I wanted to scream at him that he was wrong, that he needed to stay. But he was right. I hated that he was right. The things I’d been saying echoed in my head, reminding me so strongly of all the arguments I used to have with Tobias that I wanted to wither in shame. I bit down on all the other retorts tramping through my head. I didn’t want to keep arguing. I didn’t want to be that person. Instead I blinked back the tears. “So, you’ll just leave?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not abandoning you, Raina.” His frustration leaked through as he tried to make me understand. “I’m trying to give you the room to find yourself.”
I stood my ground in silence. I didn’t want to find myself. I had seen myself many times and I had no wish to be left with only myself, especially after knowing what it felt like to have West care about me.
“You’re going to do incredible things here, Raina.” His smile made me even more sad. “You’re going to create so much beauty.”
“Just leave.” If he was going to go, then I didn’t want him to stand here and tell me how much better I would be without him.
His face fell, the first sign I’d seen that he might be upset about having to go. “Raina…” He reached out to me, running his thumb over my cheek and then skimming his fingers under my hair.
I closed my eyes, trying to resist my body’s urge to lean into his hand, to reach toward him in return.
If this was his attempt at keeping distance between us, he was doing a poor job. I felt his warmth overwhelm me just before his lips pressed to my forehead. I wanted to scream and kiss him at the same time. He pulled back and leaned his forehead against mine, his voice strained when he said, “Be amazing, Raina.” He pulled away, his hand dropping from my neck. The air coming between us felt cold and harsh against my flushed face.
I opened my eyes in time to see him press a kiss to his hands and hold them out to me in farewell as he backed away.
He disappeared behind a hedge and the rejection hit me, making me stumble until I found a bench to sink onto.
He was gone by the time I went back inside the house.
✼ ✼ ✼
I tried to go on as if his leaving didn’t bother me, as if I didn’t feel like the world had fallen from beneath my feet. My ability to paint declined. My hands shook. My anger at West and at Stephen made me careless. The way I missed West sapped me of my energy. I was back to being alone, isolated, unwanted. Even with West’s claims of wanting the best for me, the feeling persisted, left over from so many years before. Irrational. I was back to putting on a show of composure while my insides writhed. I hadn’t thought about Tobias for weeks, yet now he was back in my head, screaming at me that no one else wanted me, that it was only him, that he was my one chance.
I thought I had been rid of it. Each painting I had done that contained bits of truth about him, about his death, had been healing and allowed me, bit by bit, to move on. Yet here I was, once again, just fighting to act like a normal human being.
I held myself together by sheer force of will. Still, without West there to ease the pressure, to give me a smile of encouragement or a nod of reassurance, my confidence in my abilities wavered and broke. I couldn’t complete my paintings and Master Sterrino was losing patience with me.
Two week after West had gone, he finally demanded answers. “What happened to you, Lorraina?” Sterrino demanded. “You have no focus, no drive, no patience.”
“I’m sorry. I will be better. I will.” I tried to mean the words but didn’t know if I’d be able to live up to them.
“That first painting that you completed was stunning. Not only beautiful, but full of emotion. I thought you had finally embraced your talent.” He lightly tapped the side of my head. “Where is your mind?” His curious gaze surprised me. This wasn’t the exacting master I had come to expect.
I shook my head, shoving down my emotion as his concern threatened to break me open.
He gave a weighted sigh, then stood. “Come with me.”
I didn’t question, simply followed as he led me to the stairs, descending to the first level where only those invited by the master were able to work.
He opened a door and gestured me inside. I entered, finding a large room that housed many paintings, including plenty of mine, either half finished or left there until the artist knew what to do with them. The middle of the room was clear and set up as a typical workspace. When Master Sterrino did not speak, I turned to him. “Why am I here?”
“You have the look of someone about to rip apart at the seams if they do not find a way to get rid of the frustration, or anger, or pain, or whatever it is that is making your eyes sad and your shoulders stiff.”
I folded my arms, unnerved by his analysis of me.
“So, I suggest you use this room and these tools and this time to get it out. I will look at nothing you create today. You may burn it afterwards, or you can take it home with you. Consider that this is a game of chess. Today you will upend the board and scatter all the pieces. Tomorrow we will place the pieces back in their starting positions and begin again.”
Oddly enough, his explanation made perfect sense to me. I nodded and he left the room, closing the door behind him.
I turned in a slow circle, my breath quickening as I tried to decide what to do. How could I best upset the chess board? How could I scatter every piece and erase the moves that had been made?
I didn’t wish to paint anything new. I didn’t want to see any of my hurt dribbled into paint. I hurt over losing West, but now it was my own insecurity, my long-held belief that I could never be enough without being perfect, that was eating away at me.
And I refused to let myself fall back into that dark place. I wished I could somehow get rid of those reminders altogether.
Then again, why couldn’t I? I chewed on the side of my finger for a moment before making my decision. I searched among the paintings, glad that those in protective tubes were marked with the artist’s name. It took some digging, but I was able to locate my old paintings, the ones that had stayed hidden away in my wardrobe for so long. I pulled them each out and laid them on the ground before standing back to look at them. They represented so much of what I had hated about myself, so much of my loneliness, so many fights, so many broken promises and hateful words.
Then why did I keep them? Because they were truths I had painted? Yet as I stared at them, I realized that many weren’t quite true. The one of the girl looking to the sky with tears in her eyes—that face should have been mine. The hands that rested on the hilt of a sword—the thumb was missing a scar, and the right ring finger should have carried a ring with the Fallon crest on it. The girl standing alone in the middle of the ballroom should have had her arms crossed, refusing to reach out to those around her.
A raw ache settled in my chest, spreading outward, climbing into my throat and burning behind my eyes.
I didn’t take the time to mix precise colors, or worry about precision. I worked quickly, crouching on the ground to paint in the details that I had omitted and cover up any additions that never belonged. I worked on the face of the girl last, changing the color of her eyes and the slant of her nose. She was the girl that Tobias had left behind: the truthful version of me from a year ago.
When I finished, I sat back and stared at it, my emotions raw as I let myself think of everything that day had meant. That day had torn me open, revealing a truth about myself that I did not like and that I had been running from ever since.
All my determination to be perfect, to be strong by myself, had been an illusion. And when Tobias was gone, I realized that I had tied my worth to him. I had measured myself against his approval. But it wasn’t Tobias that had made me that way. Certainly he had compounded it, but I had hated myself long before he came along.
In the very last moments of Tobias’s life, he had begun to redeem himself. He had given me a sliver of hope, only to have it snatched from my fingers mere seconds later. And I realized with a painful jolt that t
hat’s what this felt like now. I had just started to feel redeemed, rejuvenated and reclaimed by West’s gentle caring, when he too was taken from me. Except this time, neither of us was dead.
Now that he was gone, now that I was left on my own once again, I had to admit that I’d fallen into the same trap with West as I had with Tobias. Just because West’s approval had been genuine and kind didn’t make my reliance on him any better than my dependence on Tobias. I had used each of them to hide from myself, to ignore the flaws that made me crazy, to cover up the vulnerability of not fitting in with my family.
For years I had believed that being close to people would make me weak, yet being alone had never made me strong. I had never recovered from the fragility born of pushing everyone away. So when West offered his caring, I had latched onto it, depended on it, allowed it to make me strong without realizing that I needed to be strong on my own as well. Not because he made me weak, but because I couldn’t be strong for him if I lacked strength of my own.
A person can only rely on the strength of others for so long before beginning to drag those other people down. And as I sat there, staring at all the paintings of me, isolated, I knew that West had been right to leave. I would have dragged him down because I wouldn’t have been able to hide from myself forever.
The truth of who I was settled inside me like a great boulder, heavy enough that it could easily crush me if I let it. It was time for me to figure out how to lift that burden on my own.
I shook my head, unable to deal with the pang such a task brought to my heart, and instead focused on the truths that lay across my canvases. I had taken claim of them, and now it was time to be rid of them. Because if there was one thing West had taught me, it was that I didn’t need to keep suffering for who I used to be.
I considered painting over them, but I didn’t simply want to hide them away. I wanted them gone for good, so I pulled them together, stacking one on top of the other, not caring that the new paint smeared. I picked them all up and carried them to the fireplace. Then I knelt before it and fed the fire with all the reminders of who I had been and who I didn’t want to be anymore. I burned the image of the rigid-backed girl determined to ignore her sisters. I burned the picture of Tobias’s hands on the hilt of the sword. I watched as my own face begging for absolution curled at the sides before bubbling and turning black.
When I sat back again, my breathing had calmed. The frustration and bitterness I had felt toward West escaped with the smoke, and I hoped to never let that bitterness overcome me again.
Chapter Nineteen
MY BITTERNESS AND hurt faded, but that didn’t mean that I could paint the way I had when West was around to inspire me. I made some headway with the paintings I had begun before we had been caught, but there was something off about my additions, and I worried that I was going to ruin them. So I set them aside and focused on scenic views. I painted the gardens and the swans on the lake, but I left people out of them.
Sterrino saw me struggling, but he must have also known how much I was trying, because his patience persisted. I was more frustrated with myself than he was.
More than a week after I had burned my lonely paintings, I was staring at my attempt to capture the beauty of one of the garden statues when Sterrino pulled up a stool beside me. He remained quiet and I let him, knowing that he would take his time to study me and my painting before making a comment.
Finally he turned to me. “You’re still holding back.”
I dropped my eyes because he was right.
“How are you going to fix it?”
I threw my hands up, at a loss.
He looked at me, not blinking, just studying. “Perhaps you should return to what you know.”
For one horrible moment, I thought he was suggesting that I should go home, that he didn’t want to teach me anymore. I loved painting. I loved it more now than I had before coming here, and I wanted to continue to study. I wanted to stretch my skill and embrace all that Master Sterrino had to offer me.
“You must have enjoyed painting before you came here. How did you paint at home? What was your process?” he asked. “Perhaps if you can get back to that, you can shake off whatever it is that you’re allowing to get in the way. It’s time to move on, Lorraina.” He stood and left without further comment.
I thought back to the little studio I had created at home, then to the carriage rides with Sarah, Stephen and West. The fact that I hadn’t bothered to do such a thing before now struck me with some force. I supposed my attention had been so focused on my new routine that I hadn’t thought there would be room for my old habits.
My eyes skimmed over the windows and columns filling the gallery and I realized that I needed to get out. I wanted to get in a carriage and explore the lands around Faria, which I had barely even glimpsed.
As I planned my outing and determined what I would need, I realized that I did not wish to go alone. The familiarity of that routine without West would be too lonely.
Looking over to Ingrid’s space, I saw her leaning forward, brush in hand, her attention keenly focused on her craft. Not wanting to distract her, I went to the supply corner instead and gathered pigments, mixing paints to use. I would use the box Marilee had given me, and I would paint instead of merely sketching.
I had everything gathered and ready to take home with me by the time I usually departed. Luckily Ingrid hadn’t left, but was just packing her things away, readying to depart. As I approached her, she gave me her usual easy smile.
I took a nervous gulp of air before asking, “Do you have any interest on going on a little adventure with me?”
“Of course!” she answered without hesitation. “What shall we do?”
“I’m going to find someplace outside to paint.”
“You’re going to paint outside?” She looked even more eager.
“I won’t be able to produce quality work, but it’s good for me to get outside and paint what I see without worrying about it turning out perfectly.”
“So, you’ve done this before?”
“Usually it’s just sketching, but I’ve taken paints with me a few times, and I need a change right now.” I needed sunshine and air, breezes and trees.
“I’d be happy to come along. What do I need to bring?”
We took a few moments to collect her favorite brushes and get a canvas for each of us. Stephen carried them downstairs, where we met Jonas and walked home.
When we arrived at the Brooks’ home, Lord Brook was happy to lend me the use of his carriage. Sarah joined Ingrid and me in the carriage and we set off through Faria toward Ingrid’s home.
It was much like my morning outings at the castle. Stephen played coachman and Jonas rode alongside while Sarah sat across from me. Today I would not paint for Joseph or Dante or Master Sterrino. I would paint for myself.
We rode almost to the edge of town before Ingrid directed us to turn down a lane and pull up in front of a lovely home that spoke of wealth and title. Ingrid jumped out of the carriage and ran inside to get a few things. When she came out of the house again, a young woman trailed behind her at a more sedate pace, wearing the white cap of a maid.
Ingrid jumped into the carriage, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes and smile bright. Once her maid had claimed the spot next to Sarah, we pulled away, leaving the buildings of Faria behind and rolling into the countryside.
Ingrid took a deep breath through her nose and let it out as if reveling in the sensation. She closed her eyes, letting the wind blow in her face and said, “Thank you for inviting me. I needed this, especially today.”
I smiled, glad that she found joy in our outing. “What happened today?”
She tried to wave it off and kept her eyes closed and her face turned to the breeze. “Merely something that Maxwell said.”
“And what’s that?”
She opened her eyes and focused on the trees and fields rushing by. “He called my work ‘safe.’”
I waited for
her to elaborate, but when she didn’t I had to ask, “And that bothers you?”
“That’s the same as saying that it lacks passion and depth.” Anger tinted her voice.
“Just because he said it doesn’t make it true.”
She turned to look at me. “Then why say it at all?”
Her face said that the reasons meant a lot to her, so I took a moment to consider before responding. “Well, it could purely be a lack of taste.”
She scoffed. “He’s in his third year of studying with Master Sterrino. I’m fairly certain he does not lack taste.”
“Perhaps it’s jealousy.”
“Jealousy of what?”
“Of you. Perhaps of your talent, or the ease with which you learn things. There could be a hundred things he could have found to envy.”
She shook her head. “I find it difficult to believe that he would be intimidated enough by me to insult me.”
“Perhaps he chose his words poorly.”
Again the shake of her head. “He always means what he says.”
I was running out of ideas, unable to figure out why she seemed so worried about such a comment. “Why is Maxwell’s opinion so important?”
The expression that crossed her face was so tortured that I wondered for a moment if she was in pain. Then it dawned on me and I sat forward. “You have feelings for Maxwell?”
She closed her eyes and slumped back against the seat as if the truth of it was too dreadful to bear. “Yes. And I don’t even know why. Half the time, he acts as though I am not even in the room.”
“Oh,” was the only word I was able to form. I didn’t know how to respond to such a revelation, especially when I knew so little about Maxwell.
“Sometimes I want to simply tell him how I feel, but can you imagine how uncomfortable it would be if he were to reject me? We’d still be studying side by side and I wouldn’t be able to stand it.” She let out a dramatic sigh, then shook her head and pulled her shoulders back. “No. I will simply keep my peace and not allow him to distract me.”
Painting Rain (Books of Dalthia Book 4) Page 18
