Chapter 35 Salem
CHAPTER 35
SALEM
School of Arts was lit up like a beacon. The beautiful fountain in the front was filled with falling water and twinkling lights, changing colors as the water was spit out by the statues. A red carpet had been rolled out from the building to the gates, a waterproof, ornately decorated tent covering the pathway in case of rain.
A fleet of luxury cars lined the street outside, driven by valets and parked away as elite guest after elite guest walked out, decked in jewels and attire worth entire real estate properties. People greeted familiar faces with handshakes and air-kisses, getting photographs clicked by the house photographers who would then distribute the media kit to the press to publish. Security was amped up, patrolling the premises and standing alert at the gates.
Salem stood to the side, waiting for her mother to show up, knowing she had been invited by the board. Aditi’s parents had already made their appearance, greeting Salem with the same warmth they had the first time, including Melissa this time, delighted to see their daughter happy with new friends. Melissa’s brother and family had come as well, and her friend had introduced them to Salem as the girl with the hot possessive boyfriend, thanks to the kiss he had planted on her in front of everyone ages ago.
Salem had smiled politely, her belly fluttering at her friend referring to Caz that way. They hadn’t talked about any terms or titles or even their relationship status. She just knew she was his, as he liked to remind her, and he was hers, as she reminded him too. But she knew that’s how they looked to anyone. Boyfriend and girlfriend.
The sound of her name being called distracted her, and she looked up to see her mother making her way down the red carpet. Salem watched her mother with new eyes, watching the way she walked with her head high even as some people whispered about her, showing up to a public event like this only to support her daughter, dressed to the nines in a full-sleeved gown and dripping in family jewels that were collectors’ dreams.
Selina Salazar was a class act.
Maybe Salem had more in common with her mother than they’d realized.
Her mother reached her and wrapped her in a hug, a hug tighter than any she’d given her, and Salem hugged her back, letting the scent of the floral perfume that was just her mother fill her nose.
“You look stunning, my darling.” The older woman pulled back and held her hands, running those dark eyes over her daughter. Salem looked down at herself, her lips twitching at the memory of making Caz watch her get dressed in the long, shimmery black gown that hugged her curves, a high slit exposing her right leg and the strapless corset exposing her neck and arms. Her hair was pulled back in a half ponytail, leaving it loose on her back. Lined eyes and red lips completed the look, along with her watch and diamond earrings.
“Thank you, Mother.” Salem inclined her head. “You do as well.” And she did.
They made their way inside, and she waved to her friends, calling them over for introductions. She could sense her mother was truly surprised by that fact that she had not one friend but two, and that both of them were nice, normal girls in comparison to her broken, broody self.
Selina greeted them both with the same warmth Salem had seen her show Olivia’s friends, inviting them over to their house for the holidays along with their families.
“Any friend of Salem’s is always invited,” her mother told them with a wide smile that lit up her beautiful, classical face, one Olivia had inherited from her. For the first time, though, Salem could see glimpses of herself in her face too.
“I hope that’s true.” The voice from behind her made her breath catch, seeing Caz walking into the circle, looking absolutely breathtaking in a black suit with no tie, his hair pulled back in a low bun that immediately made him look like a sexy hybrid of wild pirate and wicked master of the universe. His arm slid around her waist, and Salem saw her mother’s eyes widen, first at the gorgeousness of the man in their circle, and then at the fact that her daughter not only had friends, she had a lover too.
“Mother.” Salem introduced him, her manners overtaking her. “This is Cazimir van der Waal. Caz, my mother.”
Her mother extended a hand to him. “Call me Selina, please. It’s wonderful to meet you, Cazimir.”
“Caz, please,” he corrected her. “The pleasure is all mine. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
He had. She had told him little things, big things, late in the night between his arms.
Her mother looked between them. “Are you a friend of my daughter’s, Caz?”
He gave a slashing smile. “Boyfriend.”
And it was confirmed. Salem let out a breath as Aditi laughed. “They’re the biggest lovebirds on campus.”
Her mother’s visible shock was mildly funny. She’d probably thought Salem was going to die alone. She didn’t blame her. Salem had thought that too.
“I didn’t know she was seeing someone.” Her mother smiled. “You’re already a winner in my books if you could get my daughter to fall for you, Caz. She’s a little…”
“Tough to crack?” Caz chuckled, his grip possessive on her. “Good for her I’m just as stubborn.”
She looked up at him, feeling the charged electricity between them, ever-present. Her mother’s words brought her eyes back.
“I should have expected this, to be honest. The Salazars have always found their life partners in Mortimer, generation after generation.”
Salem paused. Life partner? She could see herself growing with him, but could he?
Caz didn’t correct her mother, though, just made small talk with her, dodging any and all questions about his own family, until the announcement for the auction was made.
They all moved in unison toward the gallery, Caz stepping away from the group.
“I’ll see you all inside,” he told them, before turning to her, sliding an arm around her waist and planting a kiss on her surprised mouth in the middle of the corridor. He pulled back, gave her a wink, and turned to leave.
Salem came back to herself and became aware of her mother watching her. She flushed, and her mother took hold of her hand, smiling.
“I like him,” she told Salem as they walked. “He’s good for you. I’ve not seen you so… alive in a long time. He makes you happy. I can feel it.”
Salem nodded. “He does. He… he accepts me. He gets me, and doesn’t want me to be anyone but who I am. I feel free with him.”
Her mother’s eyes filled up. “Oh, Salem. I’m so happy to hear this. You deserve to be happy.”
Had someone told her at the beginning of the semester that she would be walking hand in hand with her mother having this conversation, she wouldn’t have believed them at all. It brought into focus how much she had changed, evolved, grown over the span of a few months, how she had found herself with the help of her friends, her academic pursuits, and most importantly with the help of Caz, a man who never gave up on her, watching her, pursuing her, cracking her, bit by bit, until she opened herself up to him, until she opened herself up to herself. She had discovered a huge chunk of who she was in her emotional capacity triggered by him and the emotions he had wrung out of her, and it was thanks to that work she had done on herself that she could now speak to her mother with more empathy and less resentment.
As they made their way into the gallery, Salem marveled at herself and her own change. It was remarkable.
A large crowd of people was entering the massive gallery. Salem looked inside, seeing artwork after artwork on the walls, different styles and artists. She heard people discussing them and deciding to bid on some of them. She and her mother strolled, browsing through the pieces, her mother liking a few since she was a fan of the arts. Catering staff moved around the room with trays, people holding flutes of champagne as they strolled around.
About thirty minutes later, a gong rang, capturing everyone’s attention. An older man stood with a mic in hand, in front of a velvet curtain that hung from the ceiling down to the floor.
Salem felt her breath catch, realizing what was behind it.
The man with the mic began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for being here this evening. On behalf of the Board of Mortimer, I express my deep gratitude to you all.”
He took a pause. “As you all know, at Mortimer University, we nurture and encourage the arts. We have a long tradition of nurturing some of the most significant artists, and I feel proud in introducing one such name to you tonight. I have not seen such talent in many, many years. His art is brutal, brave, and evocative, his technique a thing of beauty. He is a legend in the making, ladies and gentlemen. Cazimir van der Waal.”
Caz walked out from the side to welcoming applause.
Salem gripped her mother’s hand, her chest filling with pride. That was him. That was her man.
The man with the mic spoke again.
“Tonight, for our feature, we have a never-before-seen collection up for auction. Please remember, these pieces are exclusives and collectibles. Any words, Caz?”
Caz stepped next to the older man, thanking him and taking the mic, his eyes taking in the room, lingering on her, before scanning the crowd again.
He brought the mic up to his mouth and began speaking, and Salem heard a few ladies gasp around the room at the sound of his voice.
So it wasn’t just her.
“Every one of the pieces,” he began, “is available for auction, all but two.”
He paused and people began murmuring.
“These pieces,” he explained, his eyes coming to her, “this collection is my masterpiece. I was blocked and it came to me after I found my muse, my little asp.”
People turned to look at her, but she just stared at him, wondering what the hell he was doing.
“She went to my head like a drug,” he went on, all the while looking at her. “She calls me crazy and makes me crazier. And so, I call this collection Delirium. ”
At his word, the curtain fell down, and gasps rang out in the room.
“My goodness!” her mother exclaimed and Salem felt her lips part, staring in awe at the display before her.
There were the eleven paintings she had seen already in the dungeon hanging up on the walls at the sides, the two pieces in the center making her heart pound.
In one, a girl floated on the canvas, snakes coming out of her hair, long and curving across the top of the canvas, black but looking shiny somehow, like snakeskin textured like hair. The girl was curled in on herself, a skull tucked against her, covering her breasts and vagina from the view, the rest of her side exposed, looking frozen in place, the entire painting done in black and grays and white, except for the eyes of the skull which were open in fiery flames.
In the second, right next to her, the same girl with snakes for hair that looked alive, lying on an altar, looking up at the moon, a shadowed, hooded figure holding the snakes in a grip, partially inside and partially going outside the frame, his shadow tastefully covering her nudity.
The contrast between the paintings, their imagery, the thoughts they evoked were visceral. She had known he would paint her, knew he had been doing it, since it had been something he had requested time and again since the beginning.
Once, she had seen photos of herself leaked without consent, heard people whispering, and had felt nothing but trauma and self-hatred. Now, standing there, watching paintings of herself displayed with her knowledge yet a surprise, people around her still talking, she felt something else. She felt beautiful. Empowered. Adored.
And she realized it was the gaze.
The photos had been destruction. The paintings were desire.
And the people, their words, were admiration. Everyone knew it was her on the canvas, on the two paintings he had displayed and was keeping for himself, letting the world know that she was his, immortalizing it for the times to come, even long after they would be gone.
The thought made her eyes burn.
Even after they would be gone, future generations would look at his art and know she had been his muse, that she was his lover, that she was his.
Salem had never felt as desired, as wanted, as adored as she did right then.
“He loves you,” her mother stated from her side.
Salem glanced at her. Her mother was looking at the paintings, slightly misty-eyed, and Salem knew she was drawing comparison to her photos too. And the words coming from her, especially in that context, meant a lot.
She was right.
He loved her.
Salem could feel it in her bones.
There could not have been a louder, more obvious declaration than if he had dropped to a knee and proposed with a ring. But this was better. This was immortal. This transcended death, went beyond it, breaking the cycle.
So, for the first time, she let herself be brave.
She left her mother’s hand and began walking up to him, each step making her heart pound as the eyes of more and more people fell on her, while the only eyes she cared about in the moment were locked—mercurial, hot, intense—on her. She walked right up to him, just like she had that night at the bonfire, feeling like a cycle was completing there too, her world coming full circle in this moment as she went on her tiptoes, gripping his shoulders, and kissed him.
Not a peck like the night of the bonfire, but a deep, possessive kiss that claimed him as hers in front of the world, the photographs of this moment under his painting immortalizing them too, as his arms came around her and consumed her, his need, his reverence, his love for her so palpable that the last of her ice melted, compelled by the heat of him.
They kissed, not caring for the world, not caring for anything, just for each other, until he pulled back and stared deep into her eyes, his stare saying everything his lips didn’t. She pressed their foreheads together, telling him the same.
Salem had always thought nothing could beat death, that nothing could be immortal. She’d been wrong.
Love, deep, true love, was immortal.
Why should you love him whom the world hates so?
Because he loves me more than all the world.
—Christopher Marlowe, Edward II