The Realm of You: A Novel

by Amanda Richardson

  “This better be good, Marlin,” Sebastian says as we walk into the room. Darcy takes his empty breakfast tray away and excuses herself, leaving Sebastian and I alone. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and rolled-up jean shorts.

  “It’s going to be so good,” I reply, smiling. “It’s not Paris, but it’s the best I can do on such short notice.” My eyes travel down to his legs, and I gasp. “Hey, you got your casts off!”

  He frowns. “I did. Yesterday. But the doctor said I should take the wheelchair to our outing today. I can only walk around when I’m at the hospital.”

  I grin. “That’s wonderful.” I hesitate, watching him as he watches me.

  “Shall we?” He wheels himself past me and out of the room, and I walk behind him. Once we get outside and down the wheelchair ramp, I hand him the red bandana.

  “You have to wear this until I say you can take it off.”

  He reaches for it and ties it around his head. “I hope they performed a background check on you, Winters. I’d rather not be kidnapped today. Rumor has it I’m free come tomorrow.”

  I get an achy feeling in my chest when he mentions tomorrow. To be honest, I haven’t let myself think about what he’ll do and where he’ll go after he gets out. I know his parents live around here, but he hasn’t mentioned living with them, and he hasn’t mentioned a place to live. Of course, I could be imagining the worst, but I can’t help but wonder what his intentions are tomorrow.

  “No kidnappings today.”

  Sebastian is able to stand and get into the van by himself. It startles me at first, but he seems to be pleased that he’s not reliant on anyone anymore.

  After we get settled into the van, I drive towards the I-91. Sebastian is silent in the back seat, and I have to wonder if he’s asleep. I would be, if I were he. A few minutes later, though, he speaks up.

  “Exactly how long do I have to stay blindfolded?” he asks irritably.

  “It’s three hours, and then we have a little bit of walking to do. Three and half hours, tops.”

  “I wish I could say I were excited, but this kind of thing makes me anxious,” he replies, his voice terse.

  “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

  He nods without saying anything, and shortly thereafter, he falls asleep. I can tell because his head lolls around on his chest, and I can’t help but giggle at how silly he looks. Also, how vulnerable.

  Two hours and fifty minutes later, ahead of schedule, I’m waking Sebastian up. He’s really out, and it takes a couple of tries to rouse him. Drowsily, he says good morning, his voice thick with sleep and completely adorable. I help him into the wheelchair, mostly just holding his hand now since he can stand by himself.

  By now he must have an inkling as to where we are. The sounds of people and midtown traffic are everywhere. It’s unavoidable.

  I wheel him up to the ticketing counter at the MoMA, and I hand the ticketing agent our prepaid tickets. It’s obvious now, but I’m hopeful he’ll still be surprised. The museum opens at 10:30, and it’s currently 10:32—we’re virtually the only people here this early, so that’s promising.

  “My god, I can’t wait to see again,” Sebastian complains, rubbing the area around his eyes.

  “Almost there.” We take an elevator up to the fifth floor—painting and sculptures from 1880-1940. I study the map as I maneuver Sebastian towards the room we need, and once we reach it, I squeal in delight.

  “We’re here! Hold on…” I position his chair directly in front of the famous painting. “Okay, you can take the bandana off.”

  He slides the red fabric off of his face, and as he takes in the painting before him, his face remains expressionless.

  “Ta-da!” I say, throwing my arms in front of the painting dramatically. “It’s Starry Night! Are you surprised?”

  He doesn’t answer me. He just stares at the painting, emotionless, and I begin to panic. Oh my god, he hates it. Why did I think this was a good idea? I should have asked him first. He’s the moodiest person I know… I should’ve run this by him. I should’ve—

  “I’ve never seen a Van Gogh in person,” Sebastian says quietly, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s so much more colorful in real life.” He doesn’t look at me as he says this. Instead, he wheels himself closer and rests his chin in his palm, studying the painting like a true artist. “The texture… no matter how good the print is, nothing can replicate that fucking texture…”

  I hide my smile and walk away, leaving him to his own devices with the Van Gogh. As the minutes pass, the tourists start to trickle in, and the room gets increasingly more crowded by the minute. Sebastian stakes his claim in front, and I study how people interact with him because he’s in a wheelchair. Of course no one says anything… let the disabled man stay as long as he wants! He receives many a pitying stare, but he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t budge. I wonder what he’s thinking.

  Almost an hour later, as I’m sitting on a bench in front of a Manet, I see Sebastian roll himself over to me. His forehead is scrunched together, and he looks agitated.

  “I’m pissed that you took me here,” he says bluntly. “Because now I never want to leave. I could stay here for years.” He smiles and parks himself right next to me.

  “Well, that’s a good reason not to kill yourself,” I reply, my voice just as blunt. “That way you can come back. No Van Gogh in heaven.”

  “How do you know?”

  I look at him and smirk. “Because I’ve seen heaven.”

  “Oh, really?” he asks, folding his arms in front of his chest, interested. A woman walks by and stares at Sebastian, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s good looking or because he’s in a wheelchair. Either way, I don’t like it.

  “Yeah, really.”

  He waits for me to continue, but I continue looking at the Manet. I regret saying anything—I don’t want to talk about my dream.

  “Go on,” he says, his voice expectant. I look at him again, and his eyes are twinkling with amusement. “You can’t just say you’ve seen heaven and then not tell me about it.”

  I shrug and look down at my sandals. “It was more like a dream. An alternate universe, sort of. I think I was supposed to see what my life would look like as a happy person.”

  Sebastian considers my words and strokes his chin with his right hand. I see part of his tattoo peeking out; parts of it are crusty—healing. “Huh. And you remember it? The dream?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, keeping my eyes on my toes. “Every second. I miss it every single day, which is funny because I’m not even sure it existed. But I was loved. My heart was full. My soul understood.”

  “That’s interesting. I mean, I’m probably headed for hell, but it’s nice to know there’s something else out there.”

  “You’re not going to hell. You’re a good person.”

  He’s quiet for a minute, studying the Manet, and I’m not sure if he’s lost in the painting or considering my words. I look up at one of the other portraits in the room. I can’t see the artist, but the painting is an impressionist painting of a woman in the nude. She’s lying across a bed, her breasts full and supple. It’s gorgeous, and I look over at Sebastian.

  “Have you ever painted anyone in the nude?” I ask, my voice teasing.

  He smiles and looks down. “No. But I want to. Someday.”

  “I’ll find you someone to paint,” I state. He’s quiet.

  “How did you get from”—he points to my wrists—“to… here?” He gestures to the general space I’m occupying. “I can’t figure out how you got better so quickly.”

  I know that whatever I say will have an impact on him, so I choose my words carefully. “Love. Honestly, it was love. Knowing someone cared about me. The medication helped, but having my parents taking care of me, nursing me back to health… I needed that. I got out of my shitty situation, and I made a change. I moved here, I started a new life. I got lucky.” I turn to face him, and our eyes meet. “It’s like that Pablo Neruda quote
: If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life.”

  His forehead scrunches together again, and he looks away thoughtfully. “Love. The one thing I don’t have.”

  “It doesn’t have to be romantic love. Mine wasn’t. It can be friendship love.”

  He grimaces. “Yeah. I don’t really have friends.”

  I face him and grab his hand. “Yes, you do. You have me.”

  I wait for the burst of anger or the onslaught of mean words. I expect him to yell at me again about how I don’t know him or how we’re not the same. But the hostile words don’t come. He looks at me with a mystified expression, his eyebrows pulled together. And then he places his other hand on top of mine. It’s a silent gesture—an acknowledgement of sorts. I’m here, and he knows it. I shudder with emotion, and he pulls his hand away. Whatever we just shared was intense.

  “So, we have two options for the day. We can either stick around New York City, or we can hit up Juniper Woods, upstate, on our way back to the retreat.”

  “What’s Juniper Woods?”

  “A clothing-optional nudist park.”

  He stares at me for a beat, and then he folds in half, laughing hysterically. His deep, booming laugh is like music to my ears, and I can’t help but join him.

  “I can’t believe you thought I was serious about that.”

  “Hey, I’m just leaving the option on the table.”

  “Let’s go get some pizza,” he suggests, wheeling himself away. “And Marlin?”

  I stand. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. Again.”

  I smile and nod, following behind him.

  Maybe this could work. Just maybe.

  1. Change my name and reconcile with my father.

  2. Fly a helicopter.

  3. Get a tattoo.

  4. Visit the MoMA in NYC, see Starry Night

  5. Visit a nudist colony.

  6. Paint a live model.

  7. ???

  Aside from acquiring a live model for him to paint, I vow to find out what this mysterious number seven is.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  PRESENT

  “So tell me more about this ex-boyfriend,” Sebastian inquires between bites of gooey pizza. We’re sitting in a dingy pizza parlor somewhere down the street from the MoMA.

  “What do you want to know?” I reply, my mouth watering as I chew on my slice.

  “Darcy said you’d recently gotten out of a relationship. She didn’t elaborate, but I deduced from your cross-country move that things were… unpleasant.”

  I don’t say anything for a minute. I haven’t thought about Charlie in days. I’m sure he’ll marry Elizabeth Pierce soon, and he and his family will consider me an unfortunate blip on the radar.

  I shrug. “We weren’t good together. I don’t even think we realized it until the end. Your significant other is supposed to raise you up, not bring you down.”

  “How’d you meet?”

  “In college.”

  “California, right?” I nod. He finishes his pizza and wipes his hands on a napkin. “I knew a couple of people from California when I studied abroad in Florence. Most of them went to Cal State Long Beach. Our schools lived in the same building in Florence.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. If I’d chosen Long Beach, you would’ve met me, too. “Florence, wow. That must’ve been fascinating, with all of the classical art they have there.”

  He frowns and runs his hand through his hair. “It was. But then I got really depressed, and they sent me home. I don’t know. That’s right around when everything shifted. I started to feel so empty, like I was missing a part of me. That’s when things went south. I never got around to graduating.”

  “Maybe you will one day,” I say brightly. “You have two years under your belt. You could always go back. Get your teaching credential, teach art at the local high school,” I suggest, watching for his reaction. He just licks his lips and shakes his head.

  “I doubt anyone would hire a suicidal teacher.”

  “They can’t discriminate against mental illness.”

  “How’d you know I wanted to teach art?” His voice is suspicious, and he watches me intently, his eyes sharp. Damn.

  “Oh, I thought you mentioned something once.”

  Crap, crap, crap.

  Luckily, he just shrugs again and takes a sip of water. “Maybe one day.”

  “I think you’d make an excellent teacher,” I add, looking away.

  “Why do you have so much faith in me? Why me?”

  When I look back at him, he’s watching me apprehensively, leaning away from the table. He doesn’t trust me. I went too far with the teacher thing, and I came on too strong.

  “I’ve said it before. You remind me of me.” My answer doesn’t seem to satisfy him, but he brushes it off and begins to wheel himself out of the pizza shop.

  “We better get going if we’re supposed to hit up the nudist colony,” he calls over his shoulder.

  I chuckle. “Let’s go, then.”

  *

  He still thinks I’m kidding, but as I pull off the highway and follow the signs towards Juniper Woods, his head perks up.

  “Wait, are you serious?” he asks, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I was totally kidding.”

  “It was on your list. We’re going.”

  He eyes me, and for a second, his stare is flirtatious. “Are you going to lie around in the nude, Marlin?”

  I reach back behind my seat and hand him a canvas bag. “Bathing suits. They have an area where we can lounge in bathing suits. Baby steps. But maybe we can find you a muse.” He doesn’t reply, which is weird, but I brush it off and steer us towards the entrance anyways.

  Once we get there, a large, wooden cabin greets us. I hop out, and Sebastian walks around to the trunk. It’s still weird to see him stand. He begrudgingly gets into his chair, and I wheel him to the office.

  Thirty minutes later, we’re all checked in and lying on wooden beach chairs. I’ve slathered sunscreen on the both of us, and though we haven’t seen a single naked person, the atmosphere here is very relaxed. I’m wearing a black one piece, and Sebastian has on blue swim trunks. I have to lie on my stomach to avoid ogling him.

  “We only have an hour before we have to head back,” I say, just before a pretty, nude brunette walks by. I look over at Sebastian, and his eyes follow her for a second before coming to meet mine. The flurry of jealousy flourishing inside of me is almost unbearable. Do her breasts have to be so perfect?

  “That’s okay. I still can’t believe you took us here.” He spins his head and looks at me admiringly. “Best present ever.” He looks back at the nude woman.

  “She could be your muse,” I suggest, though the thought of him painting her pains me more than I’d like to admit. He’s watching me again.

  “Nah,” he answers, brushing me off. “Not my type.”

  “Oh? And what is your type?” I joke, grinning. “She’s beautiful.” I study her position on her beach chair and position myself similarly, flipping onto my back. “Oh, Sebastian,” I say, my voice breathy. “Paint me like your French girls.” I give him a seductive look, and all of a sudden, his smile disappears and his eyes flick up and down my body intensely. It stirs something inside of me, causing heat between my legs. “What? Am I not doing it right?”

  He shakes his head and looks away. “Just… stop.”

  His words wound me, but I flip back over on to my stomach, sulking. “Fine.”

  *

  On the drive back to the retreat, we talk the whole way back, barely stopping to catch our breath. Whatever guard he had up last week has vanished, and with every anecdote, memory, and story, he slowly starts to unravel into the Sebastian I knew in my dream. He’s not entirely the same—parts of him are more jaded—but the hard exterior is gone, and I feel like with each passing moment, we become closer and closer.

  I don’t talk about suicide, not even once, and when Sebasti
an asks about my life in California, I tell him all of the good parts: yoga, sunshine, the beach. He’s impressionable, and my ultimate goal is to show him that he can lead a normal life, and that life is worth living, even during the rotten parts.

  We do talk about the retreat, and the closer we get, the more anxious he seems. I don’t think he likes to be reminded that he’s currently being hospitalized, and I hope that’s a good sign for tomorrow.

  Tomorrow. I can’t believe his twenty-eight days are up tomorrow. Almost everything on his list has been checked off, and at some point during the party, I need to find a live model for him to paint. Perhaps Emma or Lily. I have to see who would agree to do it. And after that… it’s just the mysterious number seven left to check off.

  When we pull in and park, I sit quietly with the engine idling. I don’t want to break the spell of this day, but it’s past five, and I know Darcy is eager to get Sebastian all cleaned up for the party. I have to go home and change. Neither of us says anything as the engine hums beneath us, and the air feels thick with inexpressible emotions. Finally, he breaks the silence.

  “I should get inside. Darcy promised me a haircut and shave.”

  “I’ll help you into your chair,” I say, cutting the engine and hopping out. I know he doesn’t need help anymore, but he doesn’t say anything. I walk to the trunk and unfold the chair, and when I open Sebastian’s door, he doesn’t move. Instead, he just looks at me in a way that makes my heart race. His eyebrows are pulled together, and his gaze is intense yet soft, like he’s trying to decipher me.

  “So, I’ll see you tonight?” he asks, his voice light.

  “Tonight?” I repeat. I pretend to be dumbfounded.

  “Oh, please. Darcy is horrible at hiding things from me. I know there’s a party.”

  I scowl. “Fine, you caught us. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  I lift him down into his chair, and when I turn my head, his face is right there. We’re so close, and his breathing is sending my racing heart into my throat. When I dare to look him in the eyes, I notice that his are hooded with desire, and something catches in my throat.