The night is long. We spend it together, in embraces and conversations. This is the first time the Saint is sharing something just like that. Insignificant, completely unimportant, just chitchat, but they mean so much to my heart. It’s scary to let hope swim freely, because it has been wounded so many times and pointed out the scars on my back personally, yet I let go. I push aside Milana's plan about "dragging the Saint" and allow dreams to carry me into the distance, instantly building a pink palace full of hopes.
— I want to paint you, — I whisper, snuggling closer to his warm body.
In response, there's a soft, pleasant laugh.
— Your wish should be granted, — comes the unexpected reply. — Let’s go.
Vlad gets up from the bed and puts on his pants. I head to my bedroom and pull on a light robe, purchased by the Wild to entice Timur. It’s open, bright red, elegant and sexy at the same time. Then I go to the workshop — the Saint is already there. He’s set up an easel, a table with paints, and is sitting opposite me in a chair. He watches me thoughtfully as I enter. Emotions flash in his gaze, but I can’t identify their meaning.
— Command me, — he lazily says. — I am at your disposal.
My breath catches at those words. I swallow the lump in my throat and sit down at the easel.
— I like this pose, — I rasp out.
The Saint is relaxed, his legs slightly apart, reclined back. On his wrist are the same, my favorite accessories: a bracelet and a watch. His torso is bare, the waistband of his black pants slightly dropped. The lighting adds a sinister and mysterious quality to the image. The pose suggests complete control of the situation, which already depends on Vlad.
I take the pencil and begin. Stroke by stroke, and here’s the sketch ready. Throughout the time I paint, he sits without changing position. Only his eyes wander over me — I can feel it. Sometimes it feels as if the Saint can physically touch me, even with the distance between us. As if he’s a magician, to whom even space obeys.
I continue the painting, reaching for the paints. I mix them, change brushes, dilute with water, wishing to depict the Saint with gentle watercolor, through which the sharpness of the man himself will be visible. Of course, the painting is not finished, but I like how it's coming along. Each brushstroke, whether crisp or hazy, demonstrates Vlad himself and how I see him.
— Can I take a look? — he asks, noticing that I've frozen and am comparing him to the drawing.
— No, — I cut off unexpectedly firmly. — When I finish.
He raises an eyebrow and smiles:
— As you wish.
Surprised, I focus on the Saint. A part of me instantly wants to ask, what next? There’s jealousy, there’s passion, so what to expect? Will he find the answer to his own question? Will he understand what to do, not just with me, but with both of us? However, I decide to remain silent. He doesn’t like these questions. And they probably look hysterical.
— You’re listening to me, — I instead say.
— How can I not listen to a star, — he replies playfully. — You shine. Learning at the academy has added sharpness, strength to you.
— Not only that, — I tuck my hair behind my ears, but rebellious short strands escape into freedom.
— Stop attributing qualities to me that I don’t have. You are the reason for who you are now. Period, — he says confidently.
— I just endure pain well, — I whisper.
The Saint stands up. He slowly approaches me and stops next to me, but to the side of the easel. He offers his hand and says:
— Then stop enduring. Root it out of your life.
— How? — I barely manage a smile. — You’re the reason, Vlad.
I don’t know if he wanted to hear these words, but I say them. I say them because it’s a bigger part of the truth. Before, my pain was my mom, the tyrant — my father, and my little brother. Now they are in relative safety, and the Wild is punished. Almost. So all the emotions focus on the man. On whether he is near... On what comes next? On what he feels, besides jealousy? And this is just a small part of the internal turmoil and fears.
— I told you that your freedom is yours, girl, — he continues holding his palm up. — And only you decide what to do with it.
My face must be too surprised. I don’t understand what he means.
— An agreement…
— Its fulfillment doesn’t require you. As you can see, the events where I appear as needed don’t require my wife’s presence. You study, go out to relax, deplete my bar… You make a grown man go crazy over you. You suffer because you don’t know, or on the contrary, know what lies ahead, considering your confession. You take steps forward. You’ve started to shine. To live, not just exist… But still, you endure. Indecisive, afraid to take risks… A core holds you, but you’re not building it up. What do you want? Just you, Julianna, not me or anyone else. Answer first to yourself, then you can voice it to me.
I hesitantly examine the elegant fingers of the man. He said so much… Hinting. What for? What does he expect from me? What kind of behavior or actions? That I will go and ease his life? Will he then say that despite his love for him, I made my own choice? To not hurt himself through emotions, which still exist? Or does he really just want to teach me to live and not be afraid because he wants the best for me? How to understand? How to lift the veil of thoughts that confuse and truly open up to myself?
I place my fingers in his palm. There’s no emotion on the man’s face, only the dark gaze reveals that the touch touches a part of his soul.
I rise and level with him. I tilt my head back and look into his eyes.
— I want to be with you. Truly, Vlad, — I say without doubts.
The corners of his mouth curve into a semblance of a smile.
— I am not freedom, Julianna. You wanted it, not me.
I swallow the lump in my throat. And again he confuses me. Again he puts us on pause, and emotions swing from one extreme to another. He’s sad, he’s jealous… he wants, and now he pushes away.
— You’re confusing me again.
— You’re confusing yourself. I didn’t require an answer now. Give it first to yourself. Everything between us, Julianna, hasn’t changed.
— But you confessed that you’re jealous… — I say, bewildered.
— You are my wife. Yes, I am jealous.
— But still, you promise nothing, right? Neither love nor family…
— Hey, — he touches my chin with his fingers and makes me look into his eyes, — think, and then make conclusions. You can analyze, Julianna. I want you to analyze us.
— But I can’t, — I choke out. — I start to think something, and you immediately break all assumptions.
— I’m sorry that I break you, but there’s no other way.
— No other way? — I peer into his dark eyes. I search for answers to my questions there, but the Saint skillfully hides his emotions. He allows only jealousy and sadness to be seen. — Don’t you want to? Vlad, — I say desperately, — I know that there was supposed to be nothing between us. But let’s set the past aside, — I add quietly. — I’m being honest with you. And now, I say wholeheartedly — I love you. I love you not because you were the first, gave me what I didn’t have before. I love you not because you are handsome, strong, and I enjoy being with you and feeling your strength as my own. I love you not because you broke the Wild and help my mom, although that benefits you too. I love you because I like breathing in your scent. I love you because when I was scared of the exam — you were with me. When I was afraid of the storm — you embraced me. When I was throwing up — you washed me. I don’t know if these actions can be wrapped in love. I’m inexperienced in this. However, I know for sure that when you are not around, I feel bad. Very bad, though I hide it even from myself. I’m scared to hope, because you always do everything to destroy hopes. You throw hurtful words every damn time! And I still love you. Do you understand? You don’t know what to do? Good! Sort it out, even though I see no reason why you, Vlad the Saint, wouldn’t know! But I know! I know that I want to spend my life by your side!
Vlad’s fingers slightly squeeze mine. That’s all the reaction he allows himself. We stand in silence and semi-darkness in his workshop. I hear his slow, fully controlled breathing. I feel my own heartbeat through the adrenaline. I’ve said everything frankly. I’ve confessed a thousand times. Now the choice is his. And then… Then, let the flood come, but at least some certainty.
I’m truly tired of building castles, then collecting their ruins. Tired of putting my back out there only to receive new wounds. Tired of playing the Saint's game by his rules! He’s not a monster, right? He wants to let me go into adult life with a strong character and confidence? Then let him! But in that case, he shouldn’t come, shouldn’t call just for nothing, shouldn’t kiss, shouldn’t touch, shouldn’t caress, shouldn’t confess his jealousy.
— And you know, — I formulate a thought and add, — if you don’t know what to do with us next, can’t promise anything, then maybe we should stop seeing each other altogether. When you free mom and brother, then we’ll talk! Right?! “AMB” interests me little! I… I’ll figure out my life somehow! So… Maybe you should leave right now!