Three. A Coat of Amethyst

An hour later, the class drew to a close as crashing thunder made a herald to the heavy, pouring rain outside. I ran to my car and quickly threw my art supplies in the backseat and shut the door. I let out a deep sigh, with my thoughts still pathetically enraptured by her until a knock came at my window.

It was her, covering herself under her trench coat while pointing to the vacant passenger seat beside me. I gesture her to enter in for refuge, proceeding to scurry in, as she slammed the door shut from the downpour.

She sighed, “I’m so sorry. My car wouldn’t start and then I recognized you in the distance…it’s pouring down hard as you can tell…”

“Don’t be. I’m glad to help…it’s kind of funny that we keep running into each other…”

“A sign perhaps…?” She suggested, with half jokingly in her tone. Antoinette gave me the same intense yet beatific expression in my dream.

Grudgingly she continued, with those nearly divine eyes staring into mine, “Look, my car is broken down and I hate taking the bus, and…” She paused for a brief moment and cursed, “Oh shit. I’m supposed to be meeting someone in fifteen minutes…its supposed to be a date, he’s an entertainment lawyer and…”

I pressed my lips against hers, as she recoiled in surprised, yet she quickly got used to the idea of our passion lingering on for a few more moments until she clench upon my face and said, “Why did you kiss me?”

“I…couldn’t help it. You‘re beautiful…” I said, demurely.

I didn’t know what to expect from her next reaction. She continued to stare at me for a few brief moments until she slid her hand upon my lap and the other on my jaw.

Momentarily, we found each other in our embrace, locking faces, while breathing heavily with passion.

The rain pounding on the windows was a welcome relief filling the silence between us as we drove. Yet my heart was still pounding with excitement. My dream was manifesting into reality.

I finally brought the car to a stop in front of a high rise tenement.

Upstairs, I opened the door to my studio. The walls were forest green and the furniture was all black. There was clothes and papers scattered everywhere.

“Sorry for the mess.” I said apologetically, a bit embarrassed.

“No,” She said, “it’s perfect.” She turned around, huddling her cold, wet hands for some warmth.

I handed a towel to dry herself, and after she had wiped the excess, the hands on her shoulders moved round and began unbuttoning her blouse, ever so carefully.

I felt her body pressed to mine and I rolled the blouse slowly off her shoulders. Letting the clothing fall to the floor, I began kissing her neck. She sighed, leaning back into my embrace.

Soon, we were completely undressed and beneath the bedsheets.

I traced a finger along her hairline and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She looked wild, her hair damp, dark hair curling around her shoulders and her long eyelashes clustered with rainwater.

I began trailing my lips down Ann’s neck, kissing gently. She moaned quietly, her breathing labored, as she curled her fingers in my hair. It seemed as though she suffered goose bumps snaking over her skin at my touch and warm mouth, teasing at her supple breast. My hands explored further her body while I positioned myself between her legs and planted a soft kiss on her mouth.

“Are you sure?”

She pulled me down for another kiss in confirmation.

Slowly, I entered her as Ann kept one hand rested on the back of my neck, the other stroking my back. We breathed in ragged unison, our eyes remaining locked, as I moved as gently as he could. The initial pain over with, Ann began moving her hips with mine, building a mounting rhythm.

Soon, I shuttered and came as I let out a labored sigh. I collapsed briefly against her before rolling to her side and gathering her into my arms.

The next moment I found myself showering with her, in a small, sterile white bathtub. Wrapped within my arms, held, protected while she held me with my face buried in her neck.

I seem to have found some refuge. From what? Perhaps myself, my own insufferable mind--maybe she felt the same way; I don’t know.

What I did know was I haven’t felt something this real--this whole in quite a while.

In my bed, we laid together, as I whispered, “What’s your favorite color?”

“My favorite color? Amethyst…I always liked that shade of purple,” She beamed, “what’s yours?”

“Black was a favorite for a while, now I just go for any shade of blue.”

“Did you know that the base color of the universe is turquoise…it isn’t black.”

“Really? Didn’t know that…you mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead…I used to smoke but I lost the taste for it while gaining other tastes.” She beamed while fiddling around with my hairy, happy trail upon my abdomen.

I snickered, lighting up a cigarette, starring into her cerulean windows.

After a some twenty minutes of cuddling and general fooling around, I found her skulking around my studio in my black robe, studying random unfinished drawings and paintings, scattered around my work area.

With fleeting glances she caught notice of a drawing I had started this morning, right when I woke up. It was the dark haired goddess of my dream. She looked a bit awestruck by the drawing; the spitting, immortal image of herself, seemingly as if she came upon the fountain of youth.

I followed her, wearing nothing save for a small, white towel. I bit my lower lip, anticipating what she would say next.

Asking with her back turned to me, “These are all me…when did you do these?”

“Not all of them, there’s a few illustrations I did…before my dream…about you.”

She swiftly turned around and chuckled, “You dreamt about me? Wow…you hardly even know me. I hardly know you…”

At that moment, I felt a bit awkward.

With her lowering eyes situated upon my drawings, I felt as if my heart cut out from my chest for display and left it in a box for her to observe it, poking at it, wondering what it would do.

“I’m sorry…” She muttered and stumbled with her words, “I…I don’t even know why I’m doing here…”

“What’s wrong?” I sheepishly asked.

“I thought I could be with someone who was so consumed…I…”

“Now what?”

“You don’t know who I am…how could you place me on your back?”

“On my back? My tattoo? I got that a few months ago…”

“Why are you lying to me? It’s like you have this fixation with me. First the drawings and now this. I’m twenty eight years your senior. This can’t…” She trailed off.

“What? So you’re older…I’m not lying to you.” I staggered.

Emotion started to form in her eyes, inviting tears to surface, sliding down her cheeks.

Ann, in a mad rush, placed on her clothing as I pleaded for her to stay. All she said was “I’m sorry…”

---

“And she just left like that?” The very pale and balding Lincoln asked, sitting at the corner of his desk, while I sat in his office littered with unsold abstract paintings.

“Honestly, that was when my heart was cut into slices. I haven’t seen her since. She was supposed to show up yesterday, but predictably she was absent. I don’t have her number either. I feel l like my memories are acidic to my brain and emotions.” I sulked.

Lincoln in his semi-posh accent, attempted to console, “That’s too bad…she sounds like the vivacious one. Sorry about that, but you just can’t stop now…there’s other fish in the sea, don‘t give your hopes up so quickly. Don’t worry about it, you have your gallery tonight. I’m sure there will be plenty of lasses there.”

“Maybe…” I sighed.

“Ah, cheer up. You’re still young. You can meet anyone. A nice wank will ease the pain. Maybe she might just even see her again; she doesn‘t sound like the type to fuck and run. Do you really have a tattoo of her on your back?”

“Yeah but, I got it a few months ago. It was because of a reoccurring lucid dream I had.”

“Figures.” He chuckled.

Soon enough, Lincoln was right.

Two hours into the opening gala of my showcase, I caught a glimmer of light from the corner of my eye. I turn my head to see her glancing at some of my canvases of some surreal work I had done a few years ago in art school, while I noticed her clothed in a short, black dress and a white jumper.

She was distracting me again, while I discussed my work to a few interested patron souls. She briefly glanced at me with frigid eyes and turned immediately right back to her conversation to a fairly attractive guy while discussing about a framed graphite pencil drawing I did of a large, fiery seraphim.

Eventually, he left their discussion with a half-hug to speak with a few other people, queuing me to confront her, and yet I just stood there, like a mannequin. Thirty minutes rolled on and the insides of my stomach felt strained and tugged at, writhing for me to do--something!

Finally, I worked up a nerve to walk over to her, placing my hand on her shoulder and greeted with a underpinning tone of resentment, “Hey…”

Her eyes suddenly blossomed and replied, “Hey!”

“Is that your boyfriend?” I asked in annoyance as my blood boiled a bit.

“Oh no…I think he’s pretty much gay…” She exhaled, with her voice so husk.

“Are you blowing me off? It’s that easy?” I asked in irritation.

“No…”

“You just walk out of my place after we did it? Besides what are you doing here in the first place?”

Her eyes distended with seeming remorse, “No. It’s just, my moods have been swinging…”

“Clearly!” I exclaimed.

Instead of depression, annoyance took over her, “Look, I’m sorry for what happened…”

“Just stop…you must married, or have kids. I understand…”

“I was married. I’m a widow. My husband died a couple of years ago…you know, I felt like giving up, just lying in bed and waiting for death to take me.”

I shook my head slightly and tried to assure her, “You don’t have to explain…and I wasn’t lying to you about the tattoo.”

Hesitation lingered on for a moment, instead of forming a reply as Ann bit her lip, “I don’t care about that. I’m sorry I left like that.”

Within my mind’s eye, the goddess of my dream erupted with elongated angelic wings, spreading. At that very moment, the former ashen wings became a tainted opaque--as if she descended into the likeness of a wayward angel and then reverted back again into pure etheric light. Her fire, no longer lay dormant as it began to spread around her aura.

“Hello?” She called for my drifting attention.

“Yeah? I’m sorry, my mind was drifting…”

“Clearly…” She smirked.

“Clearly, the only reason you’re here is because of me. Yes?” I asked.

“I came because I wanted to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

Her eyes wavered until they locked onto my own dark brown eyes, “Honestly, I never felt this way with many people. I’m sorry for what happened but I need to know what you feel for me.”

“I’m not sure if…I do have feelings. You don’t even know who I am…”

“Well, maybe you’re a crazy, hermit recluse, masochist in the guise of a tortured artist.”

I raised my eyebrow and coughed, “Tortured artist? Isn’t that a little cliché…? Crazy? Probably. Masochist? I don’t have the stamina to be one. Or maybe I’m just a lonely bastard who wants to have fun? Maybe you’re a black widow.” I snickered.

“Perhaps…” She jokingly (hopefully) replied.

A wave of despondence washed over me, as a bit of gloom tinted my eyes. A cold, long hand slid over my cheekbone in commiseration.

Antoinette asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It sucks…” I murmured.

“What sucks?”

“Our age differences. I mean…” In an instant, she pulled me closer to her and placed her puckered lips around mine. I slithered my hands over her waistline and pushed her against my own body, further inviting her passion.

I retracted in a slight distance away from her embrace and asked, “What are you doing?”

She replied, “I can’t help it.”

I brushed a wayward curl back from her eyes, lightly holding the bottom of her chin and planted a kiss on her curvy, soft lips; it was then that I knew I would paint amethyst and turquoise with these long fingers and idealistic wit.

I’m not exactly sure if I believe in soul-mates but all I knew was I no longer was stumped by my own insufferable mind--at the very, least aesthetically.