I can't breathe. Once, and there's not enough oxygen. The familiar scent of Saint's body bursts into my mind like a whirlwind, sweeping everything away. Literally everything. I forget the reasons I pushed him away. I forget why I was even angry. There is only him and me. No one and nothing else. We are two in this world, amid the darkness swirling around us in an autumn melody.
Suddenly, I start to perceive sounds too sharply. The rain outside penetrates my skin with each drop. It echoes in my heart.
— Hi, — I barely manage to squeeze out.
Saint stands a few steps away. He slightly tilts his head and attentively studies me, touching my entire body with his gaze.
— Your hair has grown, — he states the fact, and I marvel at his attentiveness. The Wild one never noticed changes in Mom. Never. Not at all.
— A little, — I whisper.
Unconsciously, I touch the tips of my hair. They reach my collarbones. Honestly, I didn't even notice that their length had changed.
— How was the party? — Vlad heads back to the chair, but I see he is actually going to the easels. He retrieves his unfinished portrait.
While silently watching, he places the canvas on the easel, next to the paints, and takes his seat on the stool.
— Yuliana.
— Good, — I realize I missed the question.
— Will you finish it? — he probably knows that right now there’s no point in asking about anything else.
— Yes.
The man smiles. I sit at the easel. At first, I lose myself in the space for a few minutes. It's so wild to see him… Wild to understand that I could just stretch my hand and touch what I desire. However… I drove him away myself. And I can't ask if he sorted himself out. The words don’t come. They are stuck in my throat, pressing from the inside.
So, I take the brush. I pick up black paint and the first thing I paint is the shadows behind Saint. I smile to myself because his surname doesn’t match his character at all. And I used to think otherwise… Once.
In silence, we spend some time. An hour, or maybe it's eternity, who knows? However, I get considerable pleasure finishing Vlad's portrait. I calm down internally after Catherine’s act and the shock that gripped my whole body like a vice. I only just realize that I had been paralyzed, having to see the scene that I now prefer to forget.
Something akin to dawn glimmers outside the window. In summer, it was different, but in autumn, gray paints the sky, changing only shades.
I set the brush aside and ask, not giving myself time to think. I will reconsider.
— What have you decided? — my voice sounds hoarse, though I don’t want it to be so. Probably from the long silence.
Only a canvas separates us. It also hides me from those piercing blue eyes. I’m afraid to peek and see the emotions on Saint's face. I'm scared to see the finality of everything there.
— Didn’t you give me time to free you from the Wild completely and then sort myself out?
The question sounds in a level tone. There’s no emotion in the words spoken.
— Catherine changed some plans.
— Which ones?
I hear him rising. I don’t know where to put myself. I can’t hide, and there’s no point anyway; we are in his apartment.
He slowly approaches and stands next to the easel. The past mixes with the present. Not long ago, he stood the same way with an outstretched hand, saying my freedom is mine, and only I decide what to do with it. He said I was driving an adult man crazy… He asked me to understand what I truly desired, to analyze us. I did neither. I got stuck in the moment when I confessed my love again and, through the wild pain, pushed him away. And he left. Silently, without accusations or anything similar. Only… as soon as an SMS appeared where I asked for a meeting, he rushed over. He didn’t know it was Catherine, but now he understands that I wasn’t the one writing.
I tear my gaze from the canvas and look at the man:
— I asked you to sort out yourself and what you feel, besides jealousy and madness. I asked you so you could tell me if our marriage is still fictitious because I love you, — I say openly. — You know.
— You wanted freedom, Yuliana. You have it. Everything depends on you. — he looks into my eyes.
A light, barely noticeable, yet pleasant smile touches his lips. Soft, maddeningly beloved. So needed by me. So desired.
— How can it depend on me, if after the wedding night you said our marriage would last until both of us needed it? — I shoot back desperately.
Saint leans towards me and takes my hands. He smoothly lifts me up and gently wraps his arms around my waist.
— Because the question is whether you, my Timid Doe, will want to be with me when I'm done. After all, I decided everything for myself the moment I carried you out of your father’s house in my arms. I understood there would be no end to this marriage because I wouldn’t abandon you. I can’t leave. I, — he leans next to my ear and continues in a whisper, — carried you, wounded by the beast in my arms, and knew that the beast would be destroyed, and you must forever be under my protection. I wanted to lock you at home and keep you until the end of this planet’s life so that not even the sun could harm you, Yuliana. I wanted to bind you to me and drag you everywhere, just to know that everything is well with you. And then I had to cut those thoughts off at the root since you are free, girl. Free, because I promised you exactly that. Not myself. Not love. Not marriage. Freedom. And Catherine has nothing to do with it. She didn’t change your plans. You just can’t seem to get me out of your head. You can’t reconcile yourself to the fact that you will have to live alone in true freedom. You are stuck in place. And I… — he lightly touches my forehead with his lips. — I don’t want you to be stuck next to me as you got stuck next to your father.
— Then why do you say that something depends on me, — I utter hoarsely, — if you are pushing me away? Didn’t I show enough how much I need you and explained that my freedom alongside you is exactly what I desire?
Saint sighs. Heavily, as if he bears the weight of a planet on his shoulders.
— I’m not sure I can keep myself in check my entire life. — he mutters indistinctly.
— Are you afraid? — I suddenly realize his true fears. Mom said that when you don’t care, it’s not scary. But he is afraid. Truly afraid… to take back what he himself gifted.
Saint is not afraid that the game has become something else than what was planned from the beginning. He is not scared that he stabbed knives into the back of the girl who somehow touched him. He isn’t afraid that he has gotten himself stuck in this up to his ears. In reality, he fears that due to his own greed or something similar, he won’t be able to allow what he is currently allowing while he considers the marriage fictitious.
— I am afraid, — he confesses. — I am jealous. I’m irritated that you have kissed another. I’m angry that in your social circle there are people like Catherine. I’m furious that you are at a party where a bunch of guys have interests that align with yours. I’m scared, Yuliana, — he gently and tenderly places his hand on my nape and brushes his lips against mine, — that as soon as I allow myself to consider us real, like in the painting you created, I will begin to forbid you everything, and ultimately, what needs to be fulfilled as stated in the agreement, you will be disappointed in me forever, with no chance for correction or justification.