oOo
Work did not always come easily to Edward, and sometimes, it was a struggle. The fact that he had grown used to overcoming his difficulties with the help of alcohol was not lost on him. Expressing his innermost ideas was easier if the road between the conscious and the unconscious was shortened by one or two glasses of whisky.
The details and technicalities, he always added in the morning. But it was during the evening hours, and with the help of a drink, that he felt able to listen to his inner voice.
It was a habit, and he knew that it was a bad habit, but the fact was that he hadn't painted one stroke since the opening of his art show. He hadn't tried a lot, to be honest.
It was now, standing in front of his easel with the bright morning sun illuminating his workspace, that he felt blocked. He had a vague idea of what he wanted to do, but his paintbrush wouldn't follow. Everything he did seemed shallow and fake.
He sat down in the old armchair by the window and took a large gulp from his water bottle.
Irina had used to discuss these things with him. Being an artist herself, she'd understood. She'd understood the long nights, and the moodiness. Had she pampered him? Yes, probably.
Their mutual friends had mostly been artists as well. Alcohol, and the use of other drugs, had not been uncommon. After Irina's death, Edward's isolation had made him lose a lot of those friends, which probably spoke for itself.
It had been an enabling environment.
Edward heaved a sigh and finished his water. He didn't miss drinking alcohol, he just missed the way it gave him easier access to his creativity. If he was perfectly honest with himself, it had been this way even before Irina's death. Her death had merely started a snowball effect. He'd used his grief as an excuse to drink, and at the same time, it prevented him from getting better.
Now, he was better, which was all due to Bella. She was his angel, and his muse, and his saviour.
Yet he still had that devilish desire.
Maybe he should consult someone again. The counselling after Irina's death had helped, but it probably had only touched the immediate grief, and his relationship with Irina.
What if there was more? Some other, inner demon that kept kindling his self-destructive tendencies?
Another sigh, and Edward got out of the armchair. He looked at it. The leather was worn and cracked in places. Irina had given it to him a couple of months after they'd moved in together because he'd seen it an antiques shop and liked it.
For some reason, it now felt wrong to Edward, and on a sudden impulse, he grabbed the heavy chair and carried it into the spare room.
Returning to his studio, he was breathless but better.
.
Eight days later, a brand new, blue sofa was delivered to his house. It looked exactly like the one in his drawing for Bella, the one with the two rabbits.
Bella's smile was enormous when she saw it, and they spent several hours making out and kissing on the new piece of furniture.
oOo
Thank you for your support – you know who you are, sweet reviewers!