Relations on Canvas

Chapter Thirteen.

Day 3.

    I was killing him.

Yet I couldn't let go. Not yet at least, it was selfish, and cruel, but I didn't want to lose him... his pale face still frowned in pain even in his sleep, his breathing becoming rapid as if I chased him in his dreams, and it pained me.

So why couldn't I let him go?

He looked sickly... just the same as Monet had been every time I went to visit at the hospital. My stomach twisted and my neck burned, if I had just been able to control the urge to kill Lancelot... we'd be sharing laughter over tea. You'd be my partner...

    "I'm sorry... I am so sorry... Mary. I don't know why I am being like this... I want to let you go, but I don't at the same time. I'm sorry..." I let my head fall into my hands, it wasn't fair to him for me to be so bipolar, I knew I just needed some days to get my act together- at the sound of a text from my phone I froze.

    Was it all even worth planning? I had hurt Mary, I deserved to be cast into jail... so why had I stopped him from calling the police? What was wrong with me?!

A second text came through and I stood to collect my phone; 'Your meeting with Mr. Hansworth is confirmed. Tuesday 24th, 5:00 pm at-' I set it down, that was too soon. I- I didn't know what to do with Mary yet. Why was everything so muddy now?!

    Mary's quiet groan had me by his side immediately, and I watched anxiously as he began to cough, lifting a hand to cover his mouth as if to stop himself. I assumed running so much and the scares wouldn't help the ailment he clearly had... "Mary... can I get you anything?" I whispered, the guilt wracking my body at seeing his weak state, meeting his gaze to which he looked at the ceiling.

"...Water..?" I nodded, standing.

"I'll be right back..." quickly I went to the kitchen, the half made breakfast from the day prior still on the counter. Ignoring the mess I took a pitcher and glass of water, collecting a straw on my way back. Mary still lay on the bed, a few tears on his cheeks. "Here..." I sat, gently lifting his head so he could drink as I brought the straw to his lips, waiting as he drank till he choked, quickly withdrawing the glass.

"...This is so messed up..." His voice cracked, and as he turned to cough violently into the pillows I stood to get him honey, rushing back with the jar and spoon.

"I'm sorry... Mary... I really am." I murmured, lifting his head once more, "the honey should help your throat..."

"...I don't want that... That won't help..." He pulled away, wincing when his arm moved. "...Stop saying sorry."

"I don't know what else to say, Mary... and what can I get you to help?" I knew I sounded desperate... but I had to keep my emotions calm, switching up on him so much would only scare him further.

"...You could take me to a hospital..?" His slight irritation was deserved, I actually wanted him to be mad, it made more sense then the concern he gave only days prior. "But you won't..."

"... not yet." I shook my head, "I will- just, not yet." He took a deep breath, shaking as he moved to sit up, silence falling between us till he met my gaze.

"...Elia..."

"Yes...?" I tried not to lean forward when he spoke, still being drawn to him.

"It's...this, isn't your fault..." He looked away, staring at the blankets. "And I hate that it isn't... but it's true." What was he saying.

"Mary- it is. How is it not? I should have just controlled myself, I shouldn't have instigated him to apologize. I should have left it be." So many should haves... and I had ignored them all. "You wouldn't have a broken arm, been so scared- I ruined it. I accept-"

"But I know... for a fact you weren't born like this... It's not your fault... I fell, you didn't do that... I kissed you...I should've just gone to bed..." His voice quivered, tears now running down his cheeks. And I couldn't answer. How. How could he blame himself? How could you be so kind...

"No- no. Mary, don't put anything of this on you. You can't possibly think you are to blame for anything. You are... too kind, how can you be so kind..." I covered my face when tears threatened to fall. I couldn't cry.

"...It's not that I'm kind... It's that it's true... If it weren't... you wouldn't be crying." Lowering my hands from my face I gazed at his sad smile. "It doesn't make it okay. That's not what I'm saying... Nothing that you did was okay. It just- wasn't your fault..."

"Mary- stop worrying about me. Please, I deserve this guilt. Don't- don't try and make it any lighter." I reached for his hand but paused, lowering my own back to my lap, but when he took it I looked at him quickly.

"I can't pretend nothing happened between us, but you're making it so hard to remember..." The blankets were damp with his tears, his voice no more than a whisper, he could have meant the blossoming love we shared that I had crushed... but something felt off, as if he meant more than that.

"If... if it's easier for you to forget... what we had... please, Mary, please do." his hand was cold in mine, and I gently held it in the both of mine to warm it. His quiet tears turned into soft sobs, his hand tightening its grasp on mine, only breaking away when he began to cough, leaning on the other side of the bed, at first calm but as he choked, failing to catch his breath I quickly leaned over, covering his mouth to ease his breathing, releasing him once his coughing died down. His heavy breathing was the only sound for a moment in the room.

"... you have... medication. Right?" I glanced at the window, the closed blinds leaving only a ray of sunlight into the room.

"...I'm fine. Don't worry about that..." he failed to convince me as he began to cough again, before I could help he fumbled out of the bed, heading to my bathroom but falling onto his knees before he came close. Leaning down I picked him up, taking him instead. Helping him stand by the sink.

"I'll get your medication." I whispered, "stay here... alright? You are in no state to run." I hated how he didn't have any color in his face, how his body shook with effort to simply move, and as he coughed into the sink, falling slowly to the ground I crouched to make sure he didn't lean on his broken arm.

"...I-won't..."He choked out, but when he lowered his hand from his mouth, the blood on his sleeve sent me running to his home. I was killing him.

Frantically I looked through his bathroom, finding the prescription bottles, scooping them into a plastic bag. So many... I bent to pick one up that fell yet I froze at the label.

Mary Monet Claire.

My gut dropped. It couldn't be true- slowly taking it I stared at the name. Monet. My... Monet... it was the same sickness I thought had taken him as a child... his same auburn hair and green eyes, the smile that always brought me joy... my muse and artist...

Stumbling back, I made my way back to my home in a daze, stepping over my bedroom door where it lay in the hallway, stopping at the bathroom entrance, Monet still struggling to catch his breath on the bathroom floor.

"Monet...?" I whispered, and when he froze, I crumbled.