Trapped

She's beautiful. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my 22 years of life. She's frozen, like a moment in time staring out at a distant scenery painted in different shades of green and other warm colors; yellow like the sun, orange like rotting leaves. Her black coily hair contrasts stunningly against her smooth dark brown skin. The white of her smile is all-consuming, taking up almost half of her face. She's wearing a pretty sundress that stops shortly above her knees; a white dress patterned with yellow flowers. I am drawn to her, so I approach cautiously. She is surrounded by others, naturally. They gawk in awe, just as transfixed as I am.

I barely notice him when he speaks up, "That's Amelia."

I turn my head slightly to face the man. He is but many in the crowd of admirers, though he looks significantly older than me. Mid-thirties perhaps?

"Pardon?" I reflexively respond.

He points at her when he says, "The painting. It's of Amelia. Amelia Dubois."

My gaze again falls on the piece of Art and her traced frame.

"Amelia..." I repeat under my breath.

"She lived in southern France, in 1943. She was only 19 in this portrait. They said her beauty was incomprehensible. She drew many admirers in her time. Well, I suppose she still does wouldn't you say?" He divulges with an air of lightness in his tone.

"What happened to her?" I find myself asking.

He shrugs then says, "She disappeared. After this portrait of her was taken actually. Some say she couldn't bear the attention and yearned for a normal life. Others wonder if one of her admirers lost it and took her. I suppose we will never know."

My thoughts drift at his words. Taken?

This morning when my friends showed up at my apartment, urging me to join them on their day trip, I was reluctant at first.

"A new museum just opened up in the next town over, " Katie had said.

"We wanna check it out. Apparently, they have some pieces and artifacts from other countries. Could be cool. Maybe we could loot something," Mike had continued.

It was a Saturday after all. It's not like I had much planned. So I hesitantly obliged.

I expected stupid abstract canvases and random sculptures of half-naked men and women. But I never expected her. At first glance, your eyes would glaze past her. She's nothing unordinary after all. But oddly, I felt drawn to her. As if an invisible rope was pulling me in. As if she was calling me by name, and urging me to her.

"Luke!" I hear Mike's voice call from behind me.

My eyes finally peel from the painting and I turn around. My friends were waiting for me at the top of the stairs, with wide grins on their faces. I slowly walk towards them, although my body urged me to stay put, with her.

"You ready? Let's bounce," Katie says when I'm close enough.

"I guess," I reply.

"Did you grab anything? Katie and I found some cool artifacts. Hopefully, we can make a couple hundred bucks from them." Mike says.

"There's only one thing I want," I admit.

"What?" Katie asks.

I turn to face Amelia and point.

"Her."

They both give me incredulous looks.

"The painting? Why?" Mike questions.

"I don't know. I can't explain it..."

Katie sighs, rolls her eyes, and then asks, "How are we going to steal a whole painting?"

"Couldn't you pick something easier like the rest of us?" Mike teases.

"She's special," I assure them.

"She? The painting, you mean? The inanimate object?" Katie chaffs.

"Will you help me, or not?" I ask the both of them.

They glance at each other, then sigh deeply.

"Fine. But we'll have to wait until tonight. When there's less people." Katie states.

I smile, then nod.

"Ok," I agree.

"We better not get caught," Mike warns.

"You don't have to do anything. I'll go in myself. All you have to do is keep watch and make sure no one catches me." I reassure.

"I guess I can make for a good distraction," Mike gloats.

Katie scoffs, with her arms crossed over her chest, before saying, "Oh please, you'd get us caught immediately. I'll handle the distraction."

At night, when most have already deserted the area, we sit in Mike's car, lost in meaningless conversation, finishing our slices of pizza.

"How much longer?" Katie speaks up.

I look down at my watch. 5:30 pm.

"Museum should close in 30." I reply.

"Hopefully security's not too tight," Mike adds.

It isn't. As the clock strikes 6, we can only spot one security guard outside, roaming around near the front of the building.

"So...how do I go about it? Run towards him crying hysterically, and pleading for his help?" Katie suggests with a small grin.

"Oh please, he'll know something's up immediately. Just go up to him and tell him you lost something and need help finding it," Mike advises.

"Hmm...might not be too bad of an idea." She surprisingly agrees.

Once she gets her story together, she steps out, gives us both a wink, and makes her way towards the guard.

Mike and I follow quietly behind making sure we're far enough to avoid being spotted.

We listen closely, catching words here and there. Something about, "Help", and "Family heirloom".

"She's good," Mike says from beside me.

At first, the guard looks reluctant, but soon enough he gives in, turns around, and starts heading for the front door of the museum. When she turns and gives us a thumbs up, I know it's go time.

"Be careful." Mike tells me as I start heading to the door.

I give him a small nod, before walking off.

It's dark in here, but bright lights illuminate each individual piece. I start immediately heading towards the stairs. She's on the second floor.

I can't be too long. Katie's good, but he'll probably catch on soon enough. So I run up the stairs two at a time, a smile etched on my lips. I'm yearning to be in her presence again. To lay my eyes on her flawless skin, and deep brown eyes.

I'm here. I freeze in my spot at the sight in front of me. Just like this morning, she stands out like a sore thumb. Except she's not a sore thumb. If she were a thumb she'd be a beautiful, healthy-looking one. Did I mention she's stunning?

And somehow...as I approach her canvas, one step in front of the other, she looks more and more real. When I'm standing directly in front of her, I know I must be losing my mind.

I rub my eyes. Nope, she's still here. She's still real.

"How?" I question aloud.

She emerges from the light, looking small, timid, and scared...of me?

I glance behind her, at the empty canvas, the frozen moment in time missing its muse, its centerpiece. Because she is right in front of me. As real as the flesh on the palm of my hands. Or as real as the tiled ground I'm walking on.

"Who are you?" She asks in a small voice in an evident accent.

Startled, incredulous, I spurt out, "L-Luke."

She giggles, and my heart flutters.

"How are you here? How are you real?" I ask her.

She takes another step forward, the light above her illuminating her as clear as day. I couldn't imagine a sight any more perfect in that moment.

"I've been trapped. Stolen." She replies coyly.

"But...the canvas? You-how?"

"Must there be a how? I am standing before you. Is that so hard to believe?" She argues.

I pretend to understand. That this moment makes sense. Perhaps I fell and hit my head running up the stairs, and I'm simply seeing things. But she's right. The why does not matter. She is here. She is real.

"No," I respond.

She smiles slightly.

"Why have you come, Luke?" She asks.

"How could I not? I was in love the moment I saw you." I admit brazenly.

She looks down and sighs.

"You are all the same. In love with the idea of me, and never me."

"No!" I rebut fiercely.

"Amelia, I don't need to know you, to love you. How could I not love you?"

She remains quiet.

"My whole life..."She trails.

"I have never been my own." She continues.

"The moment a man lays eyes on me, I am his. He does not see me for who I am, but who he wants me to be..."

"I..."I trail at a loss for words.

"I am trapped, forever meant to be admired, never to be truly loved. Destined to be property."

I feel my heart sink in my chest.

"If you weren't here...if you weren't trapped where would you go?" I ask.

"I would live. My life would be my own. I could love and be loved on my own terms."

"Then come with me. I will take you far away from here. And you can learn to love me...on your own terms." I propose.

She's quiet, and pensive for a few long seconds.

"Ok." She eventually says.

But as I approach her to hold her, I'm snapped back to reality by the sound of my name being called.

"Luke, wake up! Are you ok?"

My eyes snap open. I'm on the hard-tiled floor, and above me stands a concerned Mike.

"What? What's going on?" I ask, a wave of confusion overcoming me.

"You weren't answering your phone so I got concerned and came looking for you. You were passed out on the floor, unresponsive." He explains.

When he helps me up, I look around and notice I'm but a couple feet from her. Only she's back in her canvas, in the same pose, with the same unassuming smile etched out on her gorgeous face.

Did I imagine it all?

"Come on, let's go. Katie says he's catching on." He encourages as he helps me up.

I absentmindedly let him help me, my wet eyes still trained on the painting.

"Want me to grab it?" He asks as he follows my gaze.

I shake my head no.

"No, leave it."

"You sure? We went through all this trouble to get it."

"She doesn't belong to me, "is all I say.

He seems confused but doesn't say anything else.

As we make our way out, I can almost swear I hear her.

"Goodbye, Luke. I guess you were different after all."

It's so quiet, and quick that I'm certain I made it up. But some part of me knows it must've been her. Some part of me wants to hold on to the belief that I'm special. I was special to her.

And she was real to me.

**//**