oOo
Stanley Jesson arrived an hour later, a friendly guy in his forties with almost no hair and round glasses that made him look like an owl.
Bella led him upstairs to Edward's studio and he carried the crate downstairs. Five minutes and a few phrases of small talk, and he was gone, telling her to say hello to Edward and that they would meet the next night.
After a long shower, Bella went home. Obviously, Edward would be dead to the world for another few hours.
Why had he gotten so drunk last night?
He'd been so good the last few weeks. He never stepped over a certain line with the drinking. He just used a couple of drinks to help him paint, he'd told her. Well, sometimes three, and a glass of wine or two with dinner.
Bella knew that he was deceiving himself. With her own history of harming her own body, she could see the signs.
She knew that she needed to address the subject. Up to now, she'd just been hoping that he was over the worst, that his drinking was a phase. His life was pretty stable right now, wasn't it?
The stress over the exhibition, sure. But there would always be something, it was how life went.
Despite her rather young age, Bella had learnt some fundamental truths on life during her battle with anorexia – basically, a battle with herself. The first was the acceptance that things would never, ever, come to a miraculous point where everything was okay. There would always be stress and mean people and her own meagre self-confidence. She had to find ways to deal with those.
Second, Bella knew that you had to come to a point where you admitted to yourself that you had a problem. That it would not go away by itself, and that you needed help in overcoming it.
For her, that point had been overhearing her mum cry one night, sitting in the kitchen with her dad, sobbing that she was afraid they'd lose Bella if she didn't accept help.
It had been a shock for her, but a healthy one. She had seen how deeply she was affecting not only her own life, but those of her loved ones, as well.
She had gone into therapy a few weeks later.
Third, and most important, you had to want to get better.
Her motivation had been her family, and the strength and love they had for her. The utter certainty that they would stand by her no matter what.
Could she be that for Edward?
Moreover, would her even want her to?
Maybe his pain was what made him so brilliant as an artist. Maybe he fuelled it subconsciously because he needed it.
Bella let out a huge sigh and sat down in Grandma Marie's rocking chair by the window. It had started snowing, tiny white flakes wafting down from the steel-grey sky.
She still hadn't heard from Edward.
oOo
Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter; I'm sorry I didn't get to thank each of you yet, but please know that your reviews are very much appreciated. In fact, they make me one happy girl. Have a lovely weekend!
xoxo
Your
harperpitt