5. 5 – Zella
M y mood is sour the next morning before my eyes even open, thanks to my sleepless night. I can almost feel the dark circles etched underneath my eyes, deep purple imperfections that I’ll need to try and draw out with cold compresses before Ethan notices.
Everything about my usual routine irritates me. Washing my hair with almost frantic energy, I yank the comb through my hair roughly, uncaring of the snarls and knots and just working around them rather than working on them.
I can’t face trying to dry it, so I sloppily drag it back into a messy braid, my fingers catching in tangles that make me wince. Tears spring to my eyes as I get caught on an especially stubborn blockage. I’m going to pay for this later when I try to brush it out.
Unease swirls inside my stomach as I tie the ends off. If Ethan saw my hair like this…
He won’t know.
He’s not even coming today.
Pulling my dress over my head, I force myself into the apartment rather than climbing back under my covers and hiding from the world.
All four walls of it.
“Enough of that,” I mutter, reaching with relief for the new coffee. At least I have caffeine.
This morning’s sunrise finally settles me, calming the frenetic energy that’s filled me since I watched the doors close on Ethan last night.
I lean forward, coffee forgotten as I try and take in all of the color I can, my eyes flitting everywhere. Golden light rises up my arms, landing on my face as I tip it back, imagining how the morning air would feel on my skin.
When the little bird swoops past, so close I could touch it, I finally manage a smile. “Back again, are you?”
It glides back around, dancing back and forth as it flaps its wings before flying off to join the others.
The smile fades from my face.
Once the kitchen is clean, the coffee machine cleaned out and my cup dried and put away, I settle into my chair, opening the drawer of the table next to me and pulling out my sketchpad and pencils. Since Ethan won’t be here until tomorrow, I can spend as much time as I like drawing today.
As soon as the graphite touches the page, I’m lost.
First, I sketch the sparrow, trying as best I can to capture the fluff in its wings, the markings along its back. Not for the first time, my fingers twitch, wanting color, but Ethan won’t hear of it. He says that graphite sketches are cleaner.
When I turn to a blank page, my hand pauses, the graphite hovering over the white paper.
Just once, I wish I could draw something new . Something other than my immediate surroundings. But I don’t have anything to reference.
It’s hard to draw realistically when your entire world is contained to one place.
Closing my eyes, I think.
If only I had memories. Something from my childhood, before my parents died. But there’s nothing, only a blank space and the echoes from this room.
I could draw Ethan. I’ve done it before, but I don’t like those sketches. He looks harsh, and angry. And even though he’s never said it, I don’t think he liked them either. His face changed to match the sketch, and he didn’t bring me anything nice for his next few visits.
I haven’t drawn him since.
Chewing my lip, I press the graphite down, making a soft dent in the paper.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Give me something.”
The flicker takes me by surprise, and I almost drop my pencil. Grabbing for it, I run the tip over the page, soft and hard lines of gray making squiggles on the page until it begins to emerge.
A face.
A face like mine, but… older. Wide eyes, soft and happy. A gently sloping nose, high cheekbones with a blush, washed out by the gray I’m using. Framed with short curls, the exact same shade of blonde as mine.
In my mind, at least.
My fingers clench around the pencil so hard I hear a snap, but I don’t care.
Because I’m staring down at something I’ve never seen before.
Shaking off the pencil pieces, my finger hovers over the sketch. I can almost see her in my mind, but it’s fractured, little broken parts like the shattered pieces of a mirror. But the image in my hands is whole, unbroken.
A sound breaks me out of my stupor, and I glance up, my fingers tightening on the page. The afternoon light has darkened into early evening as I’ve sat here, and… the elevator is lifting.
My whole body locks up for a split second, and then I move.
Frantically, I shove the sketchbook back into the drawer, slamming it shut and jumping up. My hand flies to my braid, my throat closing up.
I’m a mess. My hair is barely dry and there’s no way I can fix it before the doors open.
Fighting to keep my breathing normal, I take up my position opposite the elevator doors. My hand is shaking as I smooth down my dress, and I close it into a fist.
Pull yourself together, Zella.
This is ridiculous. Ethan’s not going to care that much.
Maybe.
But it’s too late to change anything now, as the metal doors slide open. Ethan steps into the apartment, somehow making it feel impossibly smaller as he sweeps a casual glance around. At least, it looks casual, but his eyes are assessing as he scans the statues. Hazel eyes turn to me.
My smile is weak. “Good evening, Ethan. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“Zella. I wanted to check on you. You didn’t seem like yourself yesterday.” His voice is smooth, not giving anything away. But the crease in his eyebrow deepens as he looks me up and down. “Busy day?”
I flush. “I… I lost track of time.”
Thin lips purse in disapproval as he moves on to my hair. “I can see that. Your dress is dirty.”
Breaking my carefully curated pose, I look down to see the gray smudges marking the white cotton. “It was clean this morning. I was sketching—,”
Ethan takes a few steps to stand in front of me, leaning down to look into my face. I can feel my lip wobbling as I avoid his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ethan.”
My voice is barely a whisper as I wait, and he blows out a breath.
“Zella,” he says softly. “What do we say?”
“Perfection,” I mutter, still staring at the bright white flooring. Ethan hums, his breath ghosting across my cheek. He always smells of mint, a faint undertone of something chemical beneath.
Always perfectly put together. Almost like a statue himself.
“That’s right. Perfection is possible, Zella. And you… you’re perfect, sweetheart. And we have to maintain perfection, don’t we?”
He raises a hand, his finger barely brushing my braid. “Why don’t we sort this out, hmm?”
Nodding, I take a step back, my heart thundering. “Of course. I’ll change.”
He smiles, but there’s a hint of steel behind it. “I think a shower is in order. Your hair looks awfully tangled.”
I swallow down my protest, nodding as I back away. “I’ll be back.”
Ethan nods almost absently, his eyes already moving to the statues as his feet turn towards Maria. Pausing in the doorway of my bedroom, I glance over my shoulder, watching the way he circles around her, inspecting every inch for flaws.
Just like he does with me.
I struggle through the pain of washing my hair for the second time in a day, this time making sure that I take the time to comb it through, even as I watch the clock.
Ethan isn’t the most patient of people. By the time I’m dressed in yet another white dress, this one without the gray smudges, and head back into the main apartment, he’s standing by the window, watching the evening sky. His eyes lock with mine in the reflection of the glass.
“There we go,” he says, turning to me with a smile. “Doesn’t that feel better?”
Nodding, I shift uneasily on my feet. Our usual routine has been broken, and I’m not sure what to do. He makes a sound in the back of his throat.
“Get the brush, Zella. And sit down. We can talk then.”
My lips twist. “Do you want a coffee first?”
He shakes his head. “I restocked the cupboards, but maybe we should cut down on the caffeine, hmm? I’m not sure it’s doing you any favors if you’re losing track of time.”
His smile is easy, but his eyes are hard. He knows how much I love coffee. Proper, fresh coffee.
The back of my eyes starts to burn, but I bob my head in an imitation of a nod as I move over to my little living area.
Dragging the leather stool across, I set it up in front of my armchair and pull the drawer open, taking out the ornate silver brush I didn’t bother to put away last night.
Handing it to Ethan, I make sure our fingers don’t touch as he takes it from me.
Silently, I sink down onto the stool. The chair squeaks a little as he sinks into it. “Spine straight, Zella.”
Tugging myself upright, I begin unwinding my braid from where it’s wrapped around my waist. It’s still wet.
I feel the slight tickle as he tugs away the band at the very end of my hair. His fingers start to undo the twists, and I try to stay still as he tugs and pulls. Tears spring to my eyes as he yanks one particularly gnarly patch. I didn’t have time to work through all of the knots. “Ethan, please.”
His hands pause in my hair, just for a second.
“This is why it’s important to take care, Zella.” His voice is low, even as he rips through another knot hard enough to make me whimper. “Perfection is achievable if we try hard enough. I’m not sure you’re trying hard enough.”
I bite back a sob as he does it again. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” His tone is soothing. “Do I not give you everything you need, Zella? Am I not doing enough?”
I shake my head, wincing as it pulls against the brush. “No. I have everything I need.”
My voice hitches on the last word, and Ethan pauses. “I can tell something is bothering you.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I take a breath. “I… I’d like to go outside, Ethan.”
I can feel the way his body tenses behind me, and the words start tripping off my tongue chaotically. “Just for a little while. Just to feel the wind on my face, and maybe… maybe to see the people?”
I swear the temperature lowers, and I shrink into myself. My arms wrap around my waist, my shoulders tensing. But I can’t bring myself to take it back. “Please.”
It’s a whisper, and I’m not sure he even hears me. But he pulls the brush free from my hair with a sigh. “We’ve talked about this.”
“But I was younger then,” I mumble. “I’m twenty-three now, Ethan. Surely… surely I have to leave at some point?”
The silence is somehow loud, loud enough to pound in my eardrums like a drum.
Ethan resumes his brushing, not responding. I wait silently, a small curl of hope wrapping itself around my heart.
“I have given you everything,” he whispers finally. “And it’s not enough for you.”
I freeze. “No, Ethan. That’s not… I know that.”
“Then why?”
I turn around on my stool, and my cheek brushes against his fingers. My eyes widen as he flinches back, curling them into a fist. His face darkens.
“The world isn’t safe.” His words are dark, angry even, as I stare at him. “Do you want to end up like your parents, Zella? Your throat cut in an alleyway, your blood soaking into the stones, another victim of the city’s darkness?”
I shake my head numbly. “Of course not. But other people live , Ethan. And I… I don’t feel like I’m living, anymore. I’m just existing. I feel like a statue myself, some days. And every morning, I watch the sunrise and I just want to see it without the glass in my way. Just once, even. Please.”
He’s not listening. I can tell, the anger turning his pale eyes dark as he rips the brush out of my hair and tosses it aside. “I think it’s time for me to leave.”
I gather up my hair in a panic, jumping up and following him as he stands abruptly, heading towards the door. “Ethan, wait. Please!”
It’s all gone so wrong. My breath seesaws out of me as I reach out desperately, my hand wrapping around his arm.
His whirls, his face a mask of anger and hand raised. “ Do not touch me !”
Flinching back, I yank my hand away. “God – I – Ethan—,”
He stalks towards me, and I wonder for a moment if he might hit me. But something inside of me is pushing, pushing to make the most of this discussion before he shuts it down completely.
“You don’t like to be touched,” I force out, my voice trembling. “But that’s all I want, Ethan!”
My voice raises, high and shaking. “You cannot keep me here!”
He stops, something flashing in his eyes. “I can, and I will. Someone has to protect you, Zella, and you’re clearly not capable of making rational decisions.”
I shake my head frantically. “I want to leave.”
He crosses his arms. “Hate me if you have to, but I will keep you safe. You have no idea what it’s like out there. People are evil, Zella. And they will look at you, and they will see how perfect you are, and they will want to destroy you for it.”
My mouth feels dry as I stare at him. Ethan is the closest thing to family I have. Family, friends, all wrapped into one.
But at this moment, he feels like a stranger.
No, not a stranger. A keeper.
“That’s my decision to make,” I whisper. “Not yours.”
His eyes tighten as he turns to press the button, the elevator zinging as it slides open. “I’ll think about it. I want you to go to bed now, Zella.”
His abrupt change takes me by surprise as I stare at him. “You… you’ll think about it?”
He nods jerkily. “Clearly, you’ve been thinking about it a great deal.”
The barb barely hits as euphoria fills me. “Thank you. I don’t mean forever, Ethan. Just for a little while. An hour, even.”
He walks into the small space, turning to face me. His eyes slide away, and I can see that I’ve hurt him.
“Wait,” I say suddenly. “Don’t go like this.”
Ethan’s hand catches the doors, holding them open as his eyes move back to mine. “Sleep, Zella,” he says, more gently this time. “I think we’re both a little tired. And when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll understand.”
Frowning, I watch the doors slide closed.
Understand what?
Taking Ethan’s order for what it means, I curl up in bed, uncaring of the early hour.
What would be the point of staying up anyway?
What’s the point of being alive, if I’m not truly living?
And Ethan may not like it, but I know he’ll come around. He can’t force me to stay here, after all.
Maybe he’s right. Tomorrow is a new day.