"It's me." I said again as I gazed upon the incredible, unsettling canvas painting more out of breath than if I'd been sprinting – and that was saying something.
Words failed me. How could something look so unbelievable, yet so... distressing?
Colours of deep red, brown, earthy green, grey and mostly black were delicately placed in areas of light and dark to create the huge contrast between the glow of the girl's hair. My hair.
Although the painting was not finished it was clear that the picture was of a girl, dying or possibly dead, running through a crepuscular forest. Thick vines and menacing branches curled around my ankles, arms flaying about uselessly against the power of the forest's weaponry. Torn clothes was all I wore.
What scared me the most was that my mouth was dropped open as if screeching a blood curdling scream. What was happening to me? The thorns and venom of those dull, wicked plants dragging me down into the fog cloaking away the mask of the forest floor. Everything looked dead. Rotting, decaying, dying yet still possessing enough life to intricately weave its vines and branches around my body in an ominous way before pulling me down. Where to? The darkness.
"George?" I said quietly, having to sit back down on the bed for fear of toppling in a heap on the carpet. "Say something. Please."
It had been several minutes – maybe ten – without a single word. I didn't know what to say; I needed him to say something.
Pursing his lips, he looked away but regardless came and sat down on the bed a few centimetres away from me. I wanted to initiate conversation but nothing would come out. So I continued to stare.
My eyes trailed over every square millimetre of the painting. 'Vintage Fleur' was our theme and I could see that coming through his design. Flowers, blood red in colour, were woven into my long, golden locks like a crown, more vibrant than the crusty blood trailing down my leg and the gash on one side of my stomach. That was the fleur part, but vintage? From his first sketches and ideas I assumed the plants, dangerous venomous plants, were old, extinct perhaps.
Despite all the horrid things that was torturing me in this picture the glow of my hair and blinding white hue of my dress was still attempting to repel the monsters – the forest.
"When did you start this? The canvas I mean." I asked quietly, my eyes still entranced by every detail.
"January."
That was the answer I was expecting and the conformation of my thoughts.
"It's my rape, isn't it?"
The disturbing plants that's vines were crawling up my skin like dirty hands and the way they so powerfully dragged me into their clutch. The fear in my brown eyes he seemed to create so well. The gash on my stomach from where I'd been stabbed by a poisonous thorn – a knife. Purple colouring on my skin, bruises from the abuse. The blood, trailing down my leg...
"Yes." George whispered, tilting his head around to face me. "Well, what I imagine it would be like from what you told me."
I choked on air and fought the strangled cry. As much as I willed to swallow it down, the memories arose and so did the pain that always came with it.
"It's haunting." I said, gulping loudly as a hazy vision took over. "So clever. The metaphor through the forest plants, the dead, fearful look in her – my – eyes. Everything is just... it's extraordinary."
He didn't respond at first, swallowing audibly and still not turning to face me.
"I'm sorry I created this. At first, it wasn't going to be like this. I knew I wanted you in it, or a stunning blonde like you anyway. At the beginning of the year it was going to be about you wearing a mask, I was going to paint your face covered in a floral mask. Roses in your hair and a double personality. Then, I found this place and I wanted to paint dead flowers. It worked. But then, at Christmas and you told me about the rape and I knew I would paint you in a forest that was trying to rape you. Metaphorically of course, but the message still remained. Thankfully, I didn't need to change my sketch work because it all fitted in anyway."
YOU ARE READING
Hiding Anna
Romance"Cassie stop. You're going to collapse..."George called softly in the wind. My mind was already elsewhere, detached from my body. I don't know what kept my feet moving, but something did. Keep running. But I can't. I didn't understand what was happ...
