All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. October 2010.
Many thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also created the banner. Check out her new fic: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO hun!
Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you so much.
A million thanks to MizzezPattinson who took the time out of her hectic schedule to pre-read this chapter for me. Much love, hun. WAP.
Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Let's see how Bella's doing.
Last time…
I don't know how much time passes while he stands in the studio, just staring at each of the paintings, his expressions twisting and turning, until he finally turns to me, the tears running freely down his face. He looks utterly defeated and lost.
His shaky voice fills the room. "Can I stay with you?"
Chapter 32
EPOV
"Of course you can," she whispers, crossing the studio to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. My entire body molds into hers. I am completely and utterly spent, emotionally exhausted at seeing my collection in the state that it's currently in.
I know that most people wouldn't even notice the subtle changes to the texture, to the intensity of the colours in the paintings that are damaged, but I can see it and it's ripping my heart out. This represents everything my life has turned into since I met Bella, and now, it feels completely different.
I sink my face into her hair and try not to lose it completely. "Are they... Can any of them be saved?" she asks quietly. I want to tell her its okay, and that this nightmare is over, but right now, all I can think of is the fact that I could have lost her to some stupid paintings.
"Some of them are alright." I break from her and walk to the two paintings closest to what remains of my desk. "These ones... I don't know. I'll definitely have to redo the painting for the auction," I say, my shaking voice echoing in the studio while I trail my fingers over the bottom of the singed frame.
"Don't worry about the auction. It doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters. I said I would paint something for it and I'm going to," I bark at her, raking my fingers through my hair in frustration.
"Okay," she says timidly, and now, I'm pissed off at myself for taking my fucking anger out on her.
"I'm sorry." I cross back to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. "I didn't mean to snap at you."
She buries her head against my chest. "It's alright. I'm here, Edward. You need to talk about this. If not to me, then maybe Dr. Young could-"
"I just need you," I interrupt her. There is no fucking way I'm talking to a shrink about this. I kiss her forehead and cup her tiny face between my hands, her skin still dry and red under my shaking fingertips.
"There must be something we can do about all of your work."
"Even if there is, it doesn't feel the same. This was supposed to be about passion and hope, and now, it's just..." I clench my eyes shut and move away from her, not wanting her to see me break down.
"It's still about hope. You can turn this into something good," she says determinedly.
She stares at me from in front of the last painting I did, inspired by her, by the mountain, by overcoming everything that she already has. She's so strong, even now. Stronger than I am, stronger than I deserve, and I marvel in how much she's changed me, how I can't even imagine my life without her, now.
"This is everything you are... all your hard work, all the hours you spent…" Her voice trails as she studies the canvas in front of her.
"All for you."
She shakes her head. "It's not for me."
"It is, Bella. Everything in here is because of you."
"It's because of you, Edward. Because you saw something that no one else ever has and found a way to bring that to life. This is about you – expressing yourself, your feelings, the things you want to say, but maybe can't. It's about you, changing your life." She crosses the room to me and wraps her arms around my waist, looking up at me hopefully. "So, don't you think we should try to save it?"
I just nod my head, completely overcome by her. Wishing I could tell her how much she means to me and knowing that there really is only one way for me to do that. She pulls me closer and runs her hands up my chest and around my neck.
I slide my hands around her waist and inch her closer to me. "I need to paint," I say, staring down at her. She looks surprised at my statement, like maybe she doesn't think that's the best idea in the world.
"Now?" she asks innocently, glancing at the charred remains of my painting supplies.
"At your place. If that's alright?"
"Yeah. Of course. Whatever you need," she says, reaching up to kiss me lightly. I just need her. She has no idea how much.
I pull back from her reluctantly, moving to the white sheets on the floor, and start methodically covering the paintings back up. She watches me silently, waiting while I finish the task.
I move to her and then, take a final look at the studio, knowing I won't ever paint in here again. There is no way that I can. It's a mixture of fantastically vivid life changing moments that have defined my existence. This is where Bella first really trusted me, where I realized I was in love with her. But, it's also where, now, there are too many dark and twisted memories that I don't want to relive. I'll never be able to be in here and not think about the fact that I almost lost her. There's no way I'll be able to paint here with that hanging over my head.
"Take me back to your place. Take me home," I whisper.
She just blinks back her tears and nods at me, her little hand sliding into mine.
I'm in a fog as she leads me down the stairs to Carlisle's worried face and Esme's warm, welcoming smile.
"Edward?" Carlisle asks anxiously.
"I just need some time, Dad."
Carlisle simply nods his head and cups my shoulder, pulling me towards him.
"Can I go up and see the studio, now?" Jenks asks.
"No, Jenks, you can't."
"But—"
"I said, no. You'll see it when I'm ready for you to see it."
XXXXXX
An hour later, I've managed to convince Jenks that his insurance assessment is going to have to wait. He's not happy about it, but the claim for the smoke damage on the rest of the loft will keep him busy for a few days, until I have more time to wrap my head around what the fuck I'm going to.
After I promise Carlisle and Esme that I'll meet them later this week for lunch, I've packed most of my clothes and bathroom shit into my luggage, along with a few choice bottles of wine that I'm extremely anxious to open… preferably soon.
We take the short ride back to Bella's house, and I park in front while she fidgets beside me. "I need supplies," I say for the third time. The fact that I'm going to get them from James is not sitting well with her. If I'm being honest, it doesn't sit well with me, either.
"And you can't get them from anywhere else?" she asks, her voice is so quiet, I can barely hear it.
"Well, I could, but they're shit everywhere else. James has the best."
The stress in her face is evident, and I run my fingers across the little lines in her furrowed brow. "Edward..."
"I know this is probably uncomfortable for you. Trust me; I can't stand the fucker. But this is something I know. I'm going to have to paint in a different place, with a different atmosphere and lighting, and I just... I need something that's familiar. He's the only one with these brushes and-"
"You can't order them from somewhere else?"
"That would take time. I need to paint, Bella," I say as forcefully as I can without scaring the living hell out of her. I'm not sure she grasps the concept of just how vital this is to me. If I don't get this emotion out and onto a canvas, I'm not sure what the fuck I'm going to do with myself. I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams here.
"Okay," she whispers, opening the door and getting out of the car. I pop the trunk and pull my suitcase out, rolling it up to the porch behind her.
"Welcome home!" Emmett's voice booms as the front door swings open and he comes barreling out with Rose behind him.
"Hey, guys," Bella says as she's immediately engulfed by Emmett. "You used your key, I see."
"We thought we'd order in pizza and help get you settled," Rose says, eyeing my suitcase curiously. "Sleep over, Cullen?"
"Yes, Rose. A sleep over," Bella says firmly as they silently exchange some knowing look.
"Well, come on in, then!" Emmett says happily, holding the door open.
"It's a good thing you're here, actually, Em. We need to move the furniture around in the living room so Edward can set up to paint."
Rose nods her head and smirks at me. "You're going to paint in here?" she asks, turning to Bella's living room, which is probably a third of size that my studio was… well, is.
"Yes, I am. I can help you move stuff, Emmett," I offer.
"No. You go. Do what you need to do," Bella says, coaxing my fingers off my suitcase and wheeling it forward.
"I won't be gone long," I say. Fuck I almost sound like I'm whining. The mere thought of being away from her is painful.
"Take your time. I'm good here," she urges.
"Its okay, man. We've got furniture to move. We'll take care of her," Emmett says, wrapping a massive arm around her shoulder.
"Emmett! I don't need taking care of," she says, scowling at him.
He chuckles and moves into the living room with Rose, where they immediately start arguing over where to move the furniture.
Bella shakes her head at them and turns back to me. "Go. I'll be here when you get back."
"Okay," I murmur, dipping my head to kiss her. Her lips are so dry as they move with mine, and I feel the life slowly creep back into my veins. It's so easy for me to get lost in her… the way her body feels as it pushes softly against mine, the little sigh that she makes every time I kiss her, the subtle smile her lips form into just before she pulls away.
"Jesus, you two!" Rose complains as she lifts one end of Bella's couch and smiles at us.
"Go! Before Rose drops my couch and breaks a nail or something," Bella says playfully, pushing me out the door.
XXXXXX
My mood has taken a drastic one hundred and eighty degree turn as I sit in the parking lot of James' store and contemplate whether, in fact, this is a good idea.
He's got to have heard what happened, by now. It's been in the papers, and even if it hadn't been, news travels fast in the art world. I'm sure it's been rocked by the fact that Jane has actually pled guilty. Still, we didn't exactly part on the best of terms at the party and I'm not sure what's going to greet me when I walk through his door.
Fuck I'm a pussy sometimes. I don't know why I'm sitting here, freaking out about fucking James. I've done nothing wrong and I need to Goddamn paint.
I slam the door on the car and make my way inside. I glance at the counter, thinking maybe the punk kid is working. Of course, I'd never be that lucky. James is leaning over the counter behind the cash register, engrossed in some magazine.
He turns his head, his eyes growing wide. "Jesus, Cullen. You don't look so good."
"I wonder why that is?" I snort at him.
"I heard what happened. Are you guys alright?" he asks, flipping the magazine closed and staring at me like he's seen a ghost or something.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"Fuck, man." He comes out from behind the counter and slaps me hard on the back, which doesn't do much for my healing lungs. Jesus, that burns. "That's some fucked up shit," he says.
"Tell me about it," I manage, coughing slightly.
"What happened? I mean, I know Jane's into kinky shit, but arson?"
"I have no idea, James. She just lost it, I guess."
"How's Bella?" he asks, his voice softening slightly.
I narrow my eyes at him, fisting my hands at the mention of her name from his mouth. "She's okay. Shaken up and scared, but she'll be alright."
"Good." He shakes his head and hesitates before beginning again. "What about your collection, man?" he asks, actually sounding like he gives a shit.
"That, I'm not sure about. Some of it's fine. Some of it… I don't know. There's smoke damage," I admit, my hands automatically raking through my hair anxiously.
"You should talk to Riley. He's still in town. He'd probably be able to give you his opinion, and I'm sure he knows people who might be able to help."
What the fuck? James is actually offering me suggestions on how to save my work?
"What's that look for?" he asks.
"I'm just kind of surprised at you."
He huffs and shakes his head at me. "Fuck, Cullen. I know we're not drinking buddies or anything, but I also know how hard you work… just like I do, and just because we have completely different styles, doesn't mean I want to see something fucked up happen to you or your work."
I stare at him in shock as he waits for me to respond. He must think I'm a total idiot.
"I don't know. They just feel…"
"Different?" he asks knowingly.
"Yeah. Different," I says slowly, eyeing him suspiciously.
"I know what you mean. Well, not about arson and smoke and shit, but my studio was broken into a couple of years ago," he says.
"I didn't know about that."
"Yeah, well. You were busy being discovered and everything," he says. "Anyway, it didn't even make the news. But the studio… it never felt quite right after that. I had a hard time creating anything for a while. And then, one day, I just took everything out of it and put the mirrors up. It gave me a new perspective, you know?"
I just nod at him, completely and totally blown away by this side of him. "I know my studio doesn't seem like much, compared to what you probably have, but its mine," he says proudly.
"I know what you mean," I say. "I'm going to be painting at Bella's for a while." I don't know why that vital piece of information comes out of my mouth.
He quirks an eyebrow to me. "That should help with your inspiration," he says darkly.
"Don't push your luck," I warn, only half jokingly.
"Relax, Cullen. She's hot and you are one lucky man. So, what do you need?"
"Everything."
His eyes grow wide "Seriously?"
"The fire took everything out. All my supplies, the brushes, everything."
"Fuck. It's my lucky day," he says, cocking his head.
"Yeah. I guess it is."
XXXXXX
An hour and you don't even want to know how many thousands of dollars later, I'm hauling an armful of canvasses out of the trunk of the car and into Bella's house. Jasper and Alice have arrived since I left, and start to help with the parade of supplies that seems to go on forever.
Emmett and Rose have managed to clear the entire living room, storing the couches and the wall unit in Bella's unfinished basement. I'm left with an empty room, a large open window and an aging hardwood floor as my pseudo studio.
Bella bites her lip from the kitchen and watches while I set up the first easel beside the window. "Is it okay?" she asks timidly. "I know it's not what you're used to." She looks around the room nervously.
"It's perfect," I answer, crossing to her and pulling her into my chest. I feel instantly calmer. "Thank you for doing this. But where are you going to sit and watch TV and stuff."
"You're much more exciting than any TV show I could ever want to watch," she says playfully.
"Pizza!" Emmett's voice roars from the front door as he passes Jasper several pizzas from some delivery guy I didn't even hear knock at the door. We sit around the kitchen table for the next forty minutes and devour the pizzas. It's the first non-hospital food I've had in days, and even though I would have much preferred to make Bella something, this tastes amazing.
Alice natters on about wanting to do a follow up piece for the magazine. I push her off, not sure I can actually go down that road just yet. Actually, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to talk about how this whole fucked up mess has made me feel. The only way I know how to unleash the emotion that's twisting inside of me is to paint.
I eye the blank canvas in the middle of the room with increasing frequency, my leg bouncing harder and faster with each passing minute, until Bella feigns being tired, and they finally take the not so subtle hint to leave.
While I rinse the dishes out in her sink just to keep my hands busy, Emmett and Rose each hug Bella and practically demand that she call them in the morning. Alice is just a bundle of energy as she leaves. She's almost worse than I am right now, practically skipping out the door and jumping on Emmett's back as they make their way towards their cars. Jasper just shakes his head and smirks, shutting the door behind him.
Bella stares at the door for a minute before turning around. "Sorry. They're…" She struggles for the right words.
"Your best friends. It's alright. I'm glad you have them."
"Me, too. Oh, I have something for you."
"I think you're doing enough for me. I'm overtaking your living room; you're letting me stay here…"
"And you don't think I'm getting anything out of that?" she asks, opening a draw from the little table at the front door. She pulls out an iPod and joins me in the kitchen. "There's a mix of classical pieces on here. Jasper downloaded them for me. I don't know the names of any of the stuff you listen to when you paint, but there's a bunch of different ones you can choose from. I thought maybe—" I silence her quickly, my tongue gliding with hers. She's never going to cease to amaze me.
"It's perfect," I whisper against her lips.
"You've been saying that a lot tonight," she notes.
I laugh and take the iPod from her. "Thank you. For this… for everything."
"I'll leave you to it," she says, lifting her head to the canvas.
"No, stay – I mean, if you want, I'd like you to."
"I don't want to be in the way."
"You won't be."
XXXXXX
I shut my eyes and let Tchaikovsky work his way into my system from Bella's iPod docking station in the kitchen. The song is so familiar. A piece I've listened to countless times before. As I stand in front of the blank canvas, the brand new palette feels different, breaking my concentration. I miss my old own, which is now burned beyond recognition, in a scorched heap somewhere under what used to be my desk. My thumb fit perfectly into that palette; molded to my hand from years of using it. This one slips slightly and it's fucking pissing me off.
There are so many things I want to paint…so many emotions swirling. I don't even know where to start. I'm terrified I'm going to screw it up. I glance at her as she sits on one of the chairs in the kitchen, and she smiles. A simple reassuring smile that to most would mean nothing, but to me, means everything.
I dip the brand new brush in crimson red and start to paint.
XXXXXX
I can feel the sweat beading on my brow and take a minute to step back. I cock my head to the side, staring at the canvas, and feel a slow smile start to take over my face. "What do you think?" I ask, turning to the kitchen and finding her passed out, her head slumped against the back of the chair in a position that looks extremely uncomfortable.
How long have I been painting? I look out into the darkened night. It's pitch black outside. Fuck I'm an idiot. She needs to lie down. I set the palette down on kitchen table and crouch beside her.
"Bella, baby. Wake up. It's time for bed," I whisper, brushing the hair that has fallen in her face away.
"Mmmm, what time is it?" she mumbles.
"You don't want to know."
A soft smile plays across her plump lips, and she opens her tired eyes to me. "Mmmm… need to..."
"I know, baby. I'm going to run us a bath." Those words seem to wake her up considerably, and she giggles as I lift her out of the chair.
She wraps her hands around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder. "A bath, eh?"
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm done smelling like smoke," I say, carrying her down the hall and to the bathroom.
I set her down on the side of the tub and we work in tandem, her filling the bath with hot water and adding some mystery substance to it, and me, spending more time than normal with the nightly routine on her prosthetic. Even though she says its fine, her thigh looks slightly red and sore, which pisses me off even more-like she doesn't have enough to deal with.
Finally, after removing the rest of her clothes, a task which I also spend more time on than normal, just so I can touch her, I help her into the tub. She shuts her eyes and leans back on her hands, titling her hair so it's grazing the water, her breasts just above the water line. "Are you joining me?" she asks quietly.
"I don't know. The view from here is pretty damn good."
Her laughter fills the small room, along with an almost intoxicating scent from the bath, and she shakes her head at me. "I'll bet it's even better from in here. But it's up to you," she says coyly.
She closes her eyes in contentment, and I quickly rid myself of my clothes, sinking into the tub behind her. The water rises, lapping around us, and I swiftly pull her against my chest, both of us sighing at the contact.
I shut my eyes, feeling emotion threatening to burst through again. This last twenty-four hours has been so overwhelming for us. I know we haven't even begun to talk about what happened. Fuck, I don't even know what happened between her and Jane before I got there. I don't know if I really want to know. All that matters to me, right now, is that she's safe, and she's here, with me.
She trails a pattern up my thigh with a washcloth, bringing me back to reality. She quietly holds it back to me, the water dripping onto my chest. I slowly dip it into the water and squeeze it over her shoulders. The water creates a thin stream down between her breasts as I fight a losing battle with my dick.
"This is nice," she says, resting her head on my chest. "Just you and me."
"Yeah. It is." I squeeze the cloth over her hair repeatedly, saturating it. She leans forward and grabs the shampoo from the side of the tub, handing it to me. I squirt a dab into my hands and then gently massage it into her hair.
She moans while my fingers carefully twist the knots from her hair, and I grow harder, even in the water that is starting to cool. She giggles and casts a glance over her shoulder at me.
"What?"
"A little excited are we?" she asks, smirking at me.
"A little more than a little. You know that."
She grabs my hand, kissing the palm and laughs, shifting back again. I tentatively move my hand over her breast and down to her stomach, my breathing elevated already. She's so soft, so warm. "Edward?" She covers my hand with hers and brings it up and out of the water, holding it to her lips. "Would you understand if... I mean."
"It's okay, baby. I know. I'm sorry... I'm an idiot."
"No, you're not. I'm the one who's sorry. I want to. I'm just exhausted and a lot has happened today... well this week, actually. And this is…"
"Perfect," I say, kissing her shoulder.
"There you go with that word again."
I chuckle and start to rinse the soap out of her hair. "But it is," I whisper.
We spend as much time as we can in our bath sanctuary, exchanging gentle touches and kisses, until she starts to shiver from the temperature of the water. I help her dry off, and carry her to bed, where I'd be content to stay forever.
XXXXXX
I curl to her side of the bed, only to be greeted by empty sheets and a grey bleak morning, peeking through the beige blinds in her bedroom. Those blinds have got to come down. We need some colour in this place, and where the fuck is she?
I sit up and run my hands over my face before looking to the pillow beside me and a note. Hmmm, she's gone with Jake, no doubt. Steroid-driven ass that he is.
Edward-
Gone with Jake to try to start running.
Coffee is on.
I'll bring home bagels.
I'm glad you're here.
Last night was, to use your word… perfect.
X-B
I grin like an idiot, and I don't even care. I am so in love with this woman, it's frightening. I also need to paint, and so, I bolt from the bed and rummage around in my suitcase, pulling a pair of jeans and a t-shirt out.
After using the bathroom, and throwing on my clothes, I make my way to the living room and study the canvas from last night. It's good. Really, really good. Intense, vivid, edgy, a little out of control, much like how I was feeling last night. I cover it and start to mix colours on the palette for the new piece. Mixing paint in the kitchen isn't ideal, this I'm well aware of, and I wonder how long she's going to put up with me totally overtaking her place.
I push that thought away, flip on the iPod, and get lost in a swirl of grey.
XXXXXX
"Well, that's certainly nice to come home to." I whip my head to the door and see Renee, standing in the living room, with a large wooden bowl in her hands, full of little bottles. She has her hair up in pig tails and is wearing a bright yellow t-shirt, with a picture of a dog on it, and baggy bell-bottom jeans with holes everywhere in them.
It takes me a minute to wrap my head around the fact that someone is standing… in the space where I'm painting. I don't fucking like the feeling, not one bit. This is why I never let anyone, well except Bella, see me paint. I feel like I'm going to throw up.
"Oh, hey, Renee," I say, moving in front of the canvas, trying desperately to hide it from her as smoky lavender drips off my brush and onto the floor.
"Not painting at your place?" she asks, making her way into the living room.
"No. I can't really paint there the way it is."
She stops right in front of me. "Bad aura?" she asks seriously.
"Something like that, yeah."
"So, let's see it," she says excitedly, craning her neck around me.
I shift with her to try to block her from seeing what I've started. "Um… don't take this the wrong way, but I don't let anyone see my work before it's done."
She lifts an eyebrow to me and takes a step back. "Even Bella?"
"No. Except for Bella."
She nods her head in approval, I think. "She tends to be exception in a lot of cases."
"That she does."
"Well, I won't get in your way. I just need to replenish her—"
"Mom? What are you doing here?" Bella interrupts as she comes through the door. My entire body screams for her as I stare at her from in front of the canvas. She's got her hair up in a high pony tail, a slight flush to her skin, and she's wearing a tight black hoodie and jogging pants that look like a second skin. Jesus fuck! This is what she wears to go running with the Roid boy?
"I knew you'd be needing supplies, dear," Renee says, making her way to the kitchen and setting down the bowl on the counter.
"Supplies?" Bella asks.
"Healing treatments, you know. All I can smell is paint in here. How on earth do you expect to cleanse your spirit?"
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "We'll manage, Mom," Bella says, rolling her eyes.
"How do your paintings look, Edward? When I saw Esme at dinner last night, she didn't really know," Renee says, clanking the bottles around in the bowl while she looks for something specific.
She's been having dinner with Esme? What?
"Actually, I should know more about that today," I say, locking eyes with Bella. "I'm going to try to meet with Riley, the curator from the museum I met the other night?" She nods her head at me and then moves into the kitchen. "Hopefully he'll have time to take a look at them and give me his assessment."
"But they're not done," Bella says, dropping a welcoming Tim Hortons bag beside Renee's mystery bowl.
"I know," I say, tearing my eyes from her ass.
She smirks, catching me checking her out. "But you never show them to anyone until they're finished."
"He may be able to help. Actually, it was James' idea."
"James?" She looks as shocked as I was yesterday when he suggested it.
"Yeah."
"Huh."
"My thoughts exactly."
Renee finally pulls out some amber coloured bottle from the bowl and holds it up. "Come on, dear. We'll start in the bedroom."
I lift my eyebrows to Bella, and she just shakes her head while Renee pulls her down the hall. "Mom, you can't just pop in anytime you want, now," Bella hisses at her. I laugh as their voices fade down the hallway. I turn the easel to the wall and make my way into the kitchen, switching off the iPod and getting ready to clean up my mess. Painting is going to have to wait.
XXXXXX
It's almost noon as I pace a hole in the floor in my living room. Bella is busying herself in the kitchen, trying to start the clean up process, even though I have absolutely no intention of ever living here again.
While Renee doused Bella's house with more cleansing oils than I knew existed, I took James' advice and called Riley. He had, of course, already heard what happened and eagerly agreed to meet me, something which I'm now not sure I actually want. I feel nauseous.
A swift knock at the door brings my pacing to a halt, and I hesitate, looking to Bella for reassurance. She dries her hands on one of my blue dish towels and joins me in front of the door, lacing her fingers with mine. I smile down at her and open the door.
Riley greets me with a questioning look, eyeing Bella curiously. "Riley, this is Bella Swan, my…" Reason for living, inspiration…
"Girlfriend?" she asks, looking up at me with an amused expression.
"More than a girlfriend, I'd say." I squeeze her fingers and turn my attention back to Riley.
"So nice to meet you, Bella. You must be the reason for Edward's collection. Am I right?" he asks, looking between us.
Bella flushes at his words and looks away from him. "You could say that, yeah. Come on in." We move to the side and he steps into the apartment, his nose crinkling immediately. "Sorry. We're still dealing with smoke in here. The insurance people haven't sent anyone in to clean and stuff," I explain nervously.
"I'm so sorry, Edward. I can't even imagine what this must be like for you. For both of you. Never, in a million years, would I have believed Jane was capable of something like this," he says, sincerely.
"You and me both," I say.
I shift nervously as an awkward silence falls between us. "I know you said you don't let anyone see your work. You have my word that I won't say anything about what I see here today."
"Okay. Studio is upstairs." I hold on to Bella's hand for dear life and climb the stairs to the second floor. I take a deep breath and enter the room, stopping beside the disintegrated desk.
"This is quite a studio," he marvels, stepping in behind us.
"Was," I mutter under my breath.
Riley nods his head. "It's a wonderful place for you to create. A lot of artists don't have this kind of set up."
"I know. I've been very lucky." I look down at Bella, and she nods her head to me. "Okay. I'm just going to do this. It's like a band-aid, right? Just get it over with?"
"Whenever you're ready, Edward. I have all day. Just take your time," Riley says patiently.
I let go of Bella's hand and move to the painting for the auction. I grab the bottom of the now blackened cover, my heart hammering against my chest. I shut my eyes and whip the cover off, moving quickly to the rest of the canvasses and dropping each of the sheets to the floor before I change my mind. I turn back slowly to him and wait.
He's quiet for a very long time, slowly approaching the canvasses with the damage first, his eyes narrowing while he inspects them closely. My hands rake continuously through my hair, my entire body humming with anticipation. It's like I'm baring my soul here… say something! For fuck's sake. Is it that bad?
Bella joins me, wrapping her little arm around my waist. I lean into her and try to hold it together.
"These are remarkable, Edward," Riley says, finally, turning his head to me. "Truly remarkable."
"Really?"
"Surely you must realize that. I'm not the only person telling you how gifted you are."
I manage a smile and feel relief course through my veins. "No. It's just, nice to hear from someone like you."
"They're so vivid, so full of emotion. This is quite a story you're telling."
I furrow my brow at his description. "A story?"
"This is about your life, isn't it?" he asks knowingly, his eyes moving from one canvas to the next slowly.
"My feelings, mostly," I admit. It's always amazing to hear what people think my work is about. It's not very often that they're right.
"And what is life if not filled by feelings?" he asks. He makes his way to the canvasses with the most damage and stops in front of them. "You're worried about these most?"
I nod. "Yeah."
"The museum has people who work on these types of repairs. It's mostly surface smoke damage. There's no blistering or real burns." He looks up the length of the painting and smiles. "I think we can save them," he says firmly, turning back to me.
My heart stops beating. "Seriously?"
"If you really want to, yes. But, there is another option that I want you to consider."
"Another option?" My head spins. I don't know fuck all about negotiating with museum curators. Jane did all that shit. I feel like I'm going to pass out.
"I want these hanging in my museum," he says firmly. "And we can go about that one of two ways. The first, we show them as is."
"It's not the way they were supposed to be seen," I argue.
"This collection, it's about your life. And this—" he runs his fingers along the bottom of the charred frame "—is part of it. I think showing your work, as it stands right now, would be a massive statement for you. How you lived through something like this, and still are brave enough to want people to see it," he explains passionately.
I'm not sure how well that sits with me. "And option two?"
"I can have the restoration staff work on these and remove the signs of damage. It would be like it never existed, like it never really happened. But that means people are going to have to touch your paintings and work on them. How do you feel about that?"
"I don't like that idea," I answer immediately.
"Even if it means they can be restored to what you intended?"
I drop Bella's hand and move next to Riley. "They're never going to feel like what I intended. Even if they can fix this," I admit.
"If all this work is about your life and expressing your emotion, I think it would be a mistake to get rid of this. This is part of who you are, now," he says, staring at me. "And I think a more important part of all of this is also how you choose to deal with it. You don't have to decide right now. Think it over. Either way, I want these hanging in the museum."
My heart pounds at the possibility, at the potential for one of my dreams being realized. "At the end of the day, Edward, this is your work and only you can decide how you want it to be seen and remembered."
While I stand in the studio and think about my options, my life, about how much has changed in such a sort period of time, I realize how lucky I really am, and how close I came to losing all of this.
As I stare at the nineteen canvasses in front of me, and my eyes fall on Bella standing in the far corner of the room, I wonder what Mom would think about all of this. I wish she was here to see them, but more than anything, I wish she could have met the woman I plan on marrying.
Chapter End Notes:
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Check out the following wonderful authors and their stories:
Oceans of Doubt – Belindella
Guarding Bella Swan – coachlady1