Chapter Forty-Four #2
I have my hand resting on my chest as I move to the next painting, and I keep it there as I look at a painting of my face fixed in fierce concentration.
Above me is a raised hand gripping a paddle, the kind I like to use most on Roos.
My eyes are fixed determinedly on something in front of me and I wonder if Lex painted this imagining it was xem or Roos bent over in front of me.
Maybe xe imagined them both and just the idea of it makes something flip in my stomach.
The final painting, the one closest to the stage, is not just of me.
Lex is there too, facing me. There is a hand around xir neck and one around mine.
I cannot see where the arms lead to, but I know what xe is telling me.
We have been strangling each other for so long, and yet we’re not suffocating.
Not in the painting – indeed, Lex has painted sly smiles on both our faces – and not in life.
I have tried to delete xem from my life, and xe has too. But it didn’t work.
I stare at this painting the longest, trying to imagine what Lex was thinking when xe worked on it.
I try to decipher what message xe is trying to give me, but I come up clueless.
Or rather, there are too many messages, too many possibilities, and I am done trying to guess what is going on in xir head.
I want to hear it loud and clear, with words, or not at all.
Not that I don’t think these paintings mean something. I know they do. They tell our story. They are an invitation. To stay. To see what the next chapter in our story brings.
But this is not just mine and Lex’s story.
Roos is here too.
I’m just as curious about what Lex has painted for Roos, so I cross the room diagonally and start with the first painting on display on the other side. At the same time, Roos walks to take in my paintings.
The first one is similar to my first. It’s Roos, side-on and smiling.
Smiling so widely and warmly, I can’t stop my own grin as I stare at her.
Again, the colours are abstract, confusing at first – purple lips, blue and green hair, a scarlet red for her skin – and then sort of comforting.
But Roos’ eyes are accurate. They’re that ethereal silver-grey that I have never seen in anybody else’s eyes before, and I doubt I ever will.
I’m still smiling when I move to the next painting.
I don’t stop when I see it’s of Roos curled up around a book.
I’ve seen her do this a hundred times or more since I’ve met her, and this painting captures perfectly the peace of Roos’ face when she’s lost in a romance novel.
The flat line of her mouth that twitches into smiles when she reads something cute or romantic.
Her cheeks that blush when it gets to a spicy bit.
Her hair is gathered over one shoulder, ready for her to twiddle and play with as she gets more and more invested in the characters.
The next painting is of Roos putting on her make-up, the perspective being of the back of Roos’ head and her reflection in a mirror.
She’s wearing a different wig, one I don’t recognise, and I suspect this is a memory of Lex’s that pre-dates me.
I wonder for a moment if I should feel some sort of jealousy about this.
But I don’t. Not for the first time, I feel warmth in my heart that Lex wasn’t just heartbreak for Roos.
That there were moments like this, where Lex clearly adored Roos.
The fourth painting is of Roos’ full body. She stands, legs wide, shoulders straight, and she’s dressed in a jumpsuit that grips every one of her curves. With one hand on her hip and another yielding a riding crop, I know exactly what version of Roos this is, and it makes me shiver.
I drift to the penultimate painting in the row and am not surprised when it’s a painting of Roos asleep.
This time, I recognise the sheets as a design Roos has, and I recognise the silk wrap tied around her head.
I recognise her slightly parted lips and the way she grips the duvet right under her chin.
I could have painted this, I think. I would have painted it almost exactly the same.
My heart is beating so loudly and proudly by the time I reach the final painting that I am convinced it’s echoing through the room.
But it’s not. The only sound in the room is my breath and our footsteps.
But that doesn’t make me any less aware of it as I take in this final painting of Roos.
And it’s not just Roos, of course. Lex is there too.
They are standing opposite each other, like in my last painting.
But they are not touching. In fact, their hands reach out between them, stretching for the other, but they don’t touch.
They stay out of reach of each other. It’s powerful, and it’s so clearly symbolic.
And yet, again, I stop myself from coming to any conclusions.
Instead, I take in a deep breath, turn around, and wait for Roos to do the same. When she’s ready, we both start to walk towards each other. We meet in the middle of the room, just in front of the stage. I hold Roos’ hands in mine. Her eyes are wild and searching. Her smile cannot be contained.
“What does it mean?” she asks me.
“I don’t know,” I say.
As if to answer us, the curtains move next to us, opening. We turn our heads and stare at the stage as it appears, all lit up.
At first, it’s hard to know what to focus on. My eyes struggle to decide what they want to look at first because there are two things up on the stage that demand immediate attention.
For up on the stage, there is another painting. It’s huge, easily three metres by two high. It’s the same colourful blend of busy, abstract brush strokes depicting people.
Three people. Me, Roos, and Lex.
I want to study the painting up close. I want to see where we blend into each other. I want to examine our expressions – Roos’ closed lip smile, my thoughtful half-grin, and Lex’s big eyes looking back at us – and I want to lose myself in the things it makes me feel.
But I can’t. The painting is not what wins the fight for my attention.
Because next to the painting is a figure strapped to the St Andrew’s Cross, completely naked but for the cuffs that hold ankles and wrists in place and a ball gag in xir mouth.
Lex.