Life in Paintings

Chapter 26 - Self Portrait with a Black Dog

Chapter 26 – Self Portrait with a Black Dog

When I open my eyes in the next painting I'm facing a wall. I can still smell my burning flesh and flaming hair.

Behind me, I hear someone say the faintest, "I didn't think it would actually work..."

My eyes fill up with tears. I can't turn around. I don't want to turn around. I'm scared of what I'll see. I'm scared of what I've done the last time I was here.

Because I know where I am. I know who this is.

I'm back.

I can't believe this is happening again. There must be some kind of grand reason as to why I always have to come back to Gustave. Maybe he's got the answer to everything.

Honestly though, I don't really care if he's got the answer or not. I just want him. I want Gustave. I never wanted to admit this, but standing here back with him I can't just keep on denying it.

But I can't turn around and face him. I can just smother my sobs in my hands.

What am I going to see if I turn around? Is he twenty years older this time? Did he have the time to get married and make a family since the last time I was here?

Did this godforsaken curse give him enough time to move on from me?

Has he moved on from me? The last time I was here he basically said I was his sun. With the way I left him I'm sure he's gotten the time to find himself a new source of light and warmth.

"Melody?"

"I'm sorry, I can't, I just..." I babble and then I just crouch down and wrap my arms around my legs and I start to hyperventilate on top of sobbing uncontrollably.

Gustave ignores my existential crisis and walks towards me, crouching in front of me. I close my eyes, trying to trap the tears and to prolong the inevitable. "I'm sorry, keep crying if that's what you need but I just need to check something," he says and his hand softly rests under my chin. He lifts it and then brushes his fingertips on my neck. "No scar, that's quite impressive," he whispers to himself. I want to cling onto him. I want to open my eyes and look into his. But I just can't. I'm completely frozen aside from the way I shake from my sobs. "The last time you were here you bled to death in my arms and then you just disappeared. I can honestly say that I have an insight as to what goes on in the mind of someone going crazy."

He just confirmed what I had been worried about, what I hadn't thought about when I stabbed myself the last time I was here. He saw it, me dying. To me, it was just a way out when I cut my throat the last time, but to him, that was me dying in front of him, in his arms.

I bury my face against my knees. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I manage to mumble amidst the crying.

"If you're sorry, you might try looking at me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because the second I open my eyes it makes it real. I'm not ready to make this real just yet."

"Because you are scared that I've gotten fatter with my old age?"

I wouldn't care if he was the size of a table like he had once joked. I don't care about that, or about him aging. I'm okay with that. I'm just scared of losing what we had. "I don't care if you're fat or old."

"That's very kind of you to say. Fortunately I'm not both."

I'm still not comforted by that fact. He could be thirty something and long over me. "How about emotionally unavailable?"