The Nobleman's Angel

The scent of booze and cigarette lingered inside the cabaret, nudging me to close my eyes while remembering the same smell that infiltrated my innocence. Memories clouded my mind. I have always thought that I already left my past, but the remnants of that ordeal still haunt me to this day.   I remember escaping just before dawn. I remember the sunset right before my eyes — the red violet sky meeting the sea as when I called for help. Years of living with a monster made me emotional, that seeing the sunset can tear me up into pieces.   I love sunsets. I often wander to the coast to see the sun setting over the horizon. I love how the sun meets the sea; it is like the risk meets the immobile, giving the sense of balance. What I love about sunsets the most is the gradient colors painted across the sky. Since the bluish color is linked to tranquility, the sun grants the sky a new taste of passion, anger, love, hope, and the other emotions of the human mind.   I sipped the booze. The pang of the alcohol made my throat ache for more. Since the beginning of my healing, I resorted to drinking and smoking. I am well aware it won't do me any good, but it helps me cope and live the life I missed in the years of hope's absence.   The cabaret is my home. Home does make you feel safe, and this is the sanctuary that took me in when I was in ruins. I do not feel safe in my own house; his traces are still visible to my naked eye. Even his voice can still be heard throughout the hell I have been tortured in.   After a year of finding reasons to keep going, I am still here, having no improvements at all. Everyday is getting worse. I reckon living in the same house after what happened will always bring nothing but series of chaotic memories. I plan on purchasing another home with the money I got from the court, but it will not be enough to sustain my daily needs. I have no job because I know I am still incapable of handling stress. My therapist advised me to just stay at home and do what I love.   How can I stay home when there is no home to begin with? I often ask myself, only to land on the same answer. The cabaret is my home, booze and cigarette is my savior, and s*x is the shortcut to heaven.   On November nights like this, when the sky is darker than most nights; all hope for tomorrow always left me bereft. As much as I love darkness, I want to break free from its unending chain. I lived in the dark since the world began, and I did everything just to see the light; but I reckon it is not yet the time to have the light of my life.   I’ve been going under therapy for six months now. I wouldn’t assume I am getting better and I also wouldn’t say I am getting worse as days pass. There are days when I couldn’t take it anymore and there are days when I want to live like I am dying – and this night is that day. Desire is my fuel, whereas living should be my drive, but sometimes I think I am better off under the dirt. After all, my life is as despicable as I am.   Six months of taking expensive medicines for my depression and six months of taking sleeping pills just to sleep are the most difficult steps of this process since I am in financial ruins. I have no work aside from few art commissions. I cannot explain the severity of my state through words; my actions will if someone wishes to see this side of m. Some of the people who only know me through one glance always assume I am as sane as the rest, but I always tell them this: mental illness has no face.   One last look on my wristwatch and disappointment struck me as I found out that my client is already late by fifteen minutes. Within this month, only two people came and asked me if I do accept commissions knowing that I am not yet alright; but with all delight I accepted their offers. Every time I produce a work of art, the broken pieces of my soul fall back into place. No amount of medicine and sleeping pills can make me alright like in painting.   As a little girl who lived and grew up in an isolated place, painting became my life. I have nothing to do besides painting for that is the only thing I am capable of doing. So, when I got out from the orphanage, my dream fixated with the thing I am good at. I wanted to be an artist, but fate is uncertain and now I am at ruins.    Not that fate is the one to blame, partly my choices contributed greatly to this state, which I painfully regret. My therapist once told me that if I regret everything, the only thing I could do to apologize to my past self is to reform my present self. I am constantly trying to change my ways for myself and for my future, but I always end up feeling disappointed for my fate is irrevocable.   What is written by fate will never be changed.   Losing patience and getting tired of waiting, I stood up from the stool to leave the cabaret. As when I was fixing my pouch, making sure that I left nothing, a hand touched my back. I turned around to see my client’s face that looks apologetic that he was late.   “I am sorry for being late, Angel.”   My client’s baritone voice passed right through my veins, and slowly made its way to my stagnant heart. Now that his voice resonated within me, my heart swayed along with the rhythm of it.   “It’s alright Mr. Carson. I bet you had it rough because of your tiring schedule.” I tried sounding professional and all, but I wonder why the tone of my voice is sounding so morose he almost got himself taken aback.   His face softened as he withdrawn a smile of apology, “I sincerely apologize for this inconvenience. I promise to mend this misfortune that ruined your night.”   The sensual sound that surrounds the cabaret suddenly shifted into a mellow-jazz music that made me want to dance, but since my client is here, looking so dashingly fine and apologetic, I had no choice but to accompany him. Above all, he is on the top of my list as always.   “Shall we leave?”   This is where the sky meets the sea. West Coast became my home for eight years, and this is the place that captured my lost heart looking for its destination. West Coast is, and will always be the first place that took me in when I had no home to dwell in. My house was situated only a kilometre away from the sea, so when I have time to spare, I always drive by to the shore to capture the scenery through painting.   My client always tells me I am an old-fashioned woman. I find his words a compliment. I have a camera with me, but I don’t know why I couldn’t let such beautiful scenery be out of my eyes without painting it. Camera is more convenient, I know but I choose to stay entwined with the scenery through efforts of painting it.   As my eyes were glued to the sparkling sea, my client beside me placed his jacket around my shoulders. I stared at him in awe, and plastered the sweetest smile I could give.   “Thank you.”   My client didn’t answer my gratitude; instead, he beckoned me to seat with him by the sea. A sudden gush of wind had blown my hair into my face, blocking my vision since the night is just creeping behind us. I tucked my hair behind my ear as I move my way to his side.   “Paint this now, Angel…” he said gently as he reached for my hand, “that is my request. Paint the both of us just like this.”   The darkness concealed my reddened face, though I reckon he must have seen what lies behind my countenance so he chuckled and held me close to him. And with the moon over the sea, we silently viewed the sky full of glitters as it reflected the dark sea, now sparkling with the lights above.   “That’s all?”   “I am tired posing alone for your portraits. I want to be painted with you by my side.” My client demanded, yet with his gentle voice, his demanding approach turned into a wish of a child I’d like to grant.   “You are the first client who requested that.” I whispered, averting his calculating gaze.   My client put his head on my shoulder, “and I would like to be the last.” he then muttered as he softly hummed with the sound of the wind.   “Let’s see about that, Mr Carson.”   The night ended with soft kisses and warm conversation. My client and I always meet up during the night, and our nightly engagements became the sole reason why I fell in love with the night. I’ve always hated nights even if it is my friend, but after I met him and after he turned every night a night to remember, the blood in my veins flowed again, slowly disseminating life throughout my whole body.   I woke up this morning finding him not on my side anymore. This is a usual sight for he is a busy man and has many endeavours to do. I am no in position to barricade his dreams for I have mine to chase too. We have talked about this a million of times; that our dreams must come first before our whirling romance.   I am scheduled this morning to meet my therapist downtown West Coast. Albeit too tired to wake up early, I was forced to stand up and fix myself with the thought of disappointing him if I don’t show up. My therapist tried everything to help me, only was I too attached to the past and couldn’t forget and forgive. I know everything takes time, but I wonder why I am far from forgiving myself. I caused myself wounds so even if years had passed by; I will never forgive myself for scathing my heart and my soul with such selfish decisions and impudence that foretold my fate.   Still, what I have right now is incomparable to the past. I consider myself as a clover – a fortunate leaf that had sprouted amidst catastrophe. The soil that catered my roots is the same battleground that impeded my growth, yet I’ve finally come to realize that I have nowhere to go if I don’t bloom on my own. “How is it going, Audere?”                “Good, but not quite.”   With thick-framed spectacles and dignified voice, my therapist’s countenance screams reverence. His face is devoid of any emotion, but his eyes are gleaming with gentleness I’ve always adored.  My therapist is a good-looking man – the reason why there are nurses who wants to catch a glimpse of him right at this moment. I can hear muffled giggles and murmurs, which I reckon were compliments about him.   “Did you try what I instructed you?” He inquired while looking serious as he perused the documents on the table.   I clasped my hands together and lowered my head to hide my shame, “Barely…”   “Take a walk, exercise, have s*x. As bold as it sounds, s*x is the gateway to heaven, Audere.”   I bit my lips hard and averted his gaze. My whole body is shaking right now because of a reason my mind cannot accept. The sweat accumulating between my fingers made it impossible for me to hold my hands together tightly, so I had no choice but to put my hands on my lap.   “Is that all we are talking about?” Unsure of this question, I stood up and held on to my bag while looking down on him asking for confirmation.   Now he is staring right through my clothes like he always does.  I didn’t find his seductive look for my heart will always be familiar with his soft and loving eyes that stare at me as if I am the most beautiful thing on earth. My therapist slowly arose from the swivel chair and towered over me.   Eyes locking and smell mingling, he muttered under his breath:   “Do not lock the door.”   “Your pleasure, Mr. Carson..."