"Take off your clothes," Deacon ordered.
I nervously laughed, "What?"
"Take off your clothes," he repeated.
"Why would I do that? Why can't you paint me dressed?" I defended.
"Are you afraid?" he asked.
"No, I'm not afraid to be seen naked," I scoffed.
"Then what frightens you?" he questioned.
I pressed my tongue to my cheek in annoyance. Can I not want to get naked in front of a man I barely know? It had been months since anyone had seen me naked. Perhaps I was a little anxious; why wouldn't I be? I don't know this man. I looked back at him and froze; I could have sworn I momentarily saw Zeus in Deacon's face. A pang of hurt hit me, and I didn't know how to feel.
"I don't know," I confessed, "I don't know what's stopping me."
With that confession, I dropped my purse to the ground and sat on the lounge chair. I fought the tears that were battling their way along my tear ducts.
"I never meant to hurt you," he solemnly said, "I know how you feel. Unless someone blunt can confront you, you treat them like they're nothing. I'm the same."
I stomped my foot in defiance, to which he responded with a laugh. His laugh helped ease my frustration.
"Okay, fine, you win," I surrendered.
He smirked before reaching a much more advanced glass easel behind him. This one was much more advanced. It had compartments below for all his essential needs, from paint brushed to charcoal and paper towels with several paints, resins, and setting sprays. I watched him situate a blank piece of paper before looking at me in confusion.
"Undress," he ordered.
"Yeah, I'm not doing that, but I'll do this," I objected.
I removed my dress without hesitation and stood there in my bra and underwear, unsure what to do. Why was I so nervous? My body hasn't changed, but seeing him look at me made me uneasy. Why was I feeling this way? The thought of sex hasn't come across my mind since I lost my baby; I haven't even looked at myself in the mirror if I was being sincere.
"You can sit on the lounge chair if you'd like," he offered.
I instantly sat without hesitation and felt more at ease.
"Are you afraid?' he asked.
"No-I-," I stammered. What was I feeling? Why was I unable to answer him?
"Relax," he sighed.
I glanced over to see his hand trembling while holding the charcoal. Perhaps he needed to relax. I heard a clang followed by another. I looked back at Deacon to see his head in his hands. Instinct made me walk over to him and grab his hand in comfort. He was trembling beneath my grasp, which allowed compassion to flood over me. I looked over at the various sizes of charcoal beside me and grabbed one. The black stained my white fingertips to the touch. I opened his left hand and placed the charcoal in it.
"We can face our fears together," I said.
He looked into my eyes with confusion and understanding, "Thank you."
He kissed the back of my hands before I returned to the lounger chair.
"Do you mind if I turn on the spotlights?" he asked.
"Go ahead," I confirmed.
The blinding rights caused me to turn away briefly before getting back into place, "Anything you need me to do?"
"No, I just need you to stay still," he answered.
I sat there and closed my eyes, drifting off into the best rest I've had in months.