The Auction House Deal: Bought by A Billionaire
Chapter 170: Art Therapy: Hannah
As much peace and joy I had found the night before, it didn’t seem to carry over to my dreams.
Though, calling them dreams felt inaccurate. Night terrors was more appropriate.
Flashes of men in masks, gloved hands touching me, smothering me. Screaming but it not making a sound. Screeching tires. Threats whispered in my ears. Being able to see Roman in the distance but not managing to get his attention.
Jerking awake, I gasped for air, and had to look around and really ground myself to the moment in order to calm down.
I was in mine and Roman’s room in our house. It was late fall. I was safe with an army of bodyguards and security on the property. Okay. I was okay.
Looking over to where Roman should have been laying, I saw that he was gone.
I knew that he couldn’t have gone into the office; he would have woken me to say goodbye.
Getting out of bed and putting on a t-shirt and overalls, I knew I was going to quickly find myself heading for the craft room. If there was any good use of my time that day, it was going to be getting my feeling out into some sort of physical craft. I stopped only long enough to get coffee and tie my hair up before heading into the room.
Putting in my earbuds, I blasted some music. I didn’t even give myself time to consider what it was I wanted to do. I was going to throw myself into whatever came to mind first and I would go task to task. The last thing I needed to do was overthink things.
My first stop was at the pottery wheel. I spun the clay without direction or idea for a while, before I started to make some sort of strange, twisted sculpture.
The instant I began to get frustrated that it wasn’t turning out the way I wanted it to be, I smashed it. A great deal of satisfaction rippled through me when I did.
I was in control, and no one else. This was about me getting my emotions out and feeling better, not about necessarily making anything beautiful.
I felt a strange sense of euphoria as I went about my crafting. Never had I been so carefree and reckless with it.
I had always tried so hard to make something beautiful, something worth showing to another person. That time, it was all for me. It wasn’t about skill or beauty, it was about losing myself fully and getting out all the frustration, hurt, and anger that was festering away in my body.
I hated that.
I hated that it was still there, especially after such a picturesque evening with our family. I hated that the Auction House seemed to define my life. Even if it was what gave me Roman, I wanted so badly to delete it from my mind.
I thought about that one movie, The Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, and how perfect it would be to just delete the memories of the Auction House. Maybe they could feed me a more pleasant story of how Roman and I met. After all, Roman and Freddy had known one another. It could have been as simple as that.
When my fist once again came down onto the wet pottery, specks of clay splattering across the floor and my overalls, I decided that I needed to do something else.
As satisfying as it was, I felt it was only manifesting my anger, rather than getting it out. I couldn’t sit around and smash clay creations all day. Or, at least I didn’t think I should.
Moving over to the painting supplies, I took great liberation in covering a large, stretched canvas in gesso. As I attempted to wait for it to dry, I filled a palette with various different colors and took one of those spatula things and mixed some together.
I did it until I had an array of colors I felt content with. Then, looking at the canvas, I selected just a plain black and began painting squiggles and various lines all over it. It was something that I had seen online the last time I had hunted for inspiration.
Standing back, I studied the madness I had unleashed and then, without thinking too much, began filling in the lines with colors and shapes to express what I saw in the outline I created.
I honestly kind of impressed myself with how I filled the page. While none of it was done with a great deal of skill, it told a story.
It was a forest scene with mushrooms, tall and limber trees, a river, and creatures all over it. From pixies and fairies, to squirrels, to dark things. Things with large mouths and sharp teeth, with things lingering in the shadows with inhumanely long arms and fingers, with hollow eyes and no mouth.
After a while, it was a clear scene of my innocent and happy little fairy town with mushroom and flower houses, with monsters lingering in the forest, awaiting to pounce on the unsuspected village.
I knew the parallels between the painting and my life. Roman and our happy life we had was the little town, and the Auction House was the monsters. Waiting to ruin the fun—the dancing circles, the bonfires and fairy cakes—with their malicious and cruel attacks.
After a while, I stood back with labored breathing and looked at my madness.
It wasn’t skillful by any means. Most of the shapes and shading were borderline childish. However, I liked it. It had managed to capture the terrors I had lived through that night in my dreams. It had gotten it onto paper.
Some part of me longed to burn it.
I contemplated the possibility. I could take it out to the firepit in the backyard and burn it before anyone even noticed I was gone, besides the security detail.
Maybe I shouldn’t though, I thought; maybe I should save it for further inspiration. For those days I felt similar to when I had when I walked into that room, so that I knew it was possible to get at least some of it out.
After a while, I decided to spare it for the time being.
Sighing, I moved the easel over to the window to let it dry in the sun. I would store it once it was dry. No one else needed to see it. It was for my eyes only.
Taking in a deep breath, I turned back to the chaos I had created and began the cleaning-up phase.
With rags and a mop, I cleaned up the clay and paint I had gotten all over the floor first. I then managed to store the clay safely, then the paints. When it came to cleaning the paint brushes, I took my time. I labored over every brush, using the gentle soap and my fingers to massage the paint out of the hairs. Using a soft sponge, I did my best to get the paint off the handle as well.
I could tell just from the quality of the wood and hair that Roman had spent a pretty penny on them, and I wanted to make sure to keep them clean and cared for. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if they were ruined, something that would have been easily replaced, but it would have been a big deal to me.
Roman had spent a great deal of time and consideration and care planning that room for me. I wanted to care for it with the care I knew he would have treated any gift I made for him.
Once the room was clean, I took a deep breath and panned around.
It wasn’t even lunch time yet—it was no where near time. I had only managed to kill about an hour and a half. There had to be something more for me to do.
Maybe I gave up on painting too quickly? I was feeling a bit better. I didn’t feel a manic need to get emotions out.
Yet, I needed a way to spend the day. I thought it best to leave business for another day. Taking a day off wouldn’t set things back, and there wasn’t really much to do until after the gala.
However, sewing or crocheting felt too new and slow for me. It would have led me to being frustrated.
After some digging around and consideration, I chose just to sit at a desk with a sketchpad and some pencils.
I doodled and scribbled without care or precision, just trying to pass some time as I thought about what it was I wanted to really do with my day.
I needed a way to relax, to rid of the Auction House and the charity for the day. Maybe I should go for a run? I hadn’t worked out in a few days. It would be nice to have that physical outlet too...
Just as I stood to go change into some workout clothes and fetch some water, I paused at the sight of Kristen in the doorway.