The Colour of Broken

by Amelia Grace

  I watched him. I didn’t know what to do. And then I held my hand out for him. The same hand that was covered in blood, holding on to Mia’s on that terrible day. Xander placed his hand in mine and rose. Slowly, keeping eye contact with me.

  ‘Do you want a glass of water?’ I asked. I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t realise drawing on him like that would cause such an intense reaction. Had I damaged him in some way? Did I take away some of his luminosity?

  He shook his head and sat on my studio stool. ‘Now make it beautiful...’ he said, his eyes holding mine.

  ‘How?’

  ‘With art ... like a tattoo ...’

  I swallowed. Scars couldn’t be beautiful. They were better hidden. If you turned it into a piece of art, people would ask questions about it. I could never make mine “beautiful”.

  But for his sake, I gathered a variety of coloured oil pastels and started to create a tattoo of art on his glorious face that I so loved; born of light, not darkness.

  I worked slowly, meticulously, creating a winding green vine with coloured flowers, a teardrop, and an added heart. Each time I looked into Xander’s eyes with caution, his pupils were large, drinking me in. He watched my every movement. And sometimes ... just sometimes, I allowed my eyes to stay in his for a little longer, so I could steal some of his courage, his light, his love, hoping it would make the darkness inside me tremble in fear and want to escape.

  I stepped back from him when I had completed his scar art. It was beautiful. But only because he was beautiful to start with. He was a never-ending source of light that shone like the stars in the heavens.

  ‘My turn,’ he said.

  ‘Your turn for what?’ My chin trembled.

  ‘To make your scars beautiful ...’

  I burst out laughing. The task he had set himself was impossible.

  ‘Sit,’ he said. ‘Please ...’

  I obeyed, grasping at the glimmer of hope that somehow my scars could be beautiful. I watched as his eyes wandered over my scars, from my bottom eyelashes to my jaw to my collar bone to my areola. He turned away from me and gathered some oil pastels, then faced me, connecting our eyes.

  ‘Trust me?’ he asked.

  I frowned at him, trying to ignore the poison of anxiety that travelled through my veins.

  I nodded. Slowly. Yes, I did trust him.

  ‘Good,’ he said. He looked deeply into my eyes again, like he was looking for the truth of my trust. He lifted his finger and placed it under my eyelashes, then traced my scar with the lightest touch. He followed it down my cheek to the bottom of my jaw, and let his finger drop onto my collar bone, and traced my scar, moving all the way to the areola.

  He took his finger away, then repeated the action, this time with his lips, kissing my scar. I closed my eyes as a fire started deep within me, spreading quickly through my entire body. I focussed on the sensation he had awakened, and I yearned. I wanted to reach out to him and pull him inside of me. But I couldn’t. If I did, all his light would vanish. And I needed his light like I needed the air to breathe.

  I opened my eyes when I felt an oil pastel touch my skin. I watched Xander’s face as he worked, his eyes connecting with mine every now and again.

  He was gentle. And somehow, he filled every stroke of colour with a love I could only imagine existed. Who was this beautiful man, and why had our paths crossed in such a profound way?

  Xander stepped back from me. ‘Aah—my masterpiece. So much better than yours!’

  My body stiffened at the loss of contact with him, and my breath was taken from me. For a moment, I had to relearn how to breathe.

  ‘Not!’ I said, gathering my senses, and grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the mirror.

  We stood, face to face, neither of us looking into the reflective surface.

  ‘On the count of three, face the mirror with me,’ I said.

  Xander reached for my hand.

  ‘One, two ... three.’ I turned at the same time as Xander.

  We looked at our own scar art, since we had already seen each other’s.

  I burst out laughing at Xander’s wonky attempt.

  Xander looked at me with an infectious smile. ‘My work here is done!’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You can now look at your scars and laugh! On the other hand, your artwork is intricate and ... stunning.’ He leaned in closer to the mirror to look at my artistry.

  ‘And covers your ugliness!’ I said and waited for his reaction.

  He looked at me with a serious look, then broke out in a wide smile. ‘Ah ... the Yolande I adore is back.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said.

  He handed me his phone. ‘I want a picture of me with my new tattoo!’

  ‘Say cheese,’ I said and captured the moment.

  ‘Now one of you, and then us, together.’

  I frowned. ‘Only on my phone.’ That way I had control of it.

  ‘Agreed.’

  Xander took photos on my phone, one of each of us by ourselves, then together, and finally, cheek to cheek. When he returned my phone to me our fingers touched. And that spark was there, the one that lit my entire being.

  Xander gazed into my eyes, put his finger under my chin and moved his lips to mine, slowly. He kissed me so gently, so carefully, it almost broke my heart. I sagged against him and he pulled back, and dropped his forehead against mine.

  ‘I can’t be what you want me to be,’ I said, trying to catch my breath.

  ‘I can’t be just friends with you,’ Xander whispered. ‘I’ve tried, but I want more.’

  ‘I can’t give you more.’ My words hung heavily in the air.

  ‘Love conquers, Yolande. Trust me. Let me in,’ he said, his voice breaking.

  I stepped back from him. ‘I can’t ... not yet.’

  ‘Then I’ll wait for you.’

  ‘Xander—’

  ‘The moment I saw you at Flowers for Fleur, I knew ... when you laughed at me—no girl had ever done that to me, and yet you—you made me feel nervous. I wanted you then. When your gram insisted that you tag along with her bicycle, my heart jumped with joy at the thought of spending time with you. You have no idea how much I enjoyed listening to you make up stories about what you did for a job. Your creative construing of your work was simply genius.’

  I pushed my hand into a tray of blue paint, lifted it out and placed it onto Xander’s chest, leaving a handprint there, right over his heart.

  He looked down at it and placed his hand over the wet paint, then pressed his hand to my left cheek. ‘This is what I love about you—your spontaneity. I know no other girl who would climb a tree in her ball gown. You make moments into precious memories I never want to forget.’

  ‘I think you have that they wrong way around, Xander—you, who decorated the hall with fairy lights—’

  ‘For you ... because I wanted to impress you.’

  ‘Consider me impressed. Who wouldn’t be impressed by everything you do. Who wouldn’t fall at your feet the moment you appeared.’

  ‘You ...’

  I gazed into his eyes. ‘Xander ... you’re reacting to our closeness while we were dancing, to the sexual tension of the dance—a common phenomenon between dance partners.’ The words were a lie for me. I loved him. There was no doubt about the way I felt.

  ‘No, I’m not, Yolande. I dance with women all the time and I’ve never wanted to kiss them. I’ve never wanted to spend every waking moment with them. I’ve never counted down the hours, the minutes until I saw them again.’

  ‘It’s the love potion of the music ...’

  He took a step closer. ‘No. I’ve loved you since I was ten. When you left our dance school I was shattered ... and then we met again, by accident or by fate, I don’t know, but you’re the one I’ve been waiting for ...’

  I took his hand in mine, threading our fingers. ‘When you wake up in the morning and relive seeing my scars, you’ll have second thoughts. You are perfection. And I
am so far from it we may as well be living on different planets—’

  ‘And still, I would find you—please, Yolande, it’s not about physical beauty, it’s about heart, mind and soul connection. Please ... be mine ...’

  I wanted to say yes. I so wanted to say yes. I shook my head. ‘I can’t ... yet.’

  ‘Then I’ll hold on to hope ...’ He gazed deeply into my eyes, his brows furrowed. I had hurt him by rejecting him. I wanted to say I was sorry. But I couldn’t. He was better off without me.

  I picked up his shirt and threw it to him. ‘I’ve got some art to do. It’s for Gram.’

  Xander looked deeply into my eyes and nodded, stepped forward and kissed my forehead, then left.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I SAT ON THE REGULAR CHAIR with the imprint of my butt on it.

  The door opened with a slight squeak. Dr Jones was dressed in a black jacket and long black pencil skirt with a white button-up blouse. Her deep red court shoes were stylish. Unlike my steel-capped safety boots ...

  ‘Yolande.’ Dr Jones’ voice was soothing, like the smell of freshly baked bread.

  I nodded before I stood, then followed her into the room. Dr Jones put a light hand on my shoulder.

  ‘I’ll lie on the couch today,’ I said before she asked me the question. The couch was better when I didn’t want to make eye contact with her.

  I made myself comfortable and ran my hand over the soft fabric. Dr Jones went to make of pot of tea. I heard the boiling water and the chink of the china teacups and saucers. I closed my eyes and knitted my fingers together before I placed them on my stomach. I needed to talk about Xander.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, I opened my eyes. Dr Jones placed two teacups and saucers on the table. I reached over and picked one up. The warmth of the brew touched my lips when I sipped it and I relaxed a little. Aah ... tea. Water is the mother of tea, a teapot its father, and fire the teacher: a Chinese Proverb. Another tea saying. In Dr Jones office. Every. Single. Time.

  ‘What brings you here today, Andi?’

  ‘Xander kissed me.’

  ‘Tell me about Xander.’

  I took a sip of my tea. ‘He’s a ballet dancer, a danseur, a ballerino, my ballroom dancing partner for one night, as you know. He’s studying medicine. He’s beautiful and he wants to be more than a friend with me.’

  ‘Does that worry you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of my scars. Because of what happened ... you know ...’

  ‘When people love, it’s not love for the physical body, they love what’s inside you, so your scars won’t matter.’

  ‘So they say. But when it comes to me, it’s hard to believe.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s because of the trauma you suffered when you acquired the scars.’

  I took a deep breath. The terrible day of the scars never got any easier.

  ‘Are you scared of love, Yolande?’

  I hesitated before I answered. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about your parents and grandparents. Do you love them?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s like I was born loving them.’

  ‘Not all families love. Some hate.’

  ‘I know ... but my family is love.’

  ‘So, it seems your fear about love is conditional on people outside your family. Is that correct?’

  ‘Xander in particular.’

  ‘Love comes by grace. It has its own will and timing. It can’t be planned. It goes beyond the physical, Yolande. It is its own law. When you are treated with love, your heart can feel that love, and responds.’

  Dr Jones wrote some notes in her book. Seriously, it would be quicker for her to type on a laptop computer or a tablet.

  ‘Have you spoken to Mia yet?’

  I looked at the picture on the wall. It always came back to talking to Mia. Every. Single. Time. It was getting old. ‘No.’

  ‘In my experience, once you have spoken to her, you will feel a sense of relief, a sense of healing, a sense of closure, and will be able to overcome some of your obstacles. What are you scared of regarding a relationship with Xander?’

  ‘I’m scared of getting hurt.’

  ‘That’s not uncommon.’

  I almost rolled my eyes. Why did she not say, “that’s common” or, “that’s normal”?

  ‘Relationships are about risk. Anyone who enters a relationship of any sort is taking a risk, whether it be friendship, work, teams, physical, emotional. What if you go out with Xander and it works well. What will you gain?’

  ‘Someone I can trust. Someone I can love. Someone who will love me, unconditionally, as I would them.’

  ‘And what will happen if it doesn’t work out?’

  ‘I’ll have a broken heart, and will be by myself ...’

  ‘A broken heart will mend, and you’re already by yourself ... the way I see it, you have far more to gain, than to lose.’

  I finished my cup of tea and put the teacup onto the saucer.

  ‘Thanks, Dr Jones. Our session was what I needed, as usual.’ I stood, and so did Dr Jones. We walked to her door together.

  She leaned forward to open the door for me. ‘You and Xander danced beautifully. Thank you for inviting me along to the competition. It was very romantic.’

  I gave Dr Jones a rare smile. ‘It was way beyond everything I thought it would be.’

  ‘I’m glad. Don’t over think, Yolande.’

  ‘Hmmm, you know me too well ...’

  *~*~*~*~*

  Flowers for Fleur was busy when I walked through the front doors of the store. I should have been quicker at Dr Jones’s office. I looked to my right at Darcy. He was making coffee, but he looked up at me and gave me a quick nod. I looked straight ahead at Charlotte. She smiled at me and inclined her head to her right.

  I looked to my left, and there stood Gram at the workbench of flower imagination. She was the colour of pink, the type that kissed the ocean at dawn, filling you with love at the exquisite colour palette that adorned the sky.

  I smiled, walked over to her at once and hugged her, gently. ‘Gram, it’s so lovely to see you. Today is a great day!’

  ‘Landi, darling! Today is a great day. I’m here. Please go to the cold room and collect some red roses in their bud form, twelve to be exact.’

  ‘Sure. Anything else while I’m in there freezing?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  I placed the twelve red roses on the workbench for Gram.

  ‘Oh ... love ... eternal. Your grandfather gave me twelve roses when we first started going out. They mean be mine ...’

  Xander ... ‘Gram, you’re a hopeless romantic!’

  ‘I know. That’s how Flowers for Fleur came about.’ She gathered the roses together and tied them with twine, then wrapped them in soft green translucent paper and finally in natural brown paper and tied a red bow around it. ‘You danced wonderfully with Xander at the competition. It was so romantic.’

  ‘You came?’

  ‘Yes. We made it home just in time for my head to spin.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your vertigo, Gram. But I’m glad you came to see me dance with Prince Siegfried.’ We both giggled.

  Gramps arrived then. He collected the flower orders and left.

  I moved about the store with enthusiasm. Was it the thrill of dancing with Xander making me feel alive again? Was it that he had declared his hand to me? Or was it a combination of both? Perhaps it was because Gram was here in the store today, making the world seem right again ...

  At 2pm, I went outside to spritz the flower blooms with water. As I was rearranging some flowers there was a loud sound from inside, followed by running footsteps. I rushed through the doors to find Charlotte next to Gram and glass splintered on the floor. Charlotte was holding Gram’s arm, blood dripping through her fingers. Blood dripping, like on that day ...

  I sucked in a sharp breath through my closed teeth and tensed. My heart rate spiked as my head began to swirl
. Blood. It’s just blood. I visualised my seven pieces of artwork and calmed almost at once.

  I ran to the first aid kit and grabbed a bandage and returned to Gram. ‘Are you spinning?’ I asked, taking over from Charlotte with Gram’s arm.

  ‘No. I just dropped to the ground, without warning.’

  I assessed the cut she had sustained. It needed stitching. I bandaged it to stop the blood flow while Charlotte swept the glass from the floor.

  I texted Gramps.

  ME: Gram’s had an accident. No vertigo. Stitches needed.

  GRAMPS: I’ll be there soon.

  I helped Gram to her office and sat her in the wing chair.

  ‘Hate is not a strong enough word for this damn disease.’ Tears slid down her cheeks.

  My heart cried for her. Life was so unfair.

  As Gramps took Gram out of the store, she walked amongst the flowers: smelling, touching, crying.

  I had to look away. It was excruciating to watch. I concentrated hard on holding in my sob.

  *~*~*~*~*

  I rode my bicycle home slowly after the closure of the store. My thoughts wandered to finding someone else in our family to take over the store in my place. I needed to go back to the base and resume my engineering life. Flowers weren’t me. Xander would have to understand.

  If only Charlotte was family—she knew how to run the store. She knew everything about it to keep it going successfully. But, she wasn't family ...

  How was I going to tell Gram and Gramps I was leaving, and Xander ... ?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  AFTER THREE DAYS, I still couldn’t find the right words to tell my grandparents about returning to the base. Gram was not well. I would have to wait until this cluster of symptoms settled, and then I would tell them of my plans.

  I texted Xander.

  ME: Thanks for the 12 red roses. They are divine.

  XANDER: You’re welcome. Missing you.

  ME: Missing you too. Let’s have the paper plane

  challenge soon.

  XANDER: I would love that. Just deep in

  study at the moment.

  ME: Okay. Tell me when you’re free.

  XANDER: I will. Xx

  ME: xx

  I would talk to Xander about leaving while we flew paper planes. He would have something to distract him from my words that would hurt him. He would have something to look at instead of me. And then I wouldn’t have to see the pain in his eyes. I placed my hand over my heart where it ached.