Alison
***
We woke up the next morning close to each other, heating each other with our skin. We didn't speak as the dim light entered through the cracks of the blinds. Chris caressed my arm, following the movements of his fingers with his eyes. He was thinking, I could tell, so I didn't interrupt his thoughts. Afraid that he was relieving what I had said to him last night, I kissed his neck, telling him without words that I cared deeply about him.
"I think we deserve something special for breakfast," he said in a groggy voice. "There's a new bagel's place a few blocks away. What do you say if I got get them?"
My heart leaped at his suggestion. I smiled from ear to ear, looping my arms around his neck. This was his way of making sure everything was okay between us, I was sure.
"It's a lovely idea Chris," I said. "Although I could make bagels myself if you want."
He kissed my forehead before getting out of bed. "You're not doing anything today sweetheart. However, I will be expecting you to be ready when I come back to finish what we started yesterday."
My cheeks turned bright red. I sat up on the bed, crawling to Chris' side as he opened the drawers and got dressed.
"Finish what exactly?" I teased.
He turned around to face me as he put a crewneck over his head. He placed his hand on my waist, squeezed it tightly and kissed my neck. "The trivia game."
He winked, turned to the closet and put on some pants. I just stood there watching him, thinking of how I would surprise him when he returned.
I got out of bed when he was ready to leave. I accompanied him to the door and told him to be back soon. He told me he'd take no more than twenty minutes since he'd be walking. He kissed my cheek and put on his coat, closing the door behind him.
Now alone in his apartment, I decided to get dressed. The prospect of sex was great, but in the morning I'd much rather do something fun outside the house. For that reason, I changed into normal clothes, throwing on a pair of jeans and a blouse. Besides, it'd be hilarious to see Chris complain about me wearing pants again.
As I walked down the corridor to the living room, I noticed Chris had left his keys on the kitchen island. I picked them up, inspecting the different labels. Some were for Evergreen like cabinets and locked drawers, classrooms and master keys, while others were for storage units and even a bicycle chain.
There was something odd about one of the keys. It was simply labelled "the room" in Chris' handwriting. What room? Did he mean his bedroom? Out of curiosity I checked it, but the key didn't fit quite right in the keyhole. I shrugged my shoulders, giving up on the silly idea.
I sat down on the couch, contemplating the trees outside. It was sunny, and the weather was finally getting warmer. As I watched the treetops sway in the wind, I couldn't get my mind off that strange key. Come to think of it, I didn't find any key that read "home office", so maybe that was what the key opened?
My curious mind didn't allow me to stay put any longer. I got up and picked up the keys again. I went up the spiral staircase as I singled out that mysterious key from the bunch of keys.
As soon as I put the key in, I knew I got the right one. It slid in smoothly, offering no resistance. Before unlocking the door, I pondered if I should open it. Chris had told me to never go to his office because he had important documents up there I couldn't have access to as an Evergreen student, but it wasn't as if I was going to rummage through his things. I just wanted to see what it looked like. I wouldn't even walk inside, I would just take a peek. He wouldn't even know I went up there.
I rotated the key, the mechanism inside clicking as the door opened. I pushed the door forward, and what my eyes saw froze me to the ground. My eyes widened and I gasped, covering my mouth with my hands as I let the keys fall to the ground. I opened the door wider as if someone about to walk inside an animal cage, immediately taking a step back in fear.
My mouth was dry, my skin was devoid of all color. I was dizzy, gripping the railings of the stairs so I wouldn't fall. I turned on the lights, the yellow glow of the standing light revealing what Chris had kept in the dark for God knows how long.
There, in front of my eyes, was an art studio, every inch of every wall covered in artworks, art supplies scattered across the floor as if a child had been playing with them, countless drying racks, old looking chests with padlocks, random jars and containers, a craft table with graphite markings, and two easels of different sizes.
My head was spinning. I couldn't believe this was happening. Everything he told me about himself, about him not painting anymore, about what he kept up here, what he was doing on Wednesday... It was all a lie.
With tears stinging my eyes and panic surging in my body, I entered the dark room, fear permeating every corner of my body. I wanted to run, to get out of there, to wake up from that nightmare, but I couldn't. The man I loved had kept all of this a secret, and I had to find out why.
As soon as I laid eyes on the closest canvas, I felt a pang on my heart, like two hands were squeezing it to draw out my blood. There, on the unfinished canvas, was a portrait of me. I had my eyes closed as the sun shone on my face, my muscles were relaxed, my lips were plump and my skin as smooth. I was entranced as I stared at it, my shaky hands hovering over it but never touching the painting.
Close by was a battered sketch book on the floor. I picked it up and flipped through it. Without exception, all the pages were filled with pencil sketches of me, some of my face, some of my naked body, others of us together, our limbs intertwined. I dropped the sketch book like it had caught on fire, overwhelmed by what I was seeing. I walked back from the easel until I hit a wall, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
My eyes frantically scanned the rest of room, taking in Chris' paintings. The ones on the wall were lopsided, some looked like they were about to fall. I didn't touch anything because if I did then I'd know this was real and not a sick nightmare.
His paintings were dark, so dark in fact that it made me feel small, claustrophobic. Even though they were beautiful, the themes were oppressive, austere, and frightful. As I tried to make sense of what I was seeing, I realized the only light paintings and drawings were the ones he did of me, everything else was dark. There were many paintings of the sea, of violent waves and crashing ships. Chris had also painted people as monsters, their eyes blood red and their skin white as snow. They were grotesque, reminiscent of paintings from Francis Bacon, Francisco de Goya, and Pablo Picasso.
I was so panicked I drifted down the wall and cried onto my knees as I rocked back and forth. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be real.
Soon my panic morphed into anger, and I suddenly had the urge to rip every single painting into shreds. I picked up the canvas of my portrait, the one I had been so scared to touch, and placed it on the floor. Using my foot I kicked right through it, ripping it in the middle.
"Liar!" I screamed at the top of lungs as tears streamed my face. "You fucking liar!"
What I did next could only be described as utter despair taking over my mind and body. I wasn't in control anymore, not when my perception of reality had been flipped upside down in such a revolting way. I went through every single painting, drawing, sketch, everything. I wanted to see everything that had inside that room, leaving no stone left unturned. The more art I discovered the more I wanted to scream, to destroy it, to burn it all.
I focused my attention on the old chest. It looked as heavy as a bookcase even though it was quite small. With shaky hands I searched for the key that would open it, and on the forth try the padlock came undone.
I swung it open, the heavy lid smashing against the wall behind it. Inside there were more paintings, smaller in size than the rest. I pulled them out, inspecting them the best I could between sobs and tears. Most of the paintings were of a child, a young boy. Some were at the beach, others inside a house, but there was something about all of them that made me want to be sick: the boy's face was blank, having no facial features, like a slab of wood. I dug through the paintings until I found one that made my blood turn to ice.
The violent painting depicted this same young boy being dragged under the water by thousands of monstrous hands as he fought to stay afloat. It looked as if he was being dragged to the depths of hell, the monsters eager to devour him. Unlike the other paintings, the boy's face was painted, and the look of terror in his eyes made me burst into tears.
I didn't know what this meant, I had no idea what any of this was, why Chris had kept this from me, why he was obsessed with dark themes, why his paintings had an apocalyptic aura about them, and in all honesty, I was terrified to find out.
I was on the verge if passing out. I gripped the chest and hung my head, fighting against my body to stay awake. The world was slowly turning black, my visions slowly disappearing as my body succumbed to the intensity of what I was experiencing. I held on until my visions returned, panic once again taking over my body.
I heard Chris call my name downstairs. I scanned the room frantically, my brain unable to come to terms with the fact that the man downstairs, the man I loved, the man who knew my deepest, darkest secret was also the man who had done all these paintings, who had lied to me in the vilest, most disgusting way.
He called my name again and again, but I didn't move. It felt as if I was shell shocked, unable to react. By the time he came up the stairs I had risen to my feet, gripping his paintings in my hands.
As soon as he saw me standing in the middle of the room, his face turned white. It was as if he had seen a ghost, but in reality the one who was seeing a ghost was me.
"What the fuck is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "What... The fuck... Is this?"
He had turned to stone. I didn't wait for a reply.
"You're a liar," I said as calmly as I could. I sounded completely demented. Who could blame me? I felt like I was living in a different reality. "You're a liar..."
"Get out." He said coldly. His words passed right through me.
"Why did you lie? Why did you hide this from me?" I asked, fresh tears leaving my face. "These paintings... What's wrong with you Chris? Who are you? What's this?"
"Get out." He said again. "Leave!" His hands curled into fists. I was so overwhelmed I didn't realize he was growing dangerously angry by the second.
"You lied to me!" I suddenly shouted, throwing his paintings on the floor violently. "These paintings... They are terrifying Chris, they are horrible. Why did you paint them?! Why did you lie to me?! Why didn't you want me to know you still painted?!"
Suddenly, he walked towards me and gripped my upper arm. He dragged me aggressively out of the room, but I fought him.
"Don't fucking touch me!" I shouted, my voice completely panicked. "You're a liar, a fucking liar!"
He pushed me with so much strength I lost my balance. His eyes were bloodshot, his features strained. He was fuming in anger. I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him away, to no avail. He dragged me down the stairs roughly, letting go of my arm once I was at the bottom of the stairs.
"Get away from me!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "Don't you dare come closer!"
"Stop!" Shouted Chris above my own shouting. He was so angry I could practically see smoke coming out of his ears.
"You've drawn thousands of pictures of me!" I said, placing my hands over my heart. "That's not normal Chris. You're frightening me! Tell me why you did it, tell me!"
"Shut up Ali!" He shouted back.
"Why did you paint those horrible things?!" I said, pointing upstairs. "Who is that child Chris? Who the fuck is that child?! Why were those paintings locked up?!"
He put his hands over his ears, shaking his head. I was seriously getting frightened by what was happening.
"Why did you keep your paintings a secret?! Why did you hide them from me?! Do I even know you?! Who the fuck are you?!"
"Ali stop, I beg you. Stop. Just fucking stop!" He said, tears falling down his cheeks.
"Tell me once and for all or I'm out the door! Why did you do this? Who is that child Chris? Is he your son, is he your brother? Did he die? Is it you as a child?! Who is he?! Tell me!"
That was when a slap came flying across my face, hitting me so violently that my head snapped to the side, the echo of skin hitting skin putting a stop to both our screaming.
The bones of Chris' hand had hit mine so hard my nose instantly started bleeding. I touched my face, my shaky fingers getting coated in red, warm blood.
The man in front of me died that very second. It didn't matter how much I loved him, it didn't matter how much he knew about about my past, how much of my dreams he held in his hands. Chris was dead to me.
"You're sick," I stammered as I took a step back. "You're a monster."
As if by magic, that slap gave me clarity and took me out of my panic. It became clear to me exactly what I needed to do. I walked past him into the bedroom, got my bag from under Chris' bed, and dumped all of my clothes inside. For whatever reason he had followed me.
"You're nobody and you have nobody!" I said as I took my clothes from the closet. "You spend your weekends with me, a fucking twenty two year old, the only person who will put up with you! You have no one other than me, and you lie to me?! You're so fucked up you kept your paintings a secret for who knows how many years, and for what? For this?!"
I went to the bathroom and dumped all of my belongings inside the bag without care.
"Ali, don't do this..." he whispered. Now he was regretting the way he treated me? How pathetic.
"You told me you wanted me to leave and that's what I'm fucking doing," I said, bumping into him as I walked out of his room. "I'm leaving you with all of your precious paintings so you can keep pretending you're fine, but guess what: You're sick Chris, you need help."
I walked towards the door. I put on my jacket and swung my bag across my shoulders.
"Ali don't go, please don't go," he whined as I cleaned the blood from my face, smearing it on my hand.
"There's nothing you can say Chris," I said coldly. "Get away from me. Don't call me, text me, don't look for me. Forget I fucking exist. I don't want to hear explanations. Nothing you can say can solve this shit!"
I left his apartment by closing the door loudly behind me. I slammed it so hard the walls shook as I sprinted out of there. I had to get as far away as possible from him and hope I could keep my emotions under control.
The journey home was excruciating. All I wanted to do was cry but I had to keep it together in front of my driver. When I got home, however, I completely lost it. In my empty apartment I screamed until my lungs gave out, I clawed at my skin until I scratched myself, I sobbed until my head felt like it would explode.
Without thinking, I called the only person who would see my pain and help me, my mom. She tried to calm me down on the phone to no success, telling me everything would be alright without knowing what had happened. Before I knew it, she had booked me a flight home for a few days, my mental well-being surpassing my college obligations.
She paid a fortune for me to fly the next day on a Sunday, but she told me money wasn't a problem given my state. For her to take such an extreme measure, I must have sounded completely destroyed on the phone.
Just when I thought my pain couldn't get any worse, the night came, and with it the haunting images Chris had painted in secret, those apocalyptic, death infested images. I loved him, but I had to protect myself. His lies were already enough to make me want to leave him, but the physical violence (which he knew I had been traumatized by) took this demented situation to an unbearable level. How could he do this to me? How could he hit me so hard he made me bleed?
As I lay wide awake alone in that empty apartment, memories of our best times together flooded my mind. To think that he had lied to me all along, that he was deceiving me on purpose, that I had slept in his bed while he harbored such a demented secret right above me... Our relationship was a lie, a complete lie.
My gut feeling was right, but as I watched my life completely fall apart I wished with all my heart to wake up from this nightmare.
But this was no nightmare. This was real, and just like James, the man I once loved was now dead to me, and with him died a part of me that could never be brought back to life ever again.
—
A/N
Guys, just to get one thing clear: Ali's reaction is coming from her trauma. Let's look at it from her perspective. She reacted the way she did because Chris knows about her trauma, he knows how brave she was by opening it to him, and he knows just how devastated she would be if she was deceived/manipulated. It's not because of the content of what's upstairs that she reacted the way she did, but because of what it means to the relationship. She did something huge by opening up to Chris given how badly mistreated she was in her past relationship (remember, she didn't date anyone since James went to prison when Ali she was 16) and despite him knowing this perfectly well he still did something like this to her. If she wasn't traumatised she wouldn't have reacted the way she did in this scene, but she is, and it's sad and frustrating and unfair. She isn't reacting like someone who didn't go through what she. I think this scene ultimately shows the depth of her trauma and how sensitive she is to betrayal, because that is exactly what she thinks this is, betrayal. But, as you will find out later on, Chris' secrecy and actions here also stem from deep trauma. I hope everyone can empathise with these characters, they have very legitimate reasons to react the way they did ♥️ That being said, verbal and physical abuse ar never ever right, no matter the circumstance, no matter the trauma. They are both wrong, but they will get through it together.
I feel your pain. I cried several times writing this, but please know that the story isn't over yet. I love you all and thank you so much for your continuous support ♥️