Abby
I’m looking at my reflection in the mirror and having a hard time recognizing the girl looking back at me. My eyes are shining bright with liveliness, my cheeks are pink, and my lips are painted red. My curly hair is in a vintage bun, just above my neck. The dress I bought for Brant’s big day is vintage style too, or so that’s what the saleswoman told me. The black A-line dress reaches just under my knees, Coco Chanel length as the saleswoman called it. The dress has lace details on black fabric and the same black lace covers my neckline and elbow-length sleeves. I’m wearing simple black stilettos and I’m not so happy with that decision now. How can women walk on these things? They’re created to kill it seems. But the saleswoman told me this is the only shoes I can wear that go with the dress.
I try to walk on them, moving around the apartment till I convince myself that I won’t fall and break my neck.
I can’t wait to see Brant’s reaction when he sees me. I didn’t see him much last week, I was busy with my exams and he was busy with his exhibition. He must be so nervous, because I see his uneasiness whenever I catch him at home. I remember this morning. We had sex for the first time this week and it was intense and different. His body was tense, his eyes didn’t have that same mischief, instead he almost looked scared.
“I need you,” he said as he thrust into me with desperation. “I need you so much.”
He was hurting, I could see it in his eyes, but I don’t know why. I just kissed him to take his pain away. And our kiss wasn’t hungry, it was desperate, aching. I don’t even know how to explain it. He looked at me like he was scared that I might disappear.
“Please understand,” he whispered when we both came, but I didn’t understand what he meant. I just let him hug me tightly as he fell back to sleep.
The memory causes a shiver to run through my spine, making me uneasy. I don’t know why he was that scared, that nervous. But maybe it’s just the exhibition, the stress of it. He worked so hard on this exhibition and now he’ll show it to the world.
I don’t know how he does that -- letting the whole world see his passion, his thoughts, his dreams. Isn’t art the most intimate thing a person can create? I don’t know how he can make himself that vulnerable. He gives people a chance to see him, judge him, like him or dislike him.
I would never be able to do that.
Brant has changed me since the moment he stepped into the apartment, but I’m still the same closed off person inside. I can’t think of people seeing me the way I let Brant see me. He’s the first and only person I’ve allowed to come close to me. I think I’ll always be that way; reserved.
Taking a deep breath I shake these thoughts off me. Today is Brant’s day, not mine. I check the time and call the taxi. I’m excited and I can feel today is a big day.
I step out of the taxi when the driver tells me we arrived at the address. We are outside of the city. Lanterns light the driveway and there aren’t many buildings around. The banner next to the warehouse makes me sigh in relief.
Brant Alexander-Marshall Exhibition: MUSE
I smile, feeling proud of him.
“Miss Abby Shine? We were expecting you.” A blonde greets me when I step into the warehouse. She takes my thin coat and gives me a glass of champagne as she guides me inside with a smile on her face.
I want to thank her, but I’m speechless when I look around the warehouse. Brant did an amazing job. The warehouse is lit by candles in different sizes, the glass ceiling reflects the warm glow they create. The moon and stars are also lighting up the space. It looks incredible and I haven’t even seen his paintings yet.
Before I enter the main exhibition area I look around. Some people are enjoying their champagne and their group of friends. Some of them look at me longer than I feel comfortable with and smile at me. Some of them give me nods like we know each other. I think people who like art are more friendly.
Finishing up my glass of champagne, I take another glass from a waitress before entering the main area. The exhibition area is a circle and it has a big cylindrical column in the middle, obstructing the view so we can’t see every painting all at once. It’s like they’re in a maze, placed in a special order. My eyes look for Brant before I step into the maze-like hallway, but I don’t see him anywhere. So, taking a deep breath I head toward the first painting.
The first painting is full of white, grey, and black. Brant’s brush strokes are rough. Grey swirls and black dashes with thick strokes of paint surround a girl who sits in the middle of the canvas. Her curly hair covers her face, needles are sticking into her naked body. Just looking at her gives me a feeling of melancholy. Also, she reminds me of myself and it makes the painting even more unnerving and breathtaking. I quickly move to next one.
In the second painting everything is lighter; the girl is grey, the background is a lighter grey. She has small cracks all around her body and from those cracks, colors are shining out. Her curly hair is swirling around her face, not showing her fully. I’m panting, my heart beats faster. There’s a small whisper in the back of my mind, but I can’t really focus on her. As I look at the canvas something unnerves me, but nothing makes sense.
I keep walking. My breath hitches when I stop in front of the third painting. It’s incredible. The curly haired girl is now kissing a guy who is made up of words. The background is like a library.
I shake my head.
No.
That can’t be.
The next painting is a girl under water. She’s grey, but the lightest she has ever been and she’s floating in the water; the blue of the water swirling around her.
No.
No.
My hand goes up to wrap around my throat. I’m wheezing. My fingertips are cold as ice. And everything stops when I see the next painting.
A girl with curly hair…
She is me.
In colors.
Naked.
Her face is visible and no matter how hard I try to think that she’s just a girl he painted, there’s no denying the details. She is full of color, not the black or grey girl anymore but she still has the same eyes, same lips, same hair as me. Her tits are mostly covered in magenta, but even the small mole under my breast is visible. Her stomach is covered in alizarin crimson, just like he painted me that day.
I can’t look away.
Her legs are spread open. The soft trail of hair between her legs is there. Her vagina is framed with Prussian blue. Her, my, back is arched and an euphoric expression is on her face. My eyes move back to between her legs.
I am naked.
In front of every person in this exhibition.
Every little detail in my body is on this canvas.
I’m hyperventilating. The ground is slipping under my feet. I support myself against the wall and keep walking to get out of here. But there is one more canvas on my way.
In this one, I’m holding a heart. Red, orange, and blue are dripping from the heart and they are reflecting on me.
I think he did this painting, thinking the heart is his. But it is mine in my mind… and he’s just ripped it out of me.
A sob breaks from my throat and I’m hurting. All over my body is hurting.
And then I see him. He walks toward me with a big smile on his face, but his smile drops when he sees my expression.
“Abby,” he breathes out, taking another step toward me.
I lift my hand up to stop him.
“How could you?” I whisper. My hands turn into fists as I try to keep my anger under control. “How could you use me like that?”
“Use you? What?” He attempts to come closer to me, but I stop him again. “Abby, I didn’t use you. How can you think that?”
There’s a hole inside my chest. I’ve never felt such pain before. This is so big. It’s nothing like when Tracy, my best friend in primary school used me for an exam paper. It’s worse than the bullying I’ve been through all those years in high school. And it’s even worse than the embarrassment I felt when the whole school watched Clark and I have sex through the keyhole.
This is something else.
My soul is shattering.
“I trusted you. I…” I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to push back the tears. “You said your inspiration is sex, now it all makes sense. You couldn’t paint and then you decided to use me as your sex toy to get your artistic drive?”
“What? Abby, no!”
“Have you ever thought of telling me? Or didn’t you care about what I’d feel when you exposed me naked, vulnerable for the whole world to see?” I hiss.
“Abby, baby. Let’s get out of here so I can explain. Please.”
“Stop it, Brant. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I saw what you did, there’s no words you can say to fix this. You forced yourself into my life. I thought you just wanted to get to know me because you… I thought you liked me. I let myself trust you. And you used everything for your own selfish reasons not caring if you hurt me.” I shake my head, taking a deep breath I try to find the cold numbness inside me that was there before Brant came into my life.
I hear him call after me, but I just keep walking, leaving my heart back in the warehouse where it bleeds all its colors onto the floor.