It was more than beautiful. It was raw. Unfiltered.Me.
The tension in my shoulders was captured with deliberate, heavy strokes highlighting my hesitancy. The gentle arch of my back, the looseness in my frame… he had caught the second I gave in, the second I stopped holding myself together. He painted me in shades of vulnerability, in a way I hadn’t even realized I existed.
Beckham said he needed to paint me to understand me. And now, standing before this canvas, I could feel him peeling me open, layer by layer, seeing me in ways I had never seen myself.
He saw me without asking, without permission, without warning.
Why he wanted to understand me in the first place still remained a mystery. And to be honest… I don’t know if I wanted to be understood like this… at least not byhim.
Beckham stood up beside me and handed me his phone. Looking down, I noticed a few pictures of me in the exact pose a few moments ago, capturing the moment I gave into him.
“I only took them to finish up the details so that I wouldn’t bother you for much longer. If you’re uncomfortable with them, you can delete them.”
I thought about it for a moment but shook my head as I handed him back his phone. There wasn’t really a rationale for deleting a few photos but keeping the large canvas painting that took hours to create.
But it still felt wrong. This whole thing did.
“You can use them for the time being,” I whispered, and he nodded as he gazed at me for a little while longer, his eyes not entirely subtle.
Clearing my throat uncomfortably, my eyes glanced over to my neatly folded clothes. “Do you mind…? I want to get dressed.”
His jaw ticked as his eyes lingered on me for a moment before he stepped into another room. He seemed angry with my request, but he didn’t show it. Yet, simply knowing him for only a week or two, I could sense it.
After I finished getting dressed, my fingers fumbled slightly as I tried to force on my ring. After I finally slipped it on, he returned, cleaning one of his brushes with a paper towel.
“I’m not done with you yet,”he said casually in a manner that was too calm for my liking.
I furrowed my eyebrows. “Not done with me? What does that even mean?”
“We’re going to have another session soon.”
I scoffed. “Beckham, I’m not entirely sure if you recall, but we agreed ononesession. I only agreed to do this one portrait for you to become my client.”
His eyes narrowed, something in his expression shifting… growing darker and colder.
“And I’m telling you that I’m. Not. Fucking. Done. With. You,” he growled.
I grabbed my bag as I looked at him in complete disgust. “You’re sick,” I spat, feeling repulsed with myself.
For the first time, he let out a genuine smile and laughed: a genuine, deep, rich laugh that made the hair on my arms rise. He looked at me, genuinely amused, his eyes filled with dark delight, like I had just said something incredibly stupid despite my throat feeling like closing up.
“My little flower…” he mused, a hint of false sympathy in his tone, “you don’t get to make choices anymore.”
Slowly, he approached me, and I gasped as he backed me against the brick stained wall, his voice a mix of softness and something terrifying.
“Youchose to go through with me painting you.Youchose the option of letting me keep the pictures I took of you.Youchose to take off your fucking ring when I was painting you. I’ve given you enough choices…“ His gaze, once sinister, was now devouring every inch of me. “Now, you don’t get any more.”
Pushing him away from me with all my force, I walked over to the door. “Go to hell,” I snarled and left the building without looking back once, his laughter following behind me.
Entering my car, I slammed the door shut and gripped the wheel, my hands shaking. I felt mortified. This man has consumed my thoughts, decisions, feelings,everything. He could ruin my entire life, and I allowed him the tools to do so.
What have I done?
What the fuck have I done?
Chapter six
Rosenna
