Breathe

The studio door loomed above like the moon. Hetta had come inside a small courtyard through a heavy wooden and wrought-iron gate. Imported stones in mosaic lined the corridor. There were three steps up to the door, that had a brass name plate engraved: D. Greggory Stitt. Hetta was nervous as she reached up to knock on the door. The heavy perfume of linseed oil and espresso assaulted her senses as she walked inside. She stood for a moment inside and adjusted her skirt. The first thing she noticed was a portrait of a woman, hair pulled into a scarf, eyes cast down. It was exquisite, there was no trace of the charcoal strokes on paper. There were no impressions on the fine cotton fibers. It was like the image was breathed onto paper in an ecstasy.

“Are you a dancer?”

“No.”

“An athlete?”

“No.”

“How in the hell did you manage to get such nice legs?” He said it with such an easy smile, it didn't feel like flirting.

The girl blushed and looked down, in doing so she admired her legs.

"This next part is tedious, I'm going to have you sit here in this chair, but I'll probably have you getting up and down a lot until we find the right pose."

"Alright." Hetta was shy and unsure of herself. She had met Greggory Stitt but this was the first time she had ever been alone in the same room with him.

“Turn to the right, no, not that much. There, that's good, now tilt your head slightly toward the wall. Good, stay right there. Wait, can you open your lips, just slightly? Good. You are a natural. Hold that pose."

There was a long void of silence where the only sound was Greggory's slow, steady breathing. The yellow sunlight filtered through the high windows and bathed Hetta's face in an astral glow. As Hetta sat, still as a statue, her eyes couldn't help but wander to a collection of canvasses stacked against the far wall. The silky flesh of sprawling nude women looked almost touchable. As she relaxed, she could almost imagine the bodies lifting off the canvass. They were so life-like, Hetta imagined them breathing. The Sun's light was burning orange and warm, threatening to disappear over the horizon.


***


The light of a full moon was pouring through the window, it was almost as bright as dusk. Greggory was sitting in his chair in shadow, beneath the window.

“Take off your clothes.”

Hetta laughed awkwardly. “What?”

“Take off your clothes. I promise I won't touch you, just stand here in front of the window.”

Hetta's heart beat hard against her chest. She had never taken her clothes off in front of anyone before. She wasn't sure why she did it, but she pulled her shirt over her head. She felt empowered by the muffled thump it made as it hit the floor. She unhooked her bra, though her hands were shaking, she managed to slide her skirt off and step out with confidence. As she stood there in the light of the moon, the thought occurred to her that she may be in danger. The air felt like water on her skin. She felt like she was floating in mid air, enveloped in a robe of darkness. Being naked felt new and strangely unfamiliar.

“Turn to the side. Alright, now turn around all the way. Good God, you are lovely. Thank you. You can put your clothes back on.”

Hetta smiled in the darkness.


***


Hetta was driving home when she first noticed her hands going numb. She opened and closed her hands, there was a tingly sensation that made her sick to her stomach. The dark roads were twisty and black and Hetta felt out of control. She eased off the gas pedal and took a deep breath. The fear and paranoia she had known as a little girl came to her in the penetrating darkness. She felt small and vulnerable, imagining horrible things happening in the black night. The tall pines loomed over her, standing sentinel to unknowable things. Flashing horrors emerged, unbidden. She wondered how many bodies could be decomposing just under the surface, not far from where she was.

That night, Hetta dreamed that she was lying on the floor of Greggory's Studio. Greggory lay beside her dangling some sparkling bauble in her peripheral vision, but she was focused on his features. His body was warm and convincing. She watched his face as he spoke, unable to make out what he was saying. When she woke up, the comforting warmth still clung to her skin. As she thought of the dream, she felt a combination of warmth and forboding.


***

"I'm not quite ready for you Hetta, would you mind waiting, just a minute? Feel free to look at whatever books you'd like. I've got to run and grab a coffee. Would you like anything?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine."

The studio seemed larger without Greggory there. Hetta hadn't noticed before how tall the ceilings where. She gazed casually at the wall of books and chose one with the words "Waterhouse" on the binding. She flipped through the pages carelessly and then she noticed something familiar out of the corner of her eye. Behind stacks of canvasses, a hand sticking out. She couldn't pin it down, but she knew it was familiar. She walked over and started leafing through and there at the end was a moonlit body that she recognized as her own. A nearly photographic quality piece. It was impossible.

"Hetta?"

Hetta was so startled to hear her name that she jumped back, and in doing so, let 3 canvasses fall in clumsy succession onto the ground. When Greggory saw the scene unfold, his face fell into a storm. Hetta's cheeks burned.

"I'm so sorry, I just, I thought." Hetta bent over to try and put the artwork back in order.

"Please don't touch anything! No! Let me." Greggory carefully picked up the paintings and inspected each one.

"I am very sorry." Hetta repeated.

She waited for Greggory to explain the moonlit piece, but he was only muttering to himself. Hetta stayed near the wall so as not to touch anything, she made sure she was near the door as well, in case she needed to make a get away.

Suddenly, as if he had read her thoughts, Greggory's face lifted and smoothed out.

"No harm done. I will have to be more clear about the studio rules. Nobody touches my work. And the model chooses the music. Go ahead and find something while I set up."

Hetta carefully leafed through a stack of music and put in a Dead can Dance CD. She took her place, wide eyed and unsteady.

"Good choice." Greggory said, almost automatically. "Listen, I'm sorry about being abrupt. Forgive an old man for being panicky about his work, alright?"

"Sure." Hetta smiled, though she wasn't sure why. "I'm sorry too."

"You've said. Now, can you please tilt your head forward, just a tad. Exactly. And look over in that direction, up at the clock. That is great."


"What made you decide to take off your clothes last time?" Greggory asked. He sounded disinterested.

"You did."

"No, I didn't. I didn't touch you. I just asked."

"I usually do what I'm told."

"Even when it's dangerous?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Hetta, you really should be more careful. People can be unpredictable."

"Is it me, over there? In that painting?"

"What painting?" He said, smiling slightly.

"The one I was looking at when you came in, the one with the moonlight?"

"You flatter yourself, Hetta."

Hetta took aback. "So, it isn't me?"

"Would you do it again?" Greggory asked?

"Do what?" Hetta knew exactly what.

"Take off your clothes."

"No."

"No? Really?" Greggory's eyebrows shot up.

"No, and now you are creeping me out."

Greggory let out a musical guffaw which strangely put Hetta at ease. "Now, I think I adore you Hetta."

Hetta warmed at the thought of being adored.

***

The waning moon was still bright and luminous through the high studio window. Greggory had not moved from his place beneath the window.

"Take off your clothes."

Hetta swallowed. Her numb hands blistered against her clothes as she pulled her sweater over her head. She could hear Greggory's slow, steady breathing as she tossed her clothes in a little heap on the floor. The cool, watery air enveloped her again and she stood in the light of the moon once more. She noticed the tingly feeling immediately, this time. It radiated from her wrists to her shoulders, and then there was a cold electric feeling in her chest.

"Breathe." Greggory's voice seemed to take a long time to travel to her and the sound crackled and shuddered as if it were traveling through water.

"Oh, I don't feel so well." Hetta heard the words echo as she said them.

"Breathe." The crackly voice reverberated deeper and warped.

"I have to sit down." Hetta's own voice was echo-y and weak.

"Just breathe." Greggory said as he moved toward her.

As the darkness descended, Hetta felt molecules of herself distend and spray outward. She felt the world tip over and creak as she slowly disappeared, into the ether.