Pretense: Chapter 1
Elizabeth sighed and looked at the mess she had wrought the night before in her studio. She didn't know what had come over her, but the intense flash of anger which had coursed through her was the first real feeling she had felt in weeks. She had lost touch with reality for a few minutes and had just let her emotions take her, which both scared and exhilarated her. She was frightened because she couldn't even remember demolishing her studio. She drew a blank in her mind when she sought the memory. On the other had though, the anger and adrenaline coursing through her veins showed that she was still capable of feeling. Unfortunately, her studio had been the unwitting recipient of her fury and everything in her path had been destroyed.
Shrugging her shoulders, Elizabeth muttered, "It's not like I've painted anything worthwhile recently."
Painting used to be her escape, her greatest passion. She would lock herself up for hours and paint away. She wouldn't notice as the time passed. When she was painting, she was in her own world, far removed from everyone else. Painting had been her release and her way of placing her mark on the world around her. Now looking at her paints, her brushes, and the slashed canvases only brought her pain. It showed her that she was no longer that girl, that she would never again be that girl.
She had destroyed all her paintings but two. As much as she wanted to, her hands weren't able to shred the canvas. At that point the anger had faded and she couldn't bring herself to destroy them. The two paintings were her best work. It wasn't just that though, the two paintings were defining points in her life. She had stood looking at them for an hour with knife in hand trying to force herself to rip them. She both loved and hated them because they were the most vivid reminders she had of being happy, of enjoying life.
Both of them had been painted when she was happy. Both were gifts to men she had loved. And both were gifts to men she'd lost.
The first had been painted right after she had seen the wind for the first time. Riding on the back of Jason's motorcycle was one of the most exhilarating and intense experiences. In those moments sitting behind him, streaking down the old highway with him, taking all the curves fast, she felt completely free. She didn't have to hide her emotions. She could laugh and scream and he didn't care. He never knew, but sometimes she would even cry. The tears would simply leak out and be dried by the wind.
"The wind was so loud I couldn't think," she exclaimed loudly.
Jason smiled at her reaction. "That's the idea."
"I'm trying to paint the wind," she told him.
"You showed me the rush you get when the wind's in your face and the world is flashing by," she grinned remembering the memory.
Meeting Jason was one of the high points in her life. He saved her in so many ways and taught her about herself. He showed her that it was okay to feel, and to show it. Just being with him made her happy. She didn't have to pretend with him. She could be Elizabeth, Lizzie or whatever other personality would come out around him. Jason didn't care how she acted so long as she was happy. And she had been happy. She was herself.
She smiled wistfully as she looked at the other painting that had survived her wrath. It was the one she had painted for him. It had been done after she realized that she loved him and they had made love for the first time. The rush of emotions and the raw passion she had experienced had begged to be released onto the canvas. She had stayed up late into the night to try and paint her feelings for him. She had worked non-stop. It had felt like magic had invaded her hands, because she couldn't stop painting. She could not have put down that paint brush to save her life. She still remembered his reaction to seeing it for the first time.
She flipped on the light switch, illuminating her studio. "I have to show you something, but I'm not sure you'll like it."
"Is it that painting you were so excited about, the one that kept you away from me?" he said teasingly.
"Yeah, and your opinion is very important to me since you inspired it", she explained walking to where the painting had been placed on an easel.
His face looked slightly confused. "What do you mean?"
"Well, why don't you look at it first and then I'll explain", she said pulling back the cover to show him the newly finished painting.
"Elizabeth…" he started, then he stopped seemingly having lost his voice.
"What do you think?" He was studying it so intently and his eyes which were usually so expressive gave nothing of his thoughts away. "You're not saying anything. Is it that bad?" All of a sudden she was very nervous. What if he didn't like it? What would she do?
"No, I'm -- I'm just amazed at your talent. The colors are so brilliant and the way you used them…the brush strokes are so strong in some parts and yet soft, almost tender in others. You were happy when you painted this," he finished. It was a statement and not a question.
Elizabeth smiled softly and nodded her head; he did like it. "That's what I was trying to express, the way your hands felt on my skin when we made love. You are so strong, but you hold it in check around me. When we made love, I felt so safe. You were so gentle and loving."
He stared at her for a moment, affected by her words. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just know that you make me happy and that I want you in my life. I love you", she finished quietly.
His eyes glistened as he said in a voice suddenly gone hoarse, "Elizabeth…the painting is breathtaking. You're breathtaking. I look at you and I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I swear to God that I never want to hurt you in any way. You are the only light in my life. When we made love, I've never felt so completely joined to another human…you are my life."
She laughed softly. "I'm glad you like it, because it's a gift."
Surprise was etched on his beautiful features as he answered quickly, "I can't take this. Something this stunning needs to be displayed in a gallery."
"Shhh…" she said placing her fingers over his mouth. "I painted this because of you. You're the reason it exists. It's yours."
"Thank you," he whispered as he gently kissed her fingertips. "I'll treasure it always. The beauty of who you are is reflected in your work. I love you Elizabeth."
Elizabeth felt a tear slowly slid down her cheek at his words. "What can I say, you inspire me."
"That's where you're wrong; It's the other way around," he said brushing her face lightly with his fingers. "You are my inspiration Elizabeth. You are all I've ever wanted and you're all I'll ever need."
She remembered the way she had melted at those words. His inspiration. How wrong he had been. He had been hers in every way. After being hurt badly, so many times by different people, she never thought that she would be able to open herself up to love again. She hadn't wanted a relationship, neither of them had, but it had been inevitable between them.
She looked around her at the studio. There was no sense in procrastinating, she was going to have to start cleaning. It was either clean up or live in this dump. Why it mattered she didn't know, but she bent down and began to gather the rubble into piles anyway. As she was leaning over, she spotted something underneath the table where all of her supplies had been. She had to stretch to reach it. She gasped when she saw what it was.
Her postcard; the postcard Jason gave her when she had been in the hospital after the kidnapping. Everyone else had sent expensive flowers and her room had looked like a funeral parlor. But not him, oh no, he had to give her something simple, something he knew she would love. Something that screamed both their names. She smiled sadly remembering the occasion when he had given it to her.
"I brought you something."
"Really?" She said excited at the prospect of a gift. What would Jason have gotten her?
"Yeah, I picked it up for you when I was in Italy," he said amused at her reaction. He reached into his pocket and handed her a postcard.
"Oh wow, Jason, this is beautiful," she murmured, softy running her finger over the picture.
"It reminded me of you, the way you paint." She could tell he was pleased that she liked it.
"Oh please, I wish. How come you never sent it?"
"Well, I just…you know, I needed to be able to see you, make sure you still wanted a postcard from me," he said seriously.
It had been such a simple gift, but she hadn't needed more than that. It showed her that even though things hadn't ended well the last time he had been in town that he still cared for her. It showed her that all the times she had been thinking of him, and wondering how he was, that he had in fact been thinking of her too.
She had forgotten she had it. The card must have gotten knocked under the table and had been sitting there for quite some time. At one time the scene would have been quite beautiful to her. She would have enjoyed the colors, the way the buildings reflected the light of the sunset, and the deepening shadows that signified evening. Now, it was just an object, a memory of something that once was.
She sighed again, something she'd been doing a lot lately. Now wasn't the time to think of the past and her memories. She placed the postcard on top of the other garbage and piled it together. But just as she did, someone pounded loudly on the door.
She looked up just as he called her name. "Elizabeth?"
She would recognize that voice anywhere. It was in her dreams; it was in her nightmares.