The Artist and Other Stories

Chapter Three

Physical scars are nothing. It is those that ran deeper than blood and slowly eat up your sanity that breaks a person.
From the Rosalinda

I found myself standing outside the rosewood door of Michael's bedroom.

One night was all he'd asked for. What else could go wrong? My night was already ruined. I could still hear the soothing music being played outside.
I slowly opened the door and walked in.

He was shirtless, lying on his huge bed with a hand thrown over his head.

"I was wondering how long you were planning on staying outside the door," he said.

I eyed him closely.
"How did you know I was there? More importantly, how did you know I'll show up?"

After he'd left the guest room, I'd paced around the room contemplating whether to join him or not. At some point, I'd sat on the heavily cushioned chair in an attempt to calm my nerves. I was certain more than two hours had passed by before I'd showed up at his door.

He got out of bed.
"I have a sixth sense," he said. "I always know when beautiful women stand outside my door."

He walked to me and gently caressed my cheek.
"How I knew you would show up? Well, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. Whatever it is you keep inside, I know you want to forget. And you know I'm your best chance at it."

He switched of the lights and led me to the adjourning studio. It was dimly lit with candle light. I wondered briefly how he was going to paint with so little light.

"Strip," he said as he sat on the stool infront of the canvas.

I hesitated briefly.
"I can't reach the the straps of my dress," I said.

He stood from his seat and walked to me.
"Turn around," he said.

I did as he said, turning around and moving my dark hair out of the way.
He untied the straps of the dress and I let it pool around my feet. Standing still in my lace bra and panty, I was aware of his intense gaze as his hands traced the faint scared lines scattered across my back.

"You've been hurt," he said, "badly."

I clenched my hands. More than the scars let on, I thought. Those were just physical. It was the emotional scars that run deep.

"Someday, I'll find out who did it and end him."

I step away from his searing touch.
"Are we going to do it or not?"

He stared at me for a few seconds and turned away. He picked up something from the couch next to his stool and threw it at me.

"Put it on," he said.

I held it up. It was a white dress that exposed more than it hid. I looked at him with a question in my eyes.
He shook his head.

"I want to try something else," he said.
"You are less of a sex fiend and more of an angel with cut wings struggling to find her way."

I wore the dress and laughed quietly. It was a perfect fit.

"I should be worried how you knew my size," I said.

He looked at me, his stormy eyes burning through me to my soul.

"You should be," he said.

I ignored his statement.
"Where do I sit?"

He pointed to the couch.
"Lie down there," he said.

A/N: Hello dears! The rest of the chapters are availabe on Inkitt. The link is available on my profile.