The Other Side of Me

Chapter 14

After a careful goodbye involving minimal eye contact with Marcus, and the door was closed, Edward came to me, lifted me up, and said, "October!"

"October, what?" I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. His shirt had lifted a bit and I couldn't help but be aware of our skin to skin contact, my bare calf against his bare back.

"Twenty-third." His smile was wide.

"Art gallery, really?"

"Really." He held me tight as he kissed me, and he was moving too. His arms hit the wall behind me, but I didn't know if he felt it. There wasn't a second's pause in his kiss. His kisses grew hungry and I fed them with mine. He slid his mouth across my face and my throat to my chest, kissing along the neckline of my tank top, nudging the cotton out of his way with his lips until he met the curve of my breast. One of his hands moved up my back, under my shirt, and his hips pressed against me. I gasped, and even though it wasn't a bad gasp, the sound was enough to bring Edward back to Earth. It seemed he noticed not only where we were heading, but also that he was the one initiating it all, and he stopped, lowering me to my feet.

We stared at one another, our arms loose around each other, our breathing calming.

"Edward," I said, sliding my hand to his chest His heart pounded hard against my palm, as if asking me questions Edward couldn't voice. "You want to celebrate. It's natural." I was tired of him feeling guilty for simply desiring sex, desiring me. It felt good to be desired by Edward, even if I was unsure I could go through with it.

"There are other ways to celebrate."

I let my hand fall down his chest and his stomach, and over the center of his jeans, where I stopped and pressed against him. I felt a throb there, even through his pants. "You have needs," I said. "Good needs, so much different than James." I inched my hand up and down on him, pressing. "Even if I'm not ready to have sex yet, I could… I could touch you."

I lifted my gaze to his eyes. They were closed, his head tilted slightly toward the ceiling, and he seemed to be holding his breath. He moved my hand away from him, and opened his eyes.

"Not until you're ready. I won't take advantage of you."

"I'm offering. It wouldn't be taking advantage."

He hadn't let go of my hand, and he flattened my palm against his, and with the fingers of his free hand, he rubbed the topside of mine. He watched as he did this, as if in deep concentration, examining his fingers as they drifted over each of my veins. A simple, tender touch like this was simultaneously innocent and intimate, and it brought a return of my want for him that always began in the lower part of my stomach. In moments like these, I was convinced that I could go through with sex with Edward. Just then, it seemed like the impossibilities lay in not having sex. Sex between us, making love, had become absolute. It would happen; it was inevitable.

"In your offer, you said that you're not ready. And if I let you do this for me, that would be taking advantage. I won't take anything from you until I can give back. I couldn't feel right about that."

"Are you sure you don't want me to touch you?"

"Bella…" He slid his fingers into my hair. "I want your touch on me, but I can't let you." He shook his head and I saw his throat bob with a heavy swallow. "Taking and not giving, that's too much like… him to me. I can't do it."

I nodded in understanding, but couldn't help but wonder if Edward's unwillingness to receive pleasure without giving it truly had to do with him feeling like James, or if it had more to do with his trauma.

This wasn't the time to bring up therapy, not on the same wind of the progression of his art dreams. But he hadn't mentioned therapy at all, and if he continued to ignore it, I'd eventually have to remind him again.

I closed my eyes and dropped my head against his chest, despising this black cloud over me. Even at a time that should bring nothing but elation, I'd managed to make it depressing. I wasn't powerless to the black cloud, though. I could turn it around, break it up. I lifted my head.

"You know what? You're right. There are other ways to celebrate. I'm taking you out. I'll treat you to dinner and champagne or wine or whatever you want. Wherever you want to go. And all that you can bring with you are your keys and your I.D. No money."

Edward smiled and rubbed my cheekbone with his thumb. "I can't say no to an offer like that," he said.

"Give me your wallet," I said, motioning with my fingers for it.

With a laugh and a shake of his head, he took it out of his pocket and handed it over. I opened it, removed all the cash and credit cards from it so he couldn't even be tempted to pay, and I put it all in a kitchen drawer.

"Where do you want me to take you?" I asked, returning to the living room, offering him his now much lighter wallet.

Without opening it, he slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. "How do you feel about Sake by the river instead of champagne?"

"You want to go back there?"

"You said anywhere I wanted to go. Why? Don't you want to go back there?

"I think that's the perfect place."

Our sushi restaurant was much different at night. We were seated on the patio again, a votive in a crystal bowl centered on our table. The same warm breeze that attacked at the candle flame as if it had something to prove could barely lift my hair from my shoulders. Every once in a while it blew a strand or two over my face, not even bothersome enough for me to push aside. And of the wind's lack of strength, anyone with a pulse in New York would agree that if only the breeze was stronger, the night would be bearable. It was the hottest September I'd experienced in all of my four years in New York.

Instead of matching the green of Edward's eyes, the Hudson appeared as black as pupils, except farther out where the moon reflected on the water, a wide stretch of silver, the caps like thousands of sterling necklaces unclasped and riding on the backs of the river waves.

There was a gaggle of people at the other end of the patio, all squished around a table too small for their party, but they seemed to pay no mind to their tight fit, laughing and loud in their chatter. I noticed they were all young, our age.

"Bella?"

I turned to Edward.

"You never really see your friends anymore. Jessica, occasionally, but nothing like you used to."

"Most of my friends who graduated with me moved back home. Not very many of them are from New York. And the ones still here, I've lost touch with. They go out to bars and clubs all the time. There's no way I want to be a part of that scene right now."

"What about making new friends?"

"I'm not good at being social anymore. I'll be fake smiling the whole time. I'd probably fake smile myself into a panic attack again."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his hands folding together. "Maybe it wouldn't be that way. You haven't really tried, have you? You don't fake smiles with me."

"But I do fake my smiles with Angela at school. And the only reason I talk to her most of the time is so that my attention is diverted from the guys around me."

He leaned back against his chair, shifting tensely in his seat and nodded. As soon as I mentioned guys, it seemed he understood what I meant. Perhaps he felt the same way about meeting up with his old friends.

He changed the subject. "Your birthday is on Monday."

"Twenty-three." I nodded. "I'm going to be so old."

"Old at twenty-three? What does that make me at twenty-five?"

"You, sir, are on the cusp of old age," I said. "I mean, you're almost thirty."

"I better pick myself up a cane then before my memory starts failing and I forget I need it."

"Don't worry, I'll remind you."

"I'm assuming you don't want a party."

I almost spit my drink out. "Um, no thank you."

"How about…" He lifted off his chair, reaching into his back pocket. "How about this, then?" He placed two tickets on the table.

"What are you doing? You cheated! You weren't supposed to bring anything but your keys and I.D." I picked up the smooth coated, rectangular papers, the stubs of which would later be used as nostalgic bookmarks holding the place in my current Chaucer. "Hair? On Broadway!"

"Next Friday," he said, and the smile that graced his face was even bigger than the one that had met his lips when he'd announced his art show to me. I ran around the table to him and threw my arms around his neck, falling to his lap, my behavior rivaling the obnoxiousness of the large group at the end of the patio. Edward caught me before I knocked us backward off his chair. He rubbed large circles over my back.

"Thank you, Edward! I don't care what anyone says, I'm not moving. I'll eat my dinner right here on top of you. And I'm not even going to get mad at you for giving me a gift on your night."

"Yet," he said.

"What?"

"You're not mad at me, yet. Get up for just a second." He patted my hip. "I have something else to give you." I stood as he pulled two more tickets out of his pocket. "Don't be mad," he said, handing them to me. "I thought you might want to invite some friends, but that was before I knew how you felt. If you don't want to... I'll just… I'll sell them. I still have a week to find something to do with them."

I didn't return to his lap. I went back to my own chair.

"Bella, don't be mad. Are you?"

"Edward, stop it, I'm not mad. This is very generous of you. I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"About who I'm going to invite."

He was smiling again, though I really wasn't, and not for lack of trying.

"Obviously Jessica will be one, but maybe I will invite Angela. She's really nice to me, and maybe… maybe if I invite new friends into my life it will be like opening another part of me. A new part of me where James isn't and never was."

His smile slipped from his lips. "I think you should come back over here, Bella." He held a hand out to me and I took it, letting him guide me back to his lap, his arms wrapping me.

"Thank you for the tickets," I said.

He lifted my face to kiss my lips. "I promise you, I promise, that one of these days, James will not be an everyday part of your life."

"How can you be so sure? To make that kind of promise?"

"Because of who you are. You keep trying, even when things don't always work the way you hoped. That's the only way to do it. Never giving up on yourself. I'd never let you do that either."

And with that final sentence, I no longer cared that we were supposed to be celebrating; I had to bring up his healing as well.

I brought my fingers to his face so he couldn't look away from me. I traced his stubble. "You can't give up either. You have to heal too."

"The better you get, the better I get."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I don't have as far to go as you do. I just need to see you happy."

"My happiness might make you happy, Edward, but it's not all you need. You can't ignore yourself."

"I'm not."

"Do you promise? Because that's the promise I need. And don't promise it if it isn't true."

He averted his eyes. His face fell, too.

"Edward?"

"If that's the promise you need, then I'll give it to you." His eyes lifted back to mine. "I won't ignore myself."

"So then we can look for a therapist for you? Or do you want to talk to Rosalie?"

"No." He shook his head. "No. I'm not sure that therapy is the way I want to go."

I frowned. "Why not? What other way is there to go? Before Rosalie, you kept insisting on therapy for me."

"Let's talk about this at home. Our dinner will be here soon."

"How about no? Let's talk about this now, even if our dinner goes uneaten."

Laughter came at us from the large group, and I hoped they were almost done and would leave soon. This was no time to hear anyone laughing.

"You know that there are things I can't tell you."

"Don't use that as an excuse not to talk to me."

"I'm not. Why do we have to talk about this now when there are people around?" His eyes had changed. He was irritated, or frustrated, or even angry.

I returned his look of irritation. "You talked about me with these same people around."

His eyes grew smaller and his lips tightened. "When we were talking about you, it was positive. This is… this is personal."

"And you don't think that talking about my healing, positive or not, is personal?"

I stood up from his lap and he stood up too.

"Will you… excuse me for a minute?" He brought his hand to my arm, but just to move me out of the way as he headed into the restaurant. I sank into my chair, exasperated, wondering what in the hell just happened. Had I messed things up by pressuring him to open up, or had he, by getting angry over a question?

The server came by to deliver our dinner. I pointed to the empty spot across from me when he showed me Edward's plate.

"Your food's here," I said to Edward when he returned, as if he couldn't see it. I suppose what I really wanted to say was, Why weren't you here when it arrived?

I had already eaten some of my sushi rolls. He sat down, spread the napkin on his lap, and started eating.

"Why did you leave?" I took a sip of my water after asking that, trying to keep the question simple and nonchalant.

He leaned forward and his voice was quiet. "I needed to calm myself."

"Why weren't you calm? I don't understand why you got so angry. It's just like when you used to talk to me about therapy, and I'd get angry-"

"And I dropped it like you wanted, didn't I?" His voice was firm and harsh. He'd never spoken to me that way before.

"But you were right about therapy for me. Why is it any different with you?"

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I don't know what Rosalie said to you to make you think that what I'm going through is the same thing you are. It's different. There are things I can't tell you, Bella. Please, just understand that and don't think that I'm making excuses. Look... I found some internet groups, some support online that I've found helpful. They're the reason I sometimes know what to do to help you when you need it. And that's just what I'm going to keep doing for now. So, you know I'm not ignoring myself, can we just let it go?"

"Why couldn't you just say that before?"

"Because before… I wasn't thinking rationally. Before, other things were on my mind."

"What things?"

He let out a deep breath through his nose. "Bella-" I heard him say fuck under his breath "-how many times have I asked you to let this go?"

"Don't talk to me like you're my father, Edward. If I have a question, I'll ask it."

"Your father? What about respecting me when I say I don't want to talk about something? You may be able to tell me anything and everything, but I can't tell you everything. You said you understood that, but you still ask me questions!"

"Really, Edward? Anything and everything? Okay, if that's what you think. Can I tell you that before James raped me he forced kisses on me? Can I tell you that he held me tight around my arms so I couldn't get free and he shook me, because I refused to return the kiss? And one time, Edward, he let me go. I told him to let me go because he was hurting me, and he did. I was free. And did I leave? No! That wasn't my only chance either. I had other opportunities to leave the apartment before that, and I didn't! I was confused by his behavior. I knew he was acting different, and he was scaring me, and then he was far away by the bookshelf, while I was four feet from the front door. And I did not leave! Can I tell you that?"

I was too far gone. It didn't even dawn on me that as I was asking him if I could tell him, I was telling him.

"I didn't leave. I sat down on the sofa and I waited for him... Your tie was there. I played with it, wishing you were there and I just waited while he looked through my books and got angrier. I knew enough to hide your tie from him. I protected your fucking tie, but not myself? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why didn't I leave?

"And later, at your apartment, in the shower, I saw two big bruises right between my legs. And when I think about them and close my eyes I can still see them, as if the ugly things are st-still there. Just like I feel over and over what James did to me. Did I ever tell you any of that? So you think I can tell you everything, Edward? Is that what you think?"

When I stopped talking, I looked around. We were no longer seated at the table. Edward had taken my hand and led me away from the restaurant to where we had privacy on the side of the tall, gray building. I vaguely remembered moving from the table, through the low iron gate, exiting the restaurant patio. I vaguely remembered Edward's face, shocked and then pain-stricken.

He pulled me into a tight hug and tears were all over the place.

"Oh god, Edward, I'm so sorry." I held on to his shoulder, my lips against my knuckles

"Shh, shh…" He swept his hand down my hair. "Don't ever apologize. Don't ever fucking apologize, Bella. Fuck. I'm sorry. I love you so much. I love you so goddamn much. And I said too much. I should've shut up."

Just as our faces were wet with tears, so were our bodies wet with sweat, but we weren't letting go of each other no matter how hot and sticky we were.

"This was your night," I said. "I knew I shouldn't have brought up therapy tonight, but I did it anyway. Let's just forget about all this. Let's just go back to celebrating your success." I backed up a little bit so I could look into his face, but his arms wouldn't let me go; he held me close against his body.

"You're going to show your art." I smiled through tears. "How many pieces? What did Marcus say?"

He didn't answer my questions. Instead, he moved his hands to my face and left kisses all over my forehead, my cheeks, across my nose, my chin, and then my lips. And when he pulled his face from mine, he took a second before he spoke.

"I'm calling the detective tomorrow. We need to stay on top of them. If we're too quiet, they might stop looking for him. But if we're loud and relentless and in their faces, they might search harder."

"Okay," I said. "Is it all right if we go back to making this night about you, now?"

"In a minute." He lifted one of my arms and kissed from the strap of my tank top to the inside of my elbow, and repeated the action on my other arm. And then he let both of his hands drift over my waist and my hips and down to my thighs, just below the hem of my shorts. "I wish you had told me about the bruises. You didn't have to keep that in." He knelt down and caressed my inner thighs with the backs of his knuckles. He kissed both of my legs, and then came back to me. Tears were in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against my temple, my pulse on his lips.

"How many paintings?" I wiped my face.

He gave me a kiss before answering. "Ten." His smile was small.

"Have you decided what you're going to show? You have over twenty paintings."

"I have way more than twenty. Not all my paintings are in that room. And I've only decided on a few so far." He took my hand and intertwined our fingers. "Are you okay? Do you want to go back to our table and finish eating, or do you want to pay the bill and get out of here?"

"Let's finish. You've hardly had a chance to eat a thing."

"I didn't ask you about me. I asked what you wanted to do."

"I want to go finish our celebratory dinner and not have any more arguments."

"Beautiful plan," he said. He opened the low gate, and with a hand on my lower back, he led me forward.

Back at the table, I brought my glass of water to my face, pressing it against my cheeks and forehead to cool down. Edward saw me and did the same thing.

"Not the best night to eat outside," he said.

He stopped and looked at me, and as I looked back at him, I could see, even by the flicker of the candle and the dim light coming at us from the faraway lamppost, that the whites of his eyes were reddening, and tears shone in a threat to spill.

"Bella," he whispered, shaking his head.

"I shouldn't have said what I said, and especially not like that. I-I don't know why I did. I couldn't stop myself."

"You have to get it out," he said. "You keep it in, and you're the only one who knows about it, and that has to be suffocating you. Did you even tell the police about what you told me just now? Because I was there and I don't remember any of that."

"No, it wasn't all clear to me. I only remembered the worst parts when I gave the report."

"I think you have to tell them. That should be added to the report for… for evidence."

I nodded and looked down at my plate, still two-thirds full, and I had no appetite.

"Can we go?" Edward asked. "I can't be this far away from you. I think about what James did to you, and I need you in my arms. That's a part of my stress; I just need to hold you. To remind myself that it's all over and you're safe now."

I went over to him and kissed his face. "Thank you for telling me that."

I took cash from my pocket, enough to include a tip, set it on the small black tray that held the bill, and weighted it with the pepper shaker.

By the time we left the restaurant, the wind was finally strong enough to snuff that flame on our table, and anyone outdoors more than likely celebrated right along with the wind in its triumph. I welcomed the breeze on my face as it lifted my hair and reached around, cooling my neck underneath as Edward and I made our way to the street and a cab, our arms around each other.

The only time we let go of each other that night was when we changed for bed. Even our bodies were touching as we brushed our teeth. Under the sheet, I cuddled up to Edward, my head tucked into his shoulder, my hand over his heart. I could tell by the uneven movements of his chest that, even in his silence, he was crying. And I could barely breathe. I knew he was still reacting to my outburst, and I felt horrible about it.

"Edward, please, I love you." I kissed his bare and heaving chest. "But I hate this situation. I hate it. We're back in that prison, aren't we?"

He didn't answer because he couldn't speak, and it occurred to me that my words only made him feel worse. I kept my face on his chest as I spoke. I didn't look at him because I felt like he wanted some sort of privacy in his tears. If he didn't care if I was aware of it, he wouldn't have made such an effort to keep it silent.

"No," I said. "We're not in a prison. We're together, and that could never be a prison."

He kissed my head and took a few deep and calming breaths. I felt his hand move to his face as he must have wiped his tears away.

"We live in a fucked up world," he said, "where someone like you can be hurt like this."

It was painful for me to hear him talk like that. It was so unlike him. He was always doing the reassuring. I had to try to reverse what I'd done to him that evening.

"We also live in a world where people like us can find each other and fall in love." Knowing that he was done crying, I moved to look into his eyes. "Real, true love."

"Bella-" he lifted his head to kiss me "-there are so many reasons why I love you…" he kissed me again "...but this right here, when you say things like that…" his tongue found mine, and this kiss was so long, I was unsure he would continue his thought, but he did. "I know there's no one anywhere like you. And this is why my love for you will never stop." He moved his kiss down my throat, holding my face where he wanted me, to lay trails of kisses all the way around to the back of my neck.

He turned us over so that he was on top of me. My legs opened for him and he settled between them, continuing to kiss me. His breathing was heavy, so heavy, heavier than mine. I lay there still, letting him kiss me. I wasn't going to stop him. I was determined not to.

For just a second I felt him against my panties through his boxers as he moved his up my side, under my shirt, lifting it. Then I felt him again, his hips pushing deliberately against my panties, harder this time, and I let out a sound in my throat that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan. I wasn't even sure what the sound meant. We were moving so quickly. Too quickly. I could feel panic settling into my throat as if it belonged there, just as much a part of me as my saliva. I tried to swallow it. This was a different panic. I didn't see or feel James, but the fear was that I would. I was scared that Edward would soon turn into James. That hadn't happened in so long, not in over a month, but we'd never moved this fast before.

"I'm going to stop, Bella. Don't worry. I'll stop." He skimmed his lips downward, over my shirt to my bare stomach; I took in a deep inhale. "I just have to- I mean, I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?" His voice was so low, I could barely hear him, but the need in his voice was evident.

"Y-yes."

His kisses moved softly over my stomach. They weren't even always kisses. Sometimes it was just the dragging of his lips across my skin. Sometimes his tongue. He was at my side, my waist, when he moaned, and that sound from him was all it took for him to stop. His lips were off me and his face found mine. He pushed my hair back.

"I'm sorry. I just-" His eyes were damp, and I really didn't want him to cry again. I felt bad enough about what I'd put him through on his night. And then this. I could feel how much he wanted to continue, but he couldn't allow himself to, and he was frustrated, maybe with himself, maybe with me, maybe with James.

"It's okay. I'm okay."

He shook his head. "You're not. Not completely. You weren't relaxed. And I kept going."

"I was afraid."

He moved off of me, his touch gone. I caught his hand and tugged him closer, pulled his arm around me, and linked our fingers. "Edward, I wasn't afraid of you. I was afraid something would happen and I'd have to stop you. I knew you would stop. I wasn't afraid of that. I was scared of myself. That's all."

"There shouldn't be any fear," he said. "I want there to be no fear at all."

"I know."

He pulled my back against his chest, his arm still around me and our fingers still linked together. After a while, he said, "Let's go to sleep. It's safer that way. I won't assault you with my lips."

I turned around and held on tight around his neck. "Edward, no, you weren't assaulting me."

"I was doing it more for me than I was for you. What would you call it?"

"I call it love and desire."

"James said he loved you, didn't he? And he desired you."

"Edward!" I sat up, but he lay there right where he was. "You can't compare yourself to James. Ever! Don't do that. What you were doing tonight? That's normal. It's normal to want to kiss the one you love. I want to kiss you all the time. I wanted you to kiss me tonight. I wanted it. Even if I was nervous for reasons I can't quite explain, I wanted it. Do you hear me? Do you understand that?"

He stared up at me. I let my fingertips drift down his face. "Do you?"

He nodded.

"Are you sure? Because it hurts me, Edward, when you compare yourself to James. I love you and I hate James. I couldn't stand it if you thought you were anything like him. He's disgusting and you're beautiful."

He brushed hair over my shoulder, then trailed his fingers down my arm. He pulled me to him and held me. "I won't do that again."

I lifted my face and looked down at him. "Do what again?"

"I won't compare myself to James. I understand what you mean. I would have stopped anytime you said it, and I did stop. And you're right. That's not like James."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Kiss me."

He lifted up and pecked my lips.

"Is that a kiss?"

He let out a small laugh before his face fell serious. With his hand at the side of my head, his fingers weaving into my hair, he pulled me toward him. Our lips touched, his sweeping mine. He parted my lips with his, and his tongue entered my mouth slowly, barely there at first, and on the next kiss, deeper, and on the kiss after that, even deeper. Through this kiss he spoke to me, and it was enough for me to believe that he understood me.

"I don't want to remind you of this again," he said. "But I have to tell you not to blame yourself for not leaving the apartment when you had the chance. How many times have you been alone with James? And how many times had he been in your apartment? You asked me what is wrong with you for not leaving. Well, nothing is wrong with you, Bella. Nothing. Just because he was mad, or jealous, doesn't mean you would have any reason to expect him to... to hurt you the way he did. You couldn't have known. And you say you had my tie and you wished I was there? Fuck, do you know how many times a fucking day I wish I was there? You gave me that tie as we sat down to talk to the police, and I wanted to fucking tear it up for being there with you when I wasn't."

"Don't, Edward. Let's not do this. We can't change anything, can we? We can't go back and magically have you be there or have me understand the danger of the situation and leave."

"I know. You're right. There's no point in wishing. But I want you to know that you can tell me anything. You're afraid of hurting me because Rosalie told you I'm under post traumatic stress, but to think of you having all of these memories and thoughts in your mind, and holding them there... That's just - I can't live with that. And you, reliving the experience, all by yourself, you don't have to do that. You can come to me. I want you to. Whenever you're feeling that, I want you to come to me, and even if you can't say what you're thinking, just let me hold you. That's what I want to do. I can't do anything else about what happened but I can offer you comfort, so let me. It's the only thing I have to give you."

I looked into his eyes. They were dry just like mine. Maybe we'd cried out all our tears for the night. I kissed him and pushed my fingers through his hair, and when I pulled back, his eyes were closed. "Comfort is not all you give me. You give me everything I have."

I settled down on his chest. We lay quiet for a long time, both of us finally relaxing. I felt myself begin to drift off. The image of his earlier smile as he lifted me up and told me about his place in the art gallery appeared in my mind.

"Edward? I'm really proud of you. About your paintings. Congratulations. I can't remember if I said that, but congratulations." I didn't care that in the wake of all the difficulties of the night, those words might have sounded small and almost insignificant. All I cared about was that I meant them. I was proud of Edward and he should have been proud of himself, and if it was at all possible, that was where I wanted his mind to be before he fell asleep. Not on anything else but what he had accomplished, and what it meant for him as an artist.

"Thank you."