Nocturnes.
The flair of la bohème still possessed the air of Paris with its virtues of love, beauty, truth, following closely with desire, creativity and intermittent speculation. Also the pleasures of liquor. Among those who struggled with this carefree promise were Elena and Damon in the small and art polluted streets of Montmartre.
Damon found himself consumed by drink and love, his compulsive and furious manner had driven him to become a despicable being instead of the great and respectable artist he had once been. His paintings once seemed to blossom with each pair of eyes that were laid upon them but now his destructive manner turned away potential subjects, prospective buyers and even when trying to capture the beauty of still life, the objects themselves refused his brutal view. He sat dishevelled and broken in the corner of his small studio and consumed the last of the cheap whiskey he could find. Damon's only redemption seemed to rely on an unfounded love. A love for whom, he did not know. He simply assumed that with his powers of seduction it must come to him in one form or another and convince him that his existence was not meaningless. Until now his potential loves had only spent the night and rushed off in fear of his dismal look the very next morning.
Elena was a nurse. An entire existence surrendered due to low income, poor prospects and the wish to stand out. She had beautiful, long, untouched bitter chocolate hair and eyes of the same colour. Upon returning home to her habitation you would find a small, yet cosy apartment. There was not much there but a bed and books that served not only as faithful companions on lonely evenings, but also as her furniture. They had all been gained in the most curious of ways – some were a present, some she had found lying in the street and some she had stolen from previous undeserving owners, who had used these treasures to even out tables or hold open a door. The small studio contained one flower, a pale and powdery blue hyacinth which never withered and inspired in her the thoughts of an arriving spring on cold, dreary evenings when she was cocooned in bed under a blanket and was too frozen to move. Elena knew she did not have much talent, yet she desperately wished to contribute in some way to the ever expanding glory of the bohemian era. And so she wrote stories that held the promise of hope, glamour and love that she desired in her life.
Both their lives seemed entirely miserable. If reunited held the prospect of disaster and yet perhaps it was destiny they should meet.
Damon stood up and took slow and cautious steps toward the easel. His mind nudged him to whip up something he could sell to get a hold of liquor, but his heart screamed in exasperation not to waste his talent on a deplorable piece. The sun coming from the window blinded him, it was still very early in the morning and these times he wished he did not live in the roof. His back still ached from sleeping the night crunched upon the cold wood floor in the small corner and his eyes were bloodshot red. Where was a muse when you needed one? Damon was capable of being sober he just did not enjoy it very much. He was never the one to stay clear minded amongst his friends and he preferred it that way. His eyes turned to the rooftops of Paris. The beauty of this view had been his glimmer of creativity for a long while, but now it inspired nothing in him, for he had abused its beauty for far too long. Damon grabbed his black dusty coat and scarf, which had wool streaking out each knit and went for the door in the hope of finding a subject outside his modest studio. A bird would even do.
Elena woke with a start. Once again a terrorizing dream had petrified her and once again it had been about her wandering through the streets of Paris realizing she was all alone. Elena boiled some water and produced a small cup of coffee, which tasted abysmal, but had a very reminiscent taste to it. She dressed casually, for she did not have work that day. Despite it being early spring she wished to stay outside and write. Elena put on some blush, to make her appearance healthier as she looked quite pale, even with her olive undertone, because she rarely stepped out into the sun and after such a long winter it was not even surprising. She took her scratched and grotty notebook and was out the door.
Elena locked the door and turned to leave down the winding staircase, when she was stopped by a look. Opposite her stood Damon. His arctic blue eyes looked petrifying and seducing, his chin and cheeks were rugged as he had not shaved in a while yet his prominent cheekbones stood out above all. He stood by his door and had apparently also been on his way, but Elena had interrupted him with her presence. She had never met him despite being neighbours, but she knew that he was of despicable character, for outside his door could always be found either a bottle of the crummiest whiskey one could find or a garish girl.
"Hello," Elena smiled as forthcoming as she could, yet it must have sounded false.
Damon turned from her and descended down the stairs, leaving Elena rather stunned. Even though she had not been impressed by his character after years of hearing decadent and unpuritanic noises from his studio, this was a breach of common courtesy. Feeling quite awkward and insulted she then left herself, hoping she would not encounter him again.
Elena sat in her petite studio and listened to the harsh and imbecile words of her sister. She held a glass of red wine in her hand, whilst Katherine had the entire bottle. Her sister, similar to her in looks, had a much more intricate and vivacious existence. She was the lover of many people, many people who possessed money and influence and she could charm anyone into her webs. A skill which Elena had not been granted. Katherine visited Elena once in a while, when she required to get rid of the burden which troubled her mind, so Elena was compelled to sit and listen to anything and everything she said, even if the words were not pleasant to hear. Katherine wore a black silk dress, taken in at the waist to accent her waspy figure and had little trails of lace going along it as a provocative measure.
"Elena, souris, you really must find someone of means and stop living in this disaster of an apartment," Elena looked at her and smiled with a slight nod. She of course had no intention to do such a thing, but it was best to agree rather than argue for hours, knowing Katherine's hot temperament.
"Anyway, I must be leaving now. I have a very promising evening ahead of me. Be safe and really for once consider your future," Katherine's eyes shot around her with a pitiful look.
Elena escorted Katherine to the door and as she opened it there stood Damon. He seemed to be returning from somewhere as he was in the process of opening his door. Katherine's eyes took on a fiery passion. As Damon noticed her Elena could see his smug smile grow wider and more vicious in a naughty manner.
"And who is this? Elena, you did not tell me you lived amongst such attractive people!"
"I must admit, I did not know there was a doll like you here. I'm Damon," Damon smiled even more seductively.
Elena pinched Katherine. She wished to warn her that Damon was probably the worst decision one could make in terms of men, but in his presence she hardly desired to mention that. Elena regarded the two as they seemed to be exchanging thoughts for neither spoke a word. In a second Katherine kissed her cold rosy cheek with a smile;
"I am leaving, all right darling? Take care and bye," And scurried Elena inside the apartment. Elena stood at the door mesmerised. She disrobed and put on her cream coloured pyjamas and went to put on some water to boil. She prepared a cup of grey tea and climbed into bed with a last look at the disappearing sunset over the withered rooftops of the Montmartre. Taking her chanced upon copy of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five Elena devoted herself to reading, whilst gently running her fingers through her hair and once in a while taking a sip of her tea. However, she was then disturbed by loud voices from her neighbor's apartment. It was he who was speaking, but he was not alone. Katherine was there. What followed after Elena regretted deeply she had to hear due to the lack of wall space between the two apartments. She tried many ways to insulate the sound and ended with sleeping with her pillow on top of her head.
Early next morning as Elena awoke once again with a start, she immediately noticed the grey clouds of the outside and the rain drizzling against her window. The only light that was emitted was the miniscule golden rays of the small lamp that was carefully placed on the wobbly construction of a night table entirely from books. Then Elena was startled by a loud knock at her door. With a very cautious and frightened step she approached the door and looked out of the peep hole. There stood the perturbed man, who looked more enraged than ever. As he knocked again Elena drew in a breath and opened, assessing that she was still in her pyjamas.
"Good morning,"
"Are you deaf? I knocked more than ten times,"
"I was sleeping. It's six in the morning after all," Damon rolled his eyes exuberantly.
"Is your friend here?"
"Sister. And no she's not,"
"Can you give me her number?"
"No, I shouldn't. If she didn't leave you her number it probably means she does not plan on seeing you anytime soon or quite possibly ever again," Damon looked positively furious. He went inside the apartment leaving Elena completely stunned.
"Why are you so irritating? Can't you understand that I have finally found my muse? She spoke to me like no other had ever done and I felt something. A spark that inspired me. I even want to paint, but I need to paint her,"
"Well, she won't be coming here soon. She only visits me once in two months. And can I just say that it is inappropriate of you to be here. I don't even know you and what I do know is not very encouraging, so please leave," Elena pointed to the door, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor in order to avoid the absent yet angry looks of Damon. Damon walked slowly to the door, where she stood, but instead of going out, he looked at Elena. The petite figure before him was on the verge of shivering from both cold and the uncomfortable sense of the situation. He placed his hand under her chin and raised her head with clear resistance so their eyes met. Elena stroke his arm away.
"You have her looks you know. You might be even more beautiful than her, but you do not have any character. For a painting I do not need character. Come to my apartment in ten minutes and be ready to sit there for a while,"
"I won't let you paint me," Damon's blue eyes appeared revoltingly angry yet charming.
"Yes, you will," And he left. Without another word.
Ten minutes later a reluctant Elena arrived at the door of Damon's apartment. The door was slightly ajar and she could hear the sound of an old jazz record, possibly Nat King Cole, playing softly. As she entered she saw Damon sitting on the window sill. He was smoking and thin and quite miserable cigarette. Elena had always found smoking unattractive, but now in this instant it seemed appropriate.
"I came here on one condition," Elena spoke in a rather trembling voice.
"What makes you think I would accept any conditions?" Damon laughed quietly.
Elena continued persistently. "This is the first and last time I will pose and you will leave my sister be. She obviously does not want you as much as you want her and there is no reason why you should intrude upon her life, and come to that mine,"
"That sounds like two conditions and neither of them are appealing at all,"
"Promise me,"
"No. Not until the painting is done. Then perhaps. If I will be in the mood," Damon left Elena entirely unsatisfied.
"Now, this painting has to be a portrait, but one of the most sensual and possessing kind. It has to haunt people with its beauty, its natural power. It has to be full of mystery and depth, also fire and desire, to make people envious of the painter who has beheld such a remarkable scene," Elena seemed rather lost, by all the very different extremes he was throwing at her, "Are you listening? Because I can paint you, but there has to be something there and now in real life I see nothing. You are too constricted, too quiet, too passive. It does present some mystery, but on the whole it just appears as if you were boring,"
"Thank you for the mindful compliments," Elena muttered being entirely insulted by these remarks. Yes, she was quiet, but she did not consider herself boring or passive. She longed for adventure and possibilities, but she was simply not in a position to provide them for herself.
"An artist has to express his view, otherwise you would not comprehend my vision,"
"I think I now see why you do not have many clients. They simply can't stand you,"
"Sit," Damon guided her towards the chair by the window. It was an old armchair in a cream colour with royal blue stripes all along it. It was an old beauty and seemed to be the only preserved and truly magnificent piece in this terrifying small room. Now as they had been talking the sun had come up and from the window it shone all along the rooftops and made the outside glisten with grey and gold and amber and the inside looked nostalgically sensual.
"Now, what to do with you," Damon wondered holding his chin upon his hand, and perceptively observing the girl before him, "Bring your hair forward," There was a moment of silence after she did, "You look horribly bland," Damon went over to his matrass where a pile of clothes lay messily. He chose and article which Elena saw to be a silk robe. Why he had it she had no clue, but as he approached her and gave her the item, she assumed he wished for her to put it on.
"I want you to turn away,"
Damon's eyes expressed growing anger, "You cannot be serious. Don't even try to convince me you are not every bit as stiff as you appear to be," Damon turned away and Elena quickly changed, yet still felt incredibly uncomfortable being so exposed with a perfect stranger. Damon took a step back and observed the setting for a moment. Elena sat there unmoving and tried to avoid his eyes as much as she could.
"Still it has no life. It has no potential to spur envy in people," Damon's blue eyes once again passed over the girl. Then he went up to her and positioned her body sideways, making the worried Elena even more ill at ease. What made her jump was when Damon's hand slid off part of the robe on the side facing him. His gentle and soft touch made her body form goose bumps and in astonishment she blurted out;
"What are you doing?"
"It's not like you're naked! I need something. Something more. You sitting here hard as stone is not going to give me any emotion. There needs to be a softness and an inviting ambiance to this and your incredibly constricted attitude is denying me that," Elena left the robe as he had arranged it and sat still. Wishing for this moment to end. Damon looked at her thankfully and quietly admired the look of her lingerie.
Damon worked rapidly. He was most certainly inspired. He saw potential in this painting, and potential was something he had not seen for years. All this time he yearned for another night with Katherine and that filled his thoughts as he painted the girl before him. Now he was sure she was definitely more beautiful than Katherine, but it still did not entice him as much. Although at certain moments he wondered what it would be like to kiss her and have her be devoted to him. To have her fragile body upon the worn mattress and take her entirely. At these moments he stopped painting.
After four hours of posing and not saying a word Damon let her go. He was still not convinced at this paintings success, yet felt it did have promise. As Elena was about to walk out the door, he took her arm and with his usual tone of command said;
"Let's go to a café tonight. I need to see more from you," Elena wished to protest, but he closed the door on her. What he had meant by tonight left Elena wondering and she knew that from six o'clock she should probably remain at home waiting for him to come. Why she felt obliged to go with him somewhere was beyond her, but perhaps it had to do with the notion that now she felt a part of the painting herself and wished it to be a success and would go to any measures to achieve it.
As the clock struck eight Damon knocked loudly at her door. Elena was dressed in a rather modest dark indigo dress, which accentuated her figure, but was rather plain and did not reveal much, so all was left to the imagination. Despite that she looked lovely and her beautiful and delicate face brought her look to life. Upon seeing her Damon showed no emotion. He let her lock the door and then taking her arm, they descended the stairs and were out in the fresh air only moments later. The night seemed cold and Elena felt she needed more than just her plain trench coat, but the truth was except for the really bulky and layered winter coat, she had nothing else. It was a minimalistic life she lived and, despite acknowledging that her sister's way of achieving means was rather despicable, she was glad that at least Katherine was able to live a glamorous and happy life. They reached the Botak café and settled there comfortably. Elena drank a glass of red wine and Damon settled for very black coffee.
"I don't know your name,"
"You never asked,"
"I don't want to know it. It would be a distraction. It would transform the painting and you to real life and then I would find it repulsive. It is bad enough we are neighbours,"
"I really do hate you sometimes. You are so conceited. You think of no one but yourself, so once the painting is done I won't be obliged to be in your company anymore," Elena downed her wine furiously and found Damon stare at her with a grin.
"That was a spark of real emotion. You should show that more often, darling. You might actually attract someone," Damon looked at her intently. The calm pink lips, the doe like black eyes, the long silky hair attracted him in some way. Perhaps he idealized her, perhaps he was just ready to sleep with any woman who was of some appeal to him, but he wanted her. He could look at her for not a second more without taking her for himself. Damon placed his hand on her thigh and was immediately slapped.
"You already allow yourself too much,"
"I know you want a man to caress you, and kiss you all along your soft skin. To run his fingers through your hair and to touch you down there," Damon's hand once again rested upon her thigh. But instead of a response she stood up and without saying a word left.
It was disturbing for both of them. They seemed stranded together without any means of escape and it appeared as if they both had to endure this struggle for a while longer. Until the painting was done.
Note/Hello, darlings! I am still here and I feel very inspired. I find myself quite mesmerized by this story and feel absolutely overpowered with writing it now. It is quite harsh and compared to my other stories of glamor and luxury it is most certainly on the other end of the spectrum, but I feel there is so much intricate detailing one could do with this and not with the others that that is the reason behind my sudden burst of creativity. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to more!
Please be so kind as to review!
Yours excitedly,
Martina.
