Delusion

She had never seen a more beautiful man, his brown eyes followed her around the room. She could feel him accessing her, taking in every inch of her medium build, her brown hair and her basic jeans and t-shirt. She didn’t stand out and she knew it, making his attention even more unnerving.

Nervously she turned to face him, she caught his eye briefly. The moment was so intense she had to leave to catch her breath, collect herself and decide what  to do next. She ran to the bathroom and slammed the cubicle door shut behind her.

“You’re better than this!” She said out loud, she wasn’t sure if this was her own voice or her mothers. At 25 years old she had little experience with men. Growing up with an incredibly strict mother she was rarely allowed out and was warned against getting too close to any man. Yet here she was, after all her mothers warnings, making eyes at a strange man.

Cautiously she steps back into the room and looks around. She takes in her surroundings, a large open gallery with portraits covering the walls. She wasn't normally an art lover but the sky outside had started to turn grey warning of a storm to come. She came inside to hide.

It was ironic that by trying to hide she had become more visible than she'd ever been before.

It didn't take long for her to feel those eyes on her again. This time she didn’t look away. She was completely absorbed in him. If love at first sight was real this was it. He had a kindness in his eyes she had never experienced before. A softness in the way he looked at her that not even her own mother had managed.  The jealousy, resentment  and coldness she felt growing up from her mum was washed away by the gaze now upon her.

Tentatively she moved closer to him, she wove through the crowd like a ghost. Swerving around the other guests. Making her way towards those eyes. When she reached him she was overwhelmed by his beauty. The gentle brush strokes that made up his eyes. The careful way the artist formed the curve of his lips. The subtle shadows around his nose softened his otherwise strong square features. The breath caught in her throat as she reached up to touch the dark wood of his frame. Could this be real, could she really be falling in love with a painting. He seemed so real, he looked at her with so much love. She knew this is where she belonged. 

As the day wore on and the gallery began to empty out, fear gripped her. What would she do without him? How could she go home and just leave him here. She needed him to be with him. Tomorrow, she would be back tomorrow,  she would call in sick to work and come back. She would be with him, she would find a way. They belonged together.

She didn't return the next day or the day after. The Gallery had closed for a few days after a leak had taken out half of the modern muse exhibit. Since the news came out everyday she would catch her mind shifting into dark places. She would be day dreaming of her acrylic man, in awe of his beauty. But the happiness would quickly fade, replaced by dread, her mind filled with images of peeling paint and water damaged canvases.

Her skin was turning grey, her hair limp and lifeless. She stayed up all night, afraid of closing her eyes and watching her great love melt away, drip by drip.

The Gallery reopening got pushed back one more week, then another week and another. The longer the portal to her only love was sealed shut the more her portal to reality began to close too. Her memory told her they had spoken, that his kind words had washed away years of neglect and loneliness. She could hear his deep voice calling out to her at night. The wind carried his messages to her, giving her comfort as she tried to slow her mind and sleep.But in the morning she fought against the sun who tried to bring her back to the real world. The sun, in all his cruelty, tried to remind her that paintings were just paintings and couldn’t love her back.

On a bland Tuesday afternoon, her boss sent her home. She fell asleep at her desk, her unwashed hair lying limp over her keyboard. Her colleagues panicked, not with concern for her, but concern for the increased workload, the extra duties they would have to take on if she left. They shook her awake and her boss put her in a taxi. She was supposed to go home, she was supposed to rest and come in refreshed the following week. That was impossible, she knew what she had to do. As soon as the cab door closed she could feel it, feel him calling to her. She has been a terrible girlfriend, leaving him alone to rot in old rain water. It was time for her to show him all the kindness and care he had shown her. She had never broken a rule in her life, she had never gone against the desires of others but the temptation was too great. She craved the feeling of his eyes on her, she needed more.

The taxi driver had not been given instructions by her manager  on where to take her or why, he just needed an address. The rest was the responsibility of fate and he didn’t get paid enough to take on those universal burdens. So the driver drove and took her where she wanted to go. He didn’t comment when she got out of the car at the back of a closed art Gallery. He only paused, briefly to watch as she reached up to grasp the top of a low brick wall and began to pull herself up. He left, not his circus, not his monkey.

He was 3 minutes away when the image of the frail looking woman climbing the wall was replaced, by his imagination, with the image of that same frail woman lying bleeding on the ground. It wasn’t his responsibility to check. It wasn't his responsibility to save her. She might be fine, she might not. Not his circus. He turned around anyway. He drove back, and he found her. Not bleeding but on the ground. Lying in a puddle in desperate need of some kindness.