Life in Paintings

Chapter 17 - The Vision of St Jerome by Guercino

Chapter 17 – The Vision of St Jerome by Guercino

The change from pain to nothingness to a new painting is instant. I barely register it and suddenly everything has changed around me and my hand is around a door knob. Without knocking or waiting for instructions, I just turn it and walk in. I have no patience or even strength for games at this point. I just want to get this over with quickly. Maybe I have some kind of painting quota and the faster I get through all of them, the faster I can get out of here.

I won't throw myself on a sword this time around, but it doesn't mean I won't let it happen either.

As I step through the threshold, I automatically know I'm in an art studio. For some reason though, I don't feel threatened when I walk in, I don't feel like I'm violating someone's space, or like I'm somewhere I shouldn't be. It feels okay to be here, it almost feels nice, like there's something familiar to this space. It's quite an unexpected change.

A boy, well a man, is sitting on a stool in front of a canvas and painting very meticulously. He's completely engrossed with his painting. He hasn't even noticed I walked in. Usually, people notice when I arrive but he doesn't. His art is all that matters.

I look at the man. Sideways, he looks very gorgeous. He looks like a young Johnny Depp, with brown slightly long hair, angular jaw and dreamy eyes. I stop staring at him because it kind of feels wrong to start perving on a guy in a painting.

I take in the studio instead which I realize is also obviously this man's apartment. It's cozy, small but nice. Again, there's something comforting about this place.

"Melody?"

I snap my head and the man isn't painting anymore, he's staring at me, gapping. "How do you kn—" I don't finish my sentence. I just gasp and cover my mouth. This isn't possible. I must be wrong. Sideways I couldn't see it, but now looking at me, those brown eyes boring into mine... "Gustave?"

He knocks the stool he was sitting on to the ground while getting up and takes two dazed steps towards me. "Melody, is this really you?" he asks, his voice catching.

I don't answer right away because I can't believe this. I can barely comprehend what's going on. This is Gustave, it's obvious, it's him, it's his caring but playful eyes and I should have realized sooner that his apartment smelled just like his room—that's what was so familiar about this place. It's him, it's definitely him. But he's not fourteen anymore, that much is also obvious. He's older. He looks my age.

I cover my mouth, and I feel like I might actually cry. "Oh my god, Gustave."

"You remember me?"

"Of course I remember you," I finally manage to breathe. I still can't believe this, can't believe that this curse has given me this gift, has given me Gustave for a second time.

And then he's hugging me and I let him, because he's the closest thing to someone I know I can find in these paintings. He's a comforting figure. And he knows me. "How can you remember me?" I whisper fiercely against his shoulder. Ever since his painting I've been wondering about this, wondering whether he'd remember me or not. It's also weird to think about the fact that the last time he hugged me I was taller than him.

He smiles at that, appraising me. "How could I not remember you?"

"I just..." I shake my head, but I'm smiling, smiling like I haven't been doing in a while, like I haven't done since I last saw him I realize. "I never figured you could remember me. I didn't even realize I could see someone twice, let alone you."