Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 20

Episode 4 years ago

Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 20

The hospital did not put on the generator, and the outside light entering the room gradually dimmed. Ivie tried managing the shimmers from the windows, but the rainy weather and dim clouds did no favour. She needed the light to finish her gouache, and needed Richard to watch her work as she painted so his boredom could lessen. He had been pressing his phone buttons since the rains began and had not yet said his reason for visiting—to take her. The doctor had discussed it with her several times and had clearly stated she had no choice. It was the most crucial stage of her recovery, he had said. If not for nothing, do it for the man. It was worth a try. It was worth a risk.

She snuck a look to Richard whose fingers were glued to his cell phone. He would probably wait for the rains to cease before he leaves—or before they leave. But be it a good thing or not, the rains should stop. She needed the subsequent light to help in her gouache painting and the blustering overworked her ears.

The bulb lightened and tripped off instantly. That distracted Richard from his phone, and led his eyes to her work. “Can you see what you’re doing?”
“I can manage.” She stopped applying paint and cleaned her hand with a rag.
“How long do those take to dry?”

“Days.”
“Days?” He placed his phone on the chair.
“Yes.”
He walked to her and positioned at her side, fixed at the marshland painting. The paint’s odour did not allow her catch any scent of him. “You love landscapes and things of nature. Your paintings say so.”
“They are the easiest to paint while sitting on a bed.”

His fingers created thin marks on the painting’s edges as they circled it. “Does this really kill your urges?”
She knew that would be the next question and had not prepared an answer for it. It was one of those many questions without answers. He wanted the truth. It was very much written on him. But sometimes the truth wasn’t needed. “Yes it does,” she said. Sometimes one needed to feel like an achiever, and if the truth would not cause that, then it should be thrown off. What mattered was not if she had found what killed her urge or if the urge could even be killed. What mattered was him feeling like an achiever and know his time and money were worthwhile.

He caressed her work, grazing its edges with his thumb. She wondered what could be happening inside him. Art usually stirred up something inside someone; she wondered what is being stirred up inside him.
“Come spend some time in my house,” he said, as though it was what supposed to be done. “I know you have a place, a home, and something doing, but this is necessary. It wouldn’t go on for long. Possibly, after a month, you would go back to your normal schedule, but this is something you have to do for your recovery. I have abundant rooms.”
“The doctor and I discussed it,” she said.
“And what did you decide?”

He cared as though he was entitled to, and did not bother hiding it. It could be nothing but his philanthropic nature. Nothing but that. She shifted gaze back to him. He wanted to hear a yes, needed to hear a yes. “I’m still on treatment, so I do what the doctor says.”
“Good choice. In the next few months, your illness is sure to leave.” He looked at the windows, at the rains that made no promises to stop. Refocusing on the painting, he thumbed a portion of it, and some of the paint glued to his thumb. “The paint will take long to dry.”

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“Lander Close, GRA.”
She remained mute, trying to form her next words. “Thank you, Richard.” There was a reason to say that, even if she was without what kills the devil in her, even if it was not yet in her hands.

“Should we leave now? We’ll dodge the rains to my car.”
The choice of leaving with him or not yet divided her head and would have sure torn it apart had the doctor not decided for her. What would she have chosen if she were to? She carried the painting to a corner of the room and slanted it at the bottom.
“Aren’t you taking the painting along?”
“I’m leaving it here.” She made for the drawer, drew it open, and arranged the few things in her bag.

“You brought few clothes.”
“I stay indoors almost all day.”
She slung the bag over her shoulder and they left the room to the already darkened outside. Her feet could not manage the pavements enough to escape the drops and splashes.
More splashes met them as they ran into the downpour, heading for the parking lot, where she met a full dose of the rain, and even more as they rushed into the car.

It was hard to swallow, but there she was, next to him, on the road to his house, in wet clothes.