Elaina Basset
In a matter of mere minutes, my art will be the centrepiece of this gala.
I'm a nervous wreck, not only because of the gala, but also because of what happened last night.
I'm still not sure if I dreamt up the figure sitting on the couch—if it was some hallucination conjured up from mental exhaustion. But the thing is, it could've been completely real and I have no way of knowing.
I've been watching my back all day, at a café with Bianchi, showering, getting ready. There hasn't been a moment where I haven't felt watched or been on edge.
I try to push those thoughts down and replace them with how big today is for me, but then I just lead myself to think...what happens when today is over?
What do I do?
I have no one to call. No one to celebrate with.
I'll go back to my hotel room and sit in the weight of my dream being achieved and not knowing where to go from here.
I never realized how lonely this would be.
I haven't been handling it well. I've been texting back and forth with Isaac, and I'll be the first to admit that it's gone too far.
I told him I'd be in Paris at the same time as him for the gala, and he told me he'd be here.
I'm anxious to see his face again. I don't regret him at all, but all in all he's not the one I want here supporting me.
Beggars can't be choosers, but I never thought that I'd have to beg for this.
Standing next to a storage closet in the employee locker room, a floor length baby blue satin gown masking any ugliness I feel within, I look down at my phone.
Elaina: display goes public right away.
I send the text to Isaac and just shake my head at myself. As of two hours ago, the texts from him went silent. I truly should've known better—expected him to go ghost.
Staring at the screen and waiting for something, there's a knock on the staff room door. I lift my head and see one of the employees peering in and giving me a polite smile.
"It's time." he says, two simple words that made my heart pound.
I exhale and nod, stuffing my phone in a locker with my bag and following him out.
I look down at my shoes as I walk, breathing in and out as calmly as I can. I'm just moments away from my hard work being shown to a room full of strangers.
I'm led up a small staircase which leads to a stage. There's a curtain between me and a crowd of chatting people who will look at my art for a minute and then move on.
Something that I ached to create will be a passing moment for them. And I've always known this. I was okay with it when I had people I loved to celebrate with.
Bianchi is behind the curtain as well, greeting me with a proud smile as he reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
"This is it." he declares softly.
I make myself smile back.
"Bonne soirée." I hear a man's voice from the other side of the curtain, addressing the crowd. "On behalf of le musée rodin, we are honoured to welcome monsieur Bianchi of Milan's Institution of the Arts to introduce all of you to the mind behind our newest display."
The short introduction is followed by clapping, sophisticated clapping. Bianchi steps through the curtain, presenting himself to the onlookers. I don't let myself look, only breathing when the curtain closes again.
My heart can be heard in my ears. I'm looking at the ground, trying to keep my composure.
I worked for this.
And Lord knows I deserve it.
"Grazie, grazie. Thank you." Mr. Bianchi speaks into a mic as the clapping dies down. "Hello, what an honour to be here." he clears his throat, stuttering for just a mere moment. "Uh—we at the Institution of Arts in Milan do not strive to mold and mend creative minds, but...instead encourage and...celebrate artists. Through the Individual Artist Program, we partnered with this lovely museum to showcase an artist that exceeded limitations." he says.
Keep breathing.
"Tonight, I'm thrilled to honor a young artist who has worked themselves to an extent that allowed them to create the masterpiece you'll be seeing in a few moments..."
Clapping.
I smile softly to myself for the first time tonight.
"I'm...more than proud of this individual. My words will never do enough justice. Please welcome, Miss Elaina Basset."
The curtains are drawn.
And suddenly, everything goes quiet.
I look out onto the crowd, seeing clapping hands and smiling faces—people who admire art in the way I do.
People who understand.
I step out, at the same time a red silk sheet is being pulled off of my canvas, and then the clapping intensifies.
I feel my heart pounding, and my eyes welling up. I just let out a small, disbelieving and honoured chuckle as my mouth turns up into a smile.
Bianchi hands me the microphone, stepping to the side and clapping as well.
I look out again, taking in the faces and the expressions. There's men, women, old and young. Sipping champagne and beholding positive reactions. The clapping doesn't stop as my eyes ride the wave of faces.
It wasn't until I looked at the back right corner of the room, though—when my heart felt like it stopped beating for a moment. The blood stopped flowing, the chambers malfunctioning, nothing being received nor given by the organ—just for a second. Because, there, in the back right corner...green eyes and dark hair adorned in a black suit and a straight face was clapping for me with the unmistakable group of familiar faces behind him.
Harry.
I don't know how long I was frozen for, but I couldn't make it known to my brain if I was truly seeing him or if I just was conjuring him there.
Green eyes were staring right back at me, if he really was there, he knows I can see him.
I suddenly feel like I'm projecting out of my body—but I'm not. I'm on stage.
I try my best to not seem like I've snapped out of reality and bring the microphone to my mouth, "Uhm—" I mumble, my sense of hearing suddenly returning full throttle as I shock myself by my amplified voice.
There's admiring laughter at what the onlookers think is just bashfulness but is really pure shock.
I blink, looking away and trying my best to pretend he isn't here.
"I—I really don't know where to begin." I look at my canvas, trying to focus. "This piece didn't come easily to me, truthfully. It took quite some time to perfect the meaning of it."
The crowd is quiet as they listen.
My painting is simple to the naked eye but complex to the mind.
You see a field of white lilly flowers that keep going and going. But, you look into the horizon and you see the flowers slowly beginning to wilt, then die all together as they reach the haunting depiction of a dead willow tree—a tree that at some point was lush and green, but has become eerily stripped of everything that made it beautiful to the eye which lacks introspection.
"Uhm." I stammer, looking at my painting.
Silence.
It's like I can feel his eyes burning into me.
"I went through a lot as I completed this...and about midway through, I realized what this meant to me. To me, this painting represents the loss of innocence." I explain, "Whether the innocence is grown out of or unwillingly stripped away, I guess that's up to your interpretation."
Looking at the dying lilly flowers and the willow tree, I feel emotions that I can't pinpoint. Sadness...anger, maybe.
Regret. Shame. Limerence. Pining. More Shame. Guilt.
The emotions lead my eyes to one other set across the room, the only other set of eyes that could possibly understand the meaning of my painting.
I look straight at Harry.
"This piece is titled, 'Flower'."
The oblivious crowd begins to clap, but not Harry. He just looks back at me with hurt in his eyes, while the rest of his face held a serious gaze.
I don't know why he's here. To take me back? To finish the job he began with?
All I know is that I can't bare to stay on this stage any longer. I remain calm as I hand the mic to Bianchi and head back through the curtain.
I'm congratulated and praised and I plaster on a smile of appreciation, when really I'm a mess and I need to find somewhere to breathe to myself—quickly, before Harry gets to me first.
While my hard work is being admired, I'm fast walking down the corridor, exhales leaving my lips and my fists clenching the material of my dress for leverage. I hurry down the hall, further and further away from the public access area and all the way to the locker room.
I don't know what to do. There's no where for me to go, no one for me to call.
There's no solving a panic attack when you have nothing to cling to.
I open up the locker to grab my phone.
As soon as I turn it on, I see a text from Isaac.
Isaac: I'm sorry I missed it. Was running late. Meet me in the garden.
I run my hand through my hair over the sweat beginning to form at my hairline. I breathe out through my mouth as I look over the text.
Isaac is the one familiar thing here that doesn't revolve around Carter. Even if it's just for a moment, I need to see him, just to bring myself back down from this stormy anxious cloud.
I grab my purse and tuck my phone inside. I can sneak out through the employee entrance. It's dark in the garden and everyone is inside, no one will see me.
My gut feeling is unclear. I don't feel safe, but I can't tell if it's because of Harry, because of last night, or because I'm entering a dark garden alone.
The moment I open the door and the outside breeze hits my face though, I feel my airways open ever so slightly.
I breathe out and walk along the cobblestone that's surrounded by clean cut grass. There's a fountain in the centre of the garden, but as you get deeper in, you're enclosed by hedges and sculptures—a beautiful sight in the light of day but at night it's eerie.
I keep looking behind my back, and I find that the relief I felt from the fresh air has passed, and I'm back to that uneasy gut feeling.
I pause and take out my phone.
Elaina: i'm in the garden. where are you?
I send the text to Isaac without hesitation, needing to be near another person I knew.
I anxiously keep my eyes on the screen, waiting to see that he's typing a response. Alone and scared, I start to regret my decision of coming out here.
I wait another minute before shoving my phone back into my purse and turning around.
But as soon as I turn, the quick realization that I'm not alone out here hits me before I can even think to run. I nearly run into someone's chest when I turn around, nearly letting out a scream.
Any noise I make goes muffled when their hand flies over my mouth, immediately shushing me.
It's Harry. If I hadn't seen his face, I'd recognize him anyway from the warmth and shape of his palm contrasting with the cold rings on his fingers.
He presses my back against a pillar that's holding up a sculpture. My chest puffs and falls rapidly as I gasp into his hand, shaking my head in fear. I still don't know why he's here or what he wants.
He could end me right here if he wanted. No one would see.
"Shh!" he continues, frantically, to try and keep me quiet—his finger to his lips and his eyes wide.
I whine and shake my head again, still struggling.
"Be quiet. Please be quiet." he states in a rushed, whispered tone. "I know you're scared but I need you to stop and listen to me."
Air puffs out of my nose as I have no choice but to stare up at him with scared, wide eyes.
He notices that I've stopped struggling, and his free hand goes to my arm, squeezing it.
"Carter's here for you." he tells me, my heart sinks. "Leo and Marco aren't dead, I watched them come out here after you."
He isn't sugar coating a single thing, which makes me ache to believe he's being legit.
There's a part of me that wonders if he's telling me this as a ploy, but what does he gain from that? If he was still committed to his mission, he would've killed me the second he caught up to me.
"I know you don't want to see me, I know you don't trust me." he says, "but I need you to listen and let me get you out."
He looks so deeply into my eyes, it causes my heart to race like it did just days ago, before I thought the worst of him.
I start to feel a new ache in my chest, over him.
He takes his hand off of my mouth, and I just look up at him with teary eyes and the fear of what I don't know.
I should be running for my life, away from him and away from Leo and Marco.
But I don't run, I stay, and I look at him painfully like I've been dying to do for almost two days now.
He does the same, I can see the yearning in his eyes as he looks into mine and down to my lips.
I cant fold, but now, but I want to.
He makes himself look away, looking out into the distance to make sure everything is clear.
"Come on."
He grabs my hand and starts to walk like he's ready to whisk me away to safety.
My mind is scattered. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know if I'm making the right decision by letting him take my hand in his.
But, I think back to the day I found everything out. I think back to seeing him on the floor, tears in his eyes as he begged me not to go.
I wouldn't feel any sense of safety if protection wasn't truly there.
We start to run down the hedge surrounded cobblestone, until he comes to a screeching halt. I see what he sees right away—Leo, lurking around the garden just feet away from us. He's got a bandage around his head from when I hit him with a rock. I truly thought I killed him.
Harry quickly whisks us behind another sculpture, pinning my back to his chest as his arm wraps around me. I can feel his heart beating quickly. I close my eyes, fearful as I instinctively grasp onto his arm. I realized what I was doing very quickly, but I didn't stop myself.
Harry peers around the sculpture.
"He's out of sight. We need to run." he says.
I nod and he unwraps his arm from across my chest, grabbing my hand again.
We go to escape in the other direction, hoping to cut through the middle to get to the door quicker.
However, that plan is demolished within what feels like a millisecond, once we turn around and come face to face with Marco.
Looming tall in front of us, Marco smiles from ear to ear.
Harry grasps my hand tightly, taking slow, watchful steps back while Marco follows. My heart thrashes against my chest.
Marco chuckles and looks beyond Harry and I. "I wonder how much we'll get paid for finding both of 'em, Leo." he gloats eerily, causing me to look over my shoulder to see that Leo has found us as well, and we're trapped.
Leo laughs in my direction.
"Might as well have dollar signs on their backs." he remarks.
Harry squeezes my hand, keeping a close eye on Marco closing in from the front of us.
Without looking at me, he just whispers.
"Run."
And then, before I know it, he pushes me forcefully to the side, between a hedge and a sculpture and onto the middle of the open grass.
Chaos breaks out, and he tries to fight them off himself. I scramble on the grass, watching in horror.
My first instinct is to try and do anything I can to get to him, but he wants me to run and find the others to get help.
He knows they don't want him without me as well. I know that too.
I'm the chess piece, and I'm buying us both more time by running.
I get up on my feet as fast as I can, attempting to bolt for the door.
"Grab her!" I hear Marco scream at Leo.
I look over my shoulder as I sprint, seeing a messy glimpse of Harry fighting and Leo running towards me.
I scream as Leo catches up to me, his agility and height combined with his strength causing me to be no match for him—like a tiger catching a butterfly.
He grabs onto my dress, taking us both to the ground. I kick, scream, hit—do anything I can. I eventually am able to kick him off of me momentarily, enough for me to get up again and try to run.
But, like fate twisted and pointed a blade at me, the end of my dress gets caught on a sharp, jagged rock, stopping me for just enough of a second for Leo to catch me.
With a stone in his hand, I can't even blink before he raises it and brings it down on my head.
I cant even remember hitting the ground, all I knew was throbbing pain and blurry vision that happened so immediately that I thought I had woken up from a dream.
I can only whine out in pain and look at the blood coming out of my head on the cobblestone as Leo comes to stand over me.
The last thing I felt was two strong hands clamping around my ankles and dragging me to defeat.
Carter won.
//
i've decided to split this chapter so the book can go on longer 😋 (i'm in denial)
next chapter soon! (it's already written i just like to tease y'all HA)