We drive in silence. At first. Then Vlad turns on the music. It sounds like background noise, yet it somewhat spices up the atmosphere. Probably, the man feels fine, while I feel quite uncomfortable. Dad's habit of driving in silence comes to mind and forces me to feel the pressure of fear again. I hate myself for this emotion. I hate that I let Volodymyr Dykyi year after year kill pieces of our souls, my mother's and brother's. I hate that I can't protect them. But for the first time... really for the first time in my life, there is hope that I can change the situation. For the first time, it feels like I can do anything! And, perhaps, that is indeed the case. I have the strength to protect my mom and little brother! But not for myself.
Vlad stops the car in front of an ancient building in our city. I've seen it before, probably a thousand times, but I've never been here. It reminds me of a church, though I might be mistaken. At the very top, under the spires, a clock is visible. It just strikes twelve noon.
Saint opens the door for me to get out of the car. To my surprise, and to the surprise of the people wandering nearby. Although if I were to be more precise — students. A smile spreads across my face: happy and full of doubts at the same time.
— Art school? — I don't finish, scared.
However, I see everything: the students, some with sketches in hand, others with easels. They hurry to classes, or already out from them. Most are ordinary, but there are also some extravagant ones, like a girl in a bright green hoodie worn over a chaotic mess of red hair. For some reason, I want to look at her and look at her.
— The academy, — Saint concludes and closes the car door as I finally step away. — Let's go. They are waiting for us.
It’s hard to convey what I feel. It's as if a cruel dragon has turned out to be a true wizard who can fulfill wishes. Yesterday — easels and paints. Today — the academy. But what does he want in exchange for these treasures?
We enter the building in silence. Maybe Vlad wanted to say something, but I'm unable to hold a conversation, as I’m literally stunned, and all I can do is walk behind the man and my dream.
With delight, I admire the ancient high arches; the ceilings with stuccos, then under my feet, a floor laid many, many years ago. I also notice the walls covered with paintings, both reproductions and presumably works of graduates.
The sound of footsteps resonates in my heart with a trembling sensation. I'm in the right place. Where I want to be. For the first time in my life. And all thanks to a stranger who approached me at my own exhibition a few days ago...
The dean’s office greets us with the same ancient beauty and easels with landscapes painted by unknown artists. Vlad confidently greets, taking one of the chairs. After briefly studying the shelves filled with documents, candlesticks, and the stucco again, I repeat after Saint: I greet and take another chair.
In front of us is a woman about fifty years old. Stern, gray-eyed, with white hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Dressed in a blouse and likely a business skirt. I wouldn't be surprised if she were wearing heels as well.
— I’m glad to welcome you, — she smiles with just her lips.
She studies us carefully. Shifts her gaze from me to Vlad and back again. As far as I understand, she has already gotten acquainted with him, and now she has the pleasure of seeing his fiancée...
— Is this your fiancée — Yuliana Svyata?
— Still Dykai, — Vlad lazily stretches out the words.
— I see, — the woman nods and locks her fingers, placing her hands on the table. — Well, I would like Yuliana Dyka to take the exam. To enroll in the painting and graphics faculties, you need to create oil studies of the naked figure and the head of the model. For the graphics faculty — watercolor. Are you interested in these areas?
— These, — I reply instead of Vlad.
— Alright, — the woman shifts her gaze to me. — Then I invite you to come here in a week, considering today. The exam will start precisely at twelve. The model will be provided. — She looks at Saint. — As for payment?
The man nods and crosses one leg over the other. In his shirt, the sleeves are rolled up, showcasing his veins and the bracelet on his right wrist. I linger on this sight... and suddenly realize that I would try to portray him. Just as he is now: relaxed, a lazy cat comfortable in his own strength. Power and he are one. Behind him would be a dark background, and the vibrant spot would be the shirt and bracelet, accentuating the beauty of a man's hands.
Vlad talks to the dean, and I hear nothing. In my head, he’s already there, on the canvas, depicted in oil. I literally see every brushstroke. Every curve of his strong and taut body. Danger, sex, and calmness emanate from him. The vibes of the dark forest and luxury are present in barely noticeable strokes, but they complement the picture perfectly...
— Yuliana, — I don't immediately hear my fiancé's purring tone. — Let's go, we've already arranged everything.
I blink in confusion, but obediently get up from the chair, say goodbye, and follow the man. Only when we get into the car and drive back does panic engulf me. A waterfall of water presses me to the ground, filling my nose and throat, squeezing and not allowing me to breathe.
I can't draw from life. I’ve never learned. Self-taught. Yuliana, who learned to visualize her own imagination to make it a little easier to live...
— Vlad, — I feel how panic squeezes my throat, but I can't stay silent. He himself said — not my father.
Saint looks ahead. We are already driving into the underground parking lot. Perhaps he doesn't hear, perhaps he is ignoring, but I don’t dare to call out a second time. So we ascend to the apartment in silence. Quite uncomfortable for me, as he is constantly looking, I can feel it with my body.
As soon as I step into the room, I mumble "thank you" and disappear into my own bedroom. I kick off my shoes, lay face down in the blanket, and sob. Quiet tears, full of fear of failure and what is happening, press from within. They squeeze my insides so much that I want to howl. And I howl. I allow a barely audible whimper. I grab the blanket with my fingers and unconsciously start pulling it towards me. Despair makes me struggle in silent hysteria. Not the first in my life, but the first that isn’t about my father and his cruelty.
I hear a loud thud. I freeze and sit up sharply. I can feel Vlad's presence behind me.
— Are you crying? — he says indifferently. The question is more like a statement of fact.
— No, — trained by bitter experience to always respond instantly, I say.
— Then turn around, — he commands.
And I turn. It’s hard to conceal my red eyes, as well as, as it turns out, my bitten lips.
— Everything is great, — I force a smile onto my face, shoving the panic as deep as I can. As always, not to irritate.
— Great? — he raises an eyebrow. Not surprised, not mocking, but... like a refutation of truth. — You are scared, Yuliana. So much that you are about to explode from unfounded fear. Breathe.
And I breathe. My body shakes, but I breathe. I obediently do what he said.
Vlad steps closer, and closer still. He stands opposite and lightly touches my chin with his fingertip. Silently commanding me to look into his eyes. I look. I drown. In the blueness that is infinite, gripping and captivating. It takes my breath away. The blue darkens slowly, as if it’s not hurrying anywhere, anytime.
— And now take a deep breath.
I do what he says. All the while not taking my eyes off him. Diving into his dark, dangerous forest that orphans rush through with their bodies. And yet the panic retreats. Faintly, but surely. In small steps, but firmly.
— Exhale.
I exhale. To some insane madness, I feel his touch on my skin, the scent, the presence. As if Saint is something more than just a person. The confidence emanating from him touches me too. Gently. Trying to find a crack and fill the void left behind by fears. Those that didn’t leave, but simply hid. Somewhere deep down, yet still palpable.
— What scared you? — he asks briefly.
— The exam, — I squeeze out.
I can’t break eye contact. I want to fall into his strong arms and belong only to them. To feel strength and power. Security. The warmth of his body. The scent that sends my head spinning while my heart begs for forgiveness from my mind.
— You’ve never drawn from life?
I shake my head. It turns out he has long withdrawn his hand and now has both hidden in his pockets. Yet the touch still burns…
— Want me to teach you?
Unconsciously, I tighten my grip on the pillow I’ve been holding the whole time. For some reason, different words echo in my ears: “Power and strength don’t always look like humiliation. Want me to show you?”
— I want to.
Saint smiles with satisfaction. Something unfamiliar flashes in the deep blueness. I’ve never seen such emotions in anyone before, so I can’t differentiate or define them.
— Do you want me to invite a model or do you have your own preferences? — the man asks calmly, while everything within me is turned upside down.
My own preferences? I want to laugh. To hysteria. How do I say that I want to paint him? How vulgar will that sound? Considering that we, no, I, emphasized from the very beginning what our relationship would be. Yes, Vlad joked, offered various improprieties, in my opinion, but... we defined ourselves. Just business relations. Nothing more.
— I... — I whisper, stifled.
The pillow in my hands slowly turns into a stress-relief toy. I don’t notice it until he looks eloquently at it and my clenched fingers.
— You? — he raises an eyebrow and smirks.
For some reason, with that, I instantly feel the age difference between us. He is an adult and experienced. I am just the daughter of Dykyi, who is needed for some reason. There’s a chasm between us.
— I would like...
— Be bolder, — he purrs and widens his smile. I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or trying to make me speak openly.
— You. You. — I instantly correct myself.
— Me?
I begin to feel angry. Is it so hard to understand what I’m trying to say? Why does he make me say everything in full sentences?
— Do you want me, Yuliana? — he asks again. The blue instantly darkens. Deep night comes instead of day. Without stars in the sky. Without the moon. But still blue.
— No, I... God, — I cover my face with my hands.
— You need to express your desires clearly and firmly, Yuliana.
“The world cannot give anything to the mute” — Timur’s voice echoes in my head. Their expressions are similar…
— I want to try to draw you. — I squeeze out, gathering all my will into a fist. It’s indescribably hard to utter each word. But… as soon as they fly out of my mouth and hang between us in the air, I feel significantly lighter.
For the first time... For the first time in my life, I expressed my desire... Suddenly I realize. Not for the first time. Not with him. Studying, easels, drawing from life — all with Saint. Three desires, two of them practically fulfilled. I couldn’t even dream of this before. Before... no one ever heard my desires. Even recalling the meeting with Timur and Vlad... My father wanted this, not me. He commanded, and I complied. Without questions. Without indignation. Simply because that’s how I was taught.
A timid deer... that’s exactly what I am. Confessing, I’m still surprised by my audacity, which was like a part of me in the restaurant. I wished so clearly and firmly for a rescue for my brother and mother from the situation that I forgot about everything else.
— Then we can start now, while I have the time.
His confidence makes me nod and immediately agree. I get up from the bed and freeze in front of the easel and paints. It’s clear from his gaze that Saint deliberately avoids looking at my painting with the girl and angel behind her. This pleases me. He was right — there are paintings you don’t want to show the world because a significant part of you is invested in them. To bare your soul is very unpleasant, especially when the viewer turns out to be terrible.
— In my workshop, I have everything you need. Leave your paints here.
Vlad turns around and walks away. I follow him, not really imagining how I’m supposed to paint him from life. I hope he definitely won’t be naked, otherwise...
In the workshop, everything is just like last time. I enjoy scanning the bright walls, paints, and paintings with my eyes. The man sets up the easel, places a canvas on it, and pushes a stool closer while adjusting the height.
— All work on the drawing needs to be broken down into separate stages: the compositional arrangement on the sheet of paper. The image is executed with light lines with corrections, without using an eraser, — he begins clearly and firmly. — The discovery of the main large form. You need to see the overall picture without details. For example, when drawing a butterfly from life, you should see and reveal its basic shape — a trapezoid, and then the details: the pattern of the wings, the design on the wings, the color relations. Next, clarification of the shape, proportions, introduction of auxiliary lines that facilitate finding the proportional relations of the parts and the whole. Then, the transition from the general to the specific. Here, the small forms are analyzed, their connection to the whole is established, drawing minute details. And finally, a detailed characterization of the model: conveying materiality, texture. Let’s summarize: checking the overall state of the drawing, subordinating details to the whole, refining the drawing in tone: softening overly dark areas, revealing the difference between light and shadow.
Having set up my workspace, Saint falls silent and turns to face me. I’m amazed at how confident he is, how he knows how to present himself in such a way that I can feel his power and authority in every atom that composes our world.
— I’ll try, — I swallow the knot of nerves. My palms immediately sweat.
— We need a butterfly, — he says firmly, glancing at my face once more.
Vlad looks around and notices something. He leisurely walks to the corner of the workshop and picks up some object from the floor. He lazily returns to me with the easel and drags along another stool that resembles a bar stool. Now I see he has decided to use a pendant instead of himself and the butterfly — an antique pendant adorned with stones hiding in the ornate lines of the jewelry. He places it on the stool, next to it lays several dry petals of a rose that I hadn’t noticed before, and gestures for me to sit at the easel.
Immediately, I follow his request. I take a pencil from the holder and examine the piece of jewelry.
— Draw, — he says.
My body freezes. “Draw.” I can’t. For some reason, it’s hard to breathe, let alone hold the pencil between my fingers.
I fixate on the old silver, or rather deliberately aged: dark, not black, but no longer silver. The blue stone in the center of the pendant resembles a summer night, and if I add a bit of imagination, I can hear the sounds of crickets and the dawn singing of birds.
I become so engrossed in these rather unclear and strange feelings that I miss the moment when Vlad appears behind me. My body recognizes his presence faster than my brain. My brain activates when Saint's delicate fingers rest on mine.
I tremble all over, even though my body is immobile. He is too close. I can feel the heat of his body against my back; I’m sure that if I lean back a little, I would hit his strong chest. Vlad's lips are dangerously close to my ear. His velvet voice, low and with a tense tone, reaches me in quiet whispers.
— What do you see?
I can’t speak right away. My voice doesn’t obey me. It listens to Vlad.
— The pendant, — I exhale. Finally.
His fingers guide my hand toward the canvas.
— Then draw. As you feel. As you see.
— What if it doesn’t work? — I whisper.
— It won’t work the way it’s usually expected, does that worry you? — he asks authoritatively, his breath scorching my skin.
I take a deep breath. I can smell jasmine, just like during our first meeting. It’s intoxicating, urging me, sweetly striking my lips, compelling me to be polite and obedient... for him.
— This.
— Don’t worry about what doesn’t concern your inner feelings. Shine brightly, I told you: your freedom.
“Little girl” — I mentally add.
— I don’t know where to begin, — I slowly say.
His closeness flusters. I can’t think about painting, only about this. The memories of a man's fingers touching my body invade my consciousness faster than I can stop them. Now I replay them in my imagination, just as vividly as in reality back then. The touch of lips behind my ear. Long fingers in my hair. Fire in my chest. The desire to surrender. The complete absence of fear… and in response to that, a wolfish grin that makes me want to dissolve completely into the person.
I asked him to stop. And now... inhaling dangerous aromas, feeling strength so close, I want him to continue.
— Start with what your heart dictates, — he whispers, brushing his lips against my ear.
I exhale audibly. I’m on fire, filled with strange, unfamiliar emotions and… at the same time, shame.
Vlad's hand leads mine. It places it on the canvas and nudges me into action. A deep breath doesn’t help me to concentrate. I grip the pencil tighter and begin to sketch lines. The first lines in my life not drawn from imagination or desperation.
— Well done, — Saint’s other hand finds its way to my stomach.
He embraces me. Weightlessly, yet authoritatively. Imperceptibly, but clearly. On the edge of resonance, he makes us both balance.
My heart races. Wildly. It beats a rhythm because I’m under the influence of something dark and dangerous, and yet… I don’t want to run away.
Line by line, and the first sketch is ready. I am surprised to notice that the proportions fit nicely onto the size of the white canvas.
— Keep going.
Vlad shifts. He takes his hand away from mine and seems to occupy all the space behind me. He doesn’t remove the other hand from my stomach. I feel its warmth to my bones.
I depict the dry petals, add shadows, clarify the texture of the pendant, trying to paint as realistically as possible. I don’t remember at what moment my brain completely switches off. Only somewhere at the edge of consciousness do I feel that I’m feeling good. Just like this, with him near, touching, while I paint. As if I’m in that world where I’ve always dreamed of living. A world where bad doesn’t exist, only peace and tranquility.