious stranger: golden hair with an odd strand sticking out of his widow's peak, thick rimmed glasses framing electric blue eyes, and a smile as bright as the high noon sun.
Thinking it wouldn't hurt to accept the invitation, Arthur opened his mouth to speak.
"I guess ‒"
Krrrriiiiiiiiiiiinnnnngggg! Krrrriiiiiiiiiiiinnnnngggg! Krrrriiiiiiiiiiiinnnnngggg!
The alarm clock went off.
Arthur's eyes fluttered open, eureka moment smacking him like a bullet train.
That's it!
He bolted out of the couch and dashed to his studio like nobody's business, snatching the first sketching tools he laid his eyes upon. He began translating the image inside his head into the blank piece of paper. Quick, nifty strokes soon dominated the small white space as he recalled the details of the familiar stranger in his dream. When it was finished, he studied the rough sketch. Yes, he finally found his subject.
While the creative juice flooded his system, he fixed an easel and a medium-sized canvas to perform an experimental portrait. Warm and bright colors splashed in fluid strokes here and there: hues of yellow, orange and beige, just like the color scheme of his dream. Thrill shivered under his skin, streaming through his fingertips like never before. He felt like he could work all day long. He never felt so alive.
He didn't notice the time until he caught a glimpse of the sun setting outside the window. Had it been hours already? Boy, he'd been working non-stop dedicating a day to his canvas; he became oblivious of everything around him.
He tiptoed through the cluttered floor,ripped the curtains in half, and beheld the sky breathing its blueberry darkness. Stepping farther backwards, he took a look of his stroke of genius.
The night had fallen and the dream world would soon claim him, filling the blank spaces of the times he missed with the stranger. He bid his studio a temporary farewell, looking forward for the next day.
"The last time we saw each other, your hair was blazing red ‒"
"Crimson."
"Okay, crimson. When did you change it?"
"Last Friday… when I realized I looked like Allistor's stupid clone. Blimey, I get mini heart attacks each time I check my reflection in the mirror!"
Arthur stopped brushing his fingertips against the plush mint bunny's fur, recalling the last time he sat on the same couch, which was exactly two weeks ago. His glance shifted from the stuffed animal in his arms to the doctor who sat crossed legged in front of him, gazing at him in scrutiny.
"You don't like it, do you?" Arthur frowned.
"Of course, I do! I like it when you wear it naturally. It's quite refreshing," the doctor replied. "In fact, I should be the one asking you that question. Do you like it?"
Arthur heaved a sigh and curled up on the couch, embracing the plush toy close to his chest, burying his face on its fur. Without a doubt, the doctor was right when he gave it to Arthur during their first session and told him it was a lot better than a stress ball.
Arthur shook his head and muttered out of earshot, "I told you before: I don't like what I see in the mirror."
"Will you speak a little louder please?"
For the second time, he sighed and turned his back on the doctor, wishing he uttered another answer but he let it slip anyway.
He vented out, "I don't like what I see in the mirror. No matter what I wear, no matter what I do with my looks, tidy or messy, I never come to like myself. And as if I even know who 'myself' is! I keep on changing my looks – I dye my hair every now and then, I own every bloody color in my closet, I draw too much attention on myself, but nothing's working and I'm still empty. Every day I open my eyes, praying one morning I'll wake up with a smile on my face because I'm happy and contented with myself once and for all. But of course it's all wishful thinking! I'm not good enough for anybody. Not good enough and never will be, and I hate feeling like this but you keep telling me not to, because it's not my fault and I'm trying not to hate myself just like what you told me to, and because I want to get rid of this feeling, but I can't because I'll never be good enough!"
Dr. Kiku Honda didn't reply at once, letting the words hang in the air. Ever so calmly, he waited to see if the Brit would break the silence but when he didn't, the doctor asked, "Have you been keeping yourself busy these past few days? Were you seeing some friends?"
"Not much, really."
"And why is that?"
Arthur twitched to his side. "Well, as you know, I never bother calling anyone, knowing they all are busy with work and since nobody has phoned me lately, I assumed they're all occupied at the moment. But…"
"But?"
"Do you remember what I told you last time? About joining an art exhibit in New York?"
"Yes, and what about it?"
Arthur began running his fingers through the plush toy's fur. "I spent days roaming around the city, trying to find a muse. You know, inspiration-shopping for motivation. It came to the point when I almost gave up with my plan because I wasn't getting any driving force at all," He fixed a gaze on the Japanese, as if challenging the doctor to complain about yet another impulsive change of plan, a relatively long-term plan that might be the stepping stone to redeem him from his state.
One of Arthur's biggest challenges was the incapability to envision what he wanted to do with his life and his future. As of the moment, there was no denying that he wasn't doing very well with his freelance career, but then again what other card did he have in his deck considering that he wasn't ready to go back to university? With whatever option he had, it was hindered by factors like the demanding qualifications for job applicants and the contracting economy in the bigger picture. Besides, he couldn't stand any job other than what he loved the most: art. This explained Arthur's long history of job hunting and ever-changing career in the last two years.
"But you're holding on to it," Dr. Honda guessed.
Arthur nodded. "One night I had a dream about spending time alone at the park, reading Dorian Gray when a dog pounced on me out of the blue and the annoying owner apologized like crazy for letting the dog slip out of his sight and jumping at me and ruining my book and all. Apparently, he realized how the book means to me and strangely enough I found him… interesting. I mean except for my Lit teachers, I rarely meet people who openly discuss a novel with me, much less a classic favorite! Man, I'm sorry, I must be creeping you out with all these stupid things I've been telling you."
Dr. Honda chuckled.
"What?"
"You're already ranting like an American."
Arthur blushed at the assessment. "Well, I'd rather sound like a yank than a frog, to be honest."
"I thought we're not using the f-word anymore?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Let's go back to the reason why I'm dragging my sorry ass in here every two weeks, shall we?"
Dr. Honda gave an approving nod.
Arthur shifted to a sitting position. "Okay. Once upon a time I was truly, madly, deeply in love with Francis ‒ I knew he was a frog by then, but I loved him nonetheless ‒ and everything was bright and beautiful and all that romantic shit you see in the movies until it all became ugly and abusive and I was diagnosed with this… this bullcrap and the frog gave up on me when I needed him the most, ending the first and only long-term relationship I ever had. Tragic, isn't it? My world fell apart, that I was sure of, and I found myself stuck in a hellhole so I flew here to start over again, back to zero. My next relationships weren't any better but I'd rather hurt than feel empty and it all got more abusive in time until they couldn't stand me anymore, me being an attention whore, me being a paranoid wreck, me being plainly insane. I know I'm not making it easy for everyone but it's never easier in my part..."
There was a time when Arthur avoided talking about his sexuality, but that time was long gone as he sought the courage to step out of the closet and embrace all that he was.
His mother was the only one to show support from the family, foreseen, though he found it exceedingly awkward to discuss with her his romantic life and sexual needs. He wasn't entirely close to his stepfather who remained neutral with the matter, so neutral he could send Switzerland's neutrality to question. His brothers were a different story ‒ they were the ones who took it hard and openly showed discomfort with their youngest brother coming out. They bullied him about it but Arthur never bothered to tell their mum as long as she was there for him.
Dr. Honda listened faithfully, his face a smooth mask of altering expressions, depending on his patient's atmosphere.
Oddly enough, Arthur hadn't felt discomfort opening up to him. Maybe because the doctor was also openly gay and could understand him from personal experience, maybe because he was paid to do his job. But beyond that, Arthur was also able to establish a personal relationship with his doctor; the other may not be aware of it but Arthur treated him as a friend, the only true friend he ever had even though both of them knew the doctor was keeping an eye on Arthur for his mum who was a close family friend.
Trust was difficult to gain from the Brit; he didn't completely trust his 'friends'. It was only Dr. Honda ‒ Kiku, if they were outside his office ‒ whom he shared his secrets with such ease.
"…and I still can't over the fact that the git paid more attention to his Plants vs. Zombies more than me! For heaven's sake, he just got up on his ass to pig out and swallow the contents of my fridge, we never even fucked!" Arthur recounted his latest affair, much to his disappointment. "Am I that difficult to love? I just need someone who can square up with my shit every day. I'm not looking for Prince Charming!" He tangled his fingers through his hair, gripping it hard enough to pull every strand. "The frog and the others made it clear they weren't up for the challenge. I'll probably die alone…"
Dr. Honda blinked; studying his patient's distressed form. "Let's go back to the stranger in your dreams."
"What about him?"
"A while ago you were telling me about the stranger in your dreams. Your newfound inspiration. Tell me about him."
"Oh. Oh, right."
Arthur got on his feet and rummaged through his knapsack, pulling his sleeves up without second thoughts. Dr. Honda knew well what was underneath them after all.
"I made these the next morning," Arthur handed a pile of papers to the doctor.
Dr. Honda took them in his slim hands and observed the sketches with an expectant gaze. He studied every detail, brushing his fingers across the sheet as if waiting for the figure to pop out of the paper.
"This is impressive," Dr. Honda said; his eyes on Arthur who paced restlessly around his office.
"No no no no no, it can't be, it can't fucking be!" The patient spun in realization.
"What?"
"God, I'm going batshit crazy! This can't be!" Arthur raised his arms over his head like he was drowning.
"What is it?"
"I'm- I'm obsessed with my own imagination!"
"Arthur, are you sure you just made him up? Are you sure you've never met him before?"
"Never, if my dreams don't count. How else could I meet him? A party inside my trousers?"
"Alright then, take a seat and tell me more about him."
Arthur did as he was told and grabbed the plush mint bunny to his chest. "He has blond hair, golden if bathed in sunlight, with that funny cowlick sticking out of his widow's peak. His nose is his insecurity: straight, almost perfect and ends with a soft, curvy tip. Though it's nothing to be insecure about, he's very uncomfortable with it. He speaks with a West Coast accent. He has high cheek bones, a well-built structure, and a dimpled smile. The sound of his voice and his laughter win the ladies, but the ones that get them the most are his eyes, sparkling ice blue yet filled with sincerity."
Dr. Honda listened as Arthur poetically described the sketches in his hands, a policeman doing a cross-examination.
"He hates it when people forget his middle name. Music is his life. He learned to play the piano before he could write and learned many other instruments, the guitar his favorite. He has 3000 songs in his iPod, almost all the different genres in his collection. My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy were his childhood heroes and he got depressed for a week when he heard MCR broke up. He loves reading books and is a lot smarter than what he lets on," Arthur mused.
"What's his name?"
"Alfred Foster Jones."
"You made me your muse? Wow, I didn't know you like me that much!"
"I didn't know you're a bigheaded idiot."
"Right on. Thanks for painting me to life, Artie. See you around!"
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hello, everyone! Welcome to my first multi-chaptered story. Tell me what you think! =w=