Pieces of a Masterpiece

11: Short Story

I paced back with a frown plastered on my face.

"It's none of your business," I replied. It's Sandro, the guy who can't be moved. A concerned citizen and an annoying neighbor.

"Corrine..." he thought while grasping my arm. I ached again and a common painful expression painted my face.

"It hurts," I whispered as I caressed my left upper arm.

"See... it's happening again and again." Then here we went again, discussing law violations and human rights. "I can help you."

My fingers itself couldn't count how many times  I have rejected this law-abiding lawyer infront of me. They are all concerned about my state. How I have lost weight and shed my flesh every night. There are a lot of issues to be touched rather than putting an eye to my marriage life.

He just ruined my mood and annoyed my morning.  I ran back to the pent house and imprisoned myself on the balcony. They cannot blame me.

I just cannot follow-- I don't because I found bliss in pain. This morning was not for me. Cursed day as it was yet my everyday was considered as cursed day.

The balcony was my witness. I found myself writing on my diary again. My eyes were watery when I grabbed another canvas as soon as I finished writing my entry for today. Then I painted  an abstract using the colors of dark. This art represented my anxiety, insanity, doubts, rants, and issues. Every stroke of my paint brush meant.

"Corrine!" My senses came back when I heard a loud knock on the door. "Honey I'm home." It was past one in the afternoon. Seemed like he went home earlier than I had expected.

"Van!" I exclaimed and acted excited of his arrival.

"You are at messed again," he thought darting a look at my hands and dirty shirt. His expression then turned dull after he realized I'm doing arts again.

"Y-you came home early... would you like m-" I trembled. This was exactly his features when he's not on the mood.

"I just lost a client." My heart just dropped. His failure and frustrations was equivalent to my another weep.

"So sit," he commanded. "Start to undress yourself I need to see you on our room after I took a shower."

Tears just rolled down. I thought he would change if we got married but his hands were too heavy but as long as I could still resist and I could benefit from it, I am tolerating it.

I placed myself on my common position, with a crossed finger for his every punch and whip of his belt. He wore his knuckles and used it to break my upper bones. I gasped for air, I mourned for the pain. It's killing me. His sight averted on the huge blank canvass. He moved a little distance and broke it on my legs. He wasn't satisfied yet when he burned his cigarettes on my belly.

"Are you satisfied now?" I asked. My whole body just got numbed. I couldn't felt the pain anymore. The last thing I knew was he responded another whip of a cold metalic rod on my back and I passed out.

I opened my eyes with an aching body. The pain was tripled and it worsened. My every move was controlled. Van had gone work again with a letter on our bed side. I looked for my clothes and reached for it but a clanging sound of a chain stopped me. He tied me on our bed with a letter saying 'You are not going anywhere til your wounds heal.'

The chain was enough for me to reach my canvas and paints. Still, it's enough for me to live and continue with this set up. I opened my windows, an alternate view aside from the balcony where I could view the outside world and stroke again my brushes.

Yet my body was not on the condition. My hands were trembling and I cannot make a good shot for a one stroke.

"H-he broke my hands."

Frustrated, I threw the painting materials away. Tears flew out and started to flood. I screamed in exasperation. This was far from what I wanted, from what we've agreed.

"No! This can't be." I thought holding my hands. My emotions were ragging. I couldn't think very well but to scratched my scalp and pulled my hair.
He could take my legs but not my hands. He could left me with a broken heart but spare a mercy for my hands. Why!

"That's what you got from being a saint, a martyr wife." The door just creaked opened with Victoria on her favorite pants.

"How many times we've told you to leave my brother?" Her eyebrows furrowed. "Look at you now!"

"My hands could still heal," I thought throwing a positive outlook.

"You are not good Corrine you need to see a doctor!" she exclaimed.

"I'm good."

Her eyes then squinted. "For what you so called arts?"

She's wrong. It's not just arts but my life and how pain was connected with it.

"You are blinded with your ideology Corrine. Where did you get that again?" she sarcastically asked.

"From teleseries and fan fiction books! Wake up, you are wasting a life," she furiously added.

It was my only way, without it, I don't know what's next. I don't know how to gripped a pen or paintbrush. I have a lot to say but I was too weak to tell her. My body was still aching, my every flesh weep for rest and treatment.

We would still end up in a zagged argument where her thoughts couldn't change mine. I chose to remained silent.

"J-just leave me alone," I answered while my knees were trembling.

"G-get o-" I lost consciousness before I added.

AS I BLINKED with the lights flashing into my face, I smiled.

"Mrs. Corrine, what inspires you to make a masterpiece."

I narrowed my eyes to adjust from the lights.

"Pain," I shortly answered. "That made me creativity but the day I realized that I am bringing another life, I just thought that pain could not help but wreck you," I added. Why do I have to explain everything? I just laughed at the idea. I wanted to spare a life for my son away from my horrors and violence.

"Just stay tuned for my next book, to be released next month," I announced. I had written there my pain and how I got rid of that mindset.

I am so much happy, amidst everything. It's for a purpose after all.

I thought pain would drive people, artist in particular into creativity but I was wrong. It had driven me something more terrible- losing myself in creativity. I was blinded with thoughts that pain could help me, pain could satisfy my eagerness.

I, Corrine Delos Santos, once a battered wife and a national artist. I was once blinded but God's masterpiece called human being formed inside my womb and led me back to light. He changed how vague I view creativity and arts.