Olivia went back to her studio that evening with a clouded feeling in her spirit because the air that she and the paintings breathed was pregnant with rising tempest. Far away the sea murmured its eternal love songs, its staccato against the sand echoed her desparate thoughts and feelings. She was slumped down on a decrepit wooden chair and, for the first time in three weeks, her easel was bare.
Her ideas were filled with doubt and fear; she had not one idea that was not magnified and made worse by another. She pains, she pondered on how to part with Liam – his happy-go-smile, laughter that made a room larger, and the look in his eyes when he gazed at her. He consented to be kind, not be adamant, and fully accommodating but she remained self- conscious of herself like metaphysical shadows that would not fade away.
The memories of the past were still haunting her now, seemed as if all the events happened just a few hours ago. Meaning familiar feelings of betrayal flooded their minds; they were once again able to feel the pains that betrayal brings. she had been "secure" before by opening her heart to someone.. but to have that love disappear overnight had left her scarred. All of that was painful and left her with emotional wounds that, although not visible, had determined the construction of the barriers she had put in place.
Now, however, being with Liam meant that those walls were hovering on shaking ground. He had been there as a constant, a steady flow wearing down her barriers with every singleest chuckle, glance and dialogue. She wanted to believe in him, to believe that what they shared was real and lasting, but a voice in the back of her mind kept whispering: *What if?*
In cases where it was impossible to give an answer in one word, what if he wasn't the man he seemed to be? What if such togetherness, so tenuous and tinutal, began to fall apart as soon as she proved to be imperfect or he — not good enough?What if he saw the evil parts of her—the things she tried so hard to fix within her character, the scars that she could never wash away from her soul—and he changed his mind and decided she wasn't worth fixing?
Such thoughts overwhelmed her the way a blank canvas that lay in front of her made her feel empty inside. They both watched her take a brush, go to dip it into a plate of midnight blue paint, and paint large and irregular strokes on the canvas. The color seeped deep into the creamy white like the storm that seems to swirl in the inner recesses of her heart.
She heard the sound of the studio door opening and groaning slightly before it was snapped shut. Suddenly, she looked around to see that Liam was there; the muscular man was at his full height looking at her through the dim light coming from the hallway. His face, which was naturally friendly and welcoming, wore a look of worry.
"Olivia," he said quietly and let himself into the room. I knocked, but you did not answer me. I was worried."
She stood there, torn between opening the door and shooing him off. The desire to turn and run away, to build walls around herself, to avoid any chance of being c known.
"I'm sorry," she apologized and went back to the painting. "Haven't you been just thinking?"
He got up and went closer to her, his shoes made barely any sound on the wooden floor. "Want to talk about it?"
She stood still for a while again and could not utter the words properly. A small part of her wanted to spill it all to him, especially her fears, but at the same time, she was afraid. But what if he doesn't understand? What if this turns him off?
Finally, she put down her brush and then let out a sigh. "I don't know, Liam. Occasionally, it has been said to the point that it must be a dream, it cannot be real. You, us—everything. But a part of me can't help asking… What if it is not?
He stepped over to the side of her and put in his pockets, watching her half-painted picture intently. "I understand," he stated after a while. "Trusting someone after being hurt—it's not easy. In a way, it can be compared to walking on a thin wire and waiting for the other person to push you off.
His words shocked her; the things he said mirrored her worst thoughts that she never actually spoke aloud. She looked at him and wanted to read lies in his facial expression but saw none. But there was, I noticed, only truth-telling and a touch of the soul-bearing.
"You too have been hurt," she said gently less offering a question than a certainty.
He nodded and a brief cloud of some discomfort crossed over his face. "Yeah. And for a long time, I did not know that was possible, so most of the time, it controlled me. I isolated myself and made everybody believe that I did not need anybody because I was able to. But then..." He paused, meeting her gaze. "Then I met you."
She almost choked on the earnestness she heard in his tone and the way he seemed to strip her of her armor. "Liam, I'm scared," she said placing her hands on his chest, her tone barely audible. "Can you allow yourself to feel this way?" "I don't know if I can do this—let myself feel this way again."
He pulled out, with a brief glance at her hand, he took her hand and held it lightly. It is okay to be scared, Olivia. I am too. But maybe… maybe we don't have to plan it today… plan the life that would be waiting for us beyond the park. Perhaps we still just live day by day as we make our way forward. Together."
This was so comforting and simple that she was reminded that she didn't have to fight her demons on her own. She hesitated a moment before slowly nodding her head, her diva-like smile appearing on her face. She nodded, getting her voice back on track now "Okay." "One step at a time."
And in the pale light of Mock humanity With a landscape of the dream In
background Of workspaces unfinished of profound hope Olson brought a
glimmer Through the blackened life of the Art Studio. But Liam was not her
solution – and she couldn't make him the answer to all her worries,
to eliminate her past and ensure her future, But at that point he was
able to walk with her, and be by her side as she faces her fears.