Ruin
The tinkling sound suddenly appears in the silent morning when a key is slid into the deadbolt. The worn-out wooden door painfully wails even under the tender bending. “Victor? You still alive?” The ringing, stepping sound of stilettoes, in contrast to the soft muttering, wakes me in surprise. “Yes! Ms. Elizabeth, I’m alive.” I kick those hollow cans of coke aside while running to the entry. “That’s a joke, still, lovely. I suppose I don’t happen to disturb you? Your appearance isn’t quite okay.” I tiredly run my fingers through my messy hair before responding, “Yes, um, everything is okay.” I sniff a little while packing my backpack and stuffing materials like pigments and brushes inside. “Okay… to tell the truth, I’m also here to collect the rent you mentioned yesterday.” Handing me the keys that I left on the sink in the washroom, she cautiously asks. “Shit, I forgot. It’s… it’s somewhere in here contained in a white envelope. Could you get it yourself? Sorry, I’m extremely running out of time here.” In advance of completely exiting the apartment, my burnt wrist is tightly gripped. “Lastly, I’m here to discuss the paintings that your sister has left. I can help arrange an auction session for you. The profit will definitely assist in helping you…to live.”
I sense the time forever pauses in this moment where the previous rush and race are lost in the abyss of sentiments and memories. “I’ll… I’ll consider the offer.” My voice is frail, as if a tear vanishes in the rain.
“Get the fuck out of my studio, Victor! You ruined this painting!” A brush is fiercely tossed onto the ground while the easel is kicked and thus decimated. A sense of smothering inexplicably pervades into every section of my body, choking me almost into unconsciousness. “It’s your fucking fault, which you can’t even pay off. Could you even understand your stupidity on this matter?”
“You should perish in the beginning.” She sighs, speaking viscerally.
“Victor? You alright?” A friendly soft voice that contains the matching vibrant vibe occurs suddenly. “I’m alright!” I respond quickly even if the question appears to be blurred to me. “Wonderful… though I suspect you heard the question. Anyhow, I’m lacking a hand in this assignment. You want to join?” I greedily inhale every piece of oxygen my lungs can occupy, ensuring that I’m still alive while the transparent tears are running inside my pupils. “Of course, that’ll be wonderful.” Roxy smiles brightly and moves the easel closer for us to continue working on the sketching. “Do you have time to grab a bite after this course? I know a place that is astoundingly well-known around here.” I couldn’t respond to her question due to the shock I received. It is not about the suddenness, but that even while talking nonsense and whatnot, smiling as if losing every sense of intelligence, she still paints a sketch that is so magnificent in comparison to the rubbish that I vomit.
“Ah…Wonderful. That’ll be fantastic.” I silently gulp down the sentiment.
The environment is so tranquil and silent that even the slight budging sound of the air conditioner is audible. Surrounded by various marvelous paintings wrapped carefully in parchment paper and cardboard sitting still on the ground. “Mr. Victor Blane, I’m Eille. The one who mainly arranged the memorial exhibition of your sister, Olivia Blane.” She smiles politely. “Pleasure seeing you, Ms. Eille. I simply want to mention that these are the paintings I could obtain at the moment. Nevertheless, I suppose there could be more in her place.” I say. Eille cautiously inspects the paintings before responding, “That’s very brilliant, Mr. Victor. She is truly one of the most supreme artists in the world, and I assure you that this exhibition will be done accurately.”
The rumbling voice in the washroom somewhat startles me out of nowhere when the lights conceal themselves behind the veil of darkness embellished in faint illumination. After some inspections on different components, I realize that there’s an issue with the toilet. The thundering noise continues to aggravate, as if the house wobbles according to the vibration. Suddenly, snippets of the previous moments flash before my pupils. Even though I understand that a remedy must be done, or else this place would more or less be destroyed. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but simply stand to witness the turmoil happening as it should be. It’s as if a compelling sentiment is controlling me regardless of my rationale.
A frail thud appears on the worn-out door. “Darling, what’s the issue? I heard something. Please tell me you’re okay.” Dressed in a white silk nightgown while rubbing her pupils tiredly, Elizabeth asks. However, the fatigue shifts into pure surprise as she witnesses that I’m seriously drenched. “It’s alright. Something’s off with the washroom. I got it though.” I reply sluggishly when drops of water are disgustingly falling onto the ground and taint it with puddles as they pass through.
“That toilet is completely broken. I suppose I’ll call someone to fix it tomorrow morning.” Elizabeth hands me a cup of cocoa before sitting on the couch tiredly. “No. Ms. Elizabeth. I’ll fix it. It’s not that serious of a matter.” I place it onto the ground, as every section of the apartment is currently engulfed and utterly drowned in destroyed paintings and sketches. “You’ll fix it? Victor, come on! You shouldn’t be responsible for this difficulty.” She exclaims. The light of my pupils almost disappears completely as this messy sentiment of tiredness swirls up inside. “… I got this.” To a point I’m not even sure if this is a statement or simply a mantra I believe to work.
The silence arrives as none of us are willing to continue the topic. Elizabeth’s hands are gripping the cup of cocoa she poured for herself while watching its white gas slowly disappear.
Sitting unconsciously while lying on the easel in the morning, the electrical sound of calling pierces the apartment before the sickening dimmed sunlight. “Mr. Blane. This is Eille of the memorial exhibition project. About the apartment of Olivia, there appear to be pieces of painting that aren’t yet identified. Would it be okay for you to come and inspect those yourself? Of course, it is under the circumstance that the schedule fits yours.” The unfinished assignment of sketching scattered on the ground, I stand to wash myself a little before the course begins. “Yeah, evening sounds good to you?”
“Wonderful!” “Fuck!” Our voices overlapped while I carelessly stepped on the cup of yesterday’s cocoa. Its color spills on the stained ground and aggravates the entire circumstance into a messier disaster. Somehow, the broken washroom gets through my head. I thus grab a marker on the messy ground and write “Broken” on a piece of white paper. I stick it onto the toilet.
“Mr. Blane. I regret to tell you this, but the previous assignment isn’t quite up to the standard. You must understand that it is a precious opportunity to learn at Blackwood University. Would you even claim to like the current pieces you’ve forged? Please, stop messing around and be industrious on it. This is not a playground.” I toss every sketch into the bin mindlessly as I exit the university. There is not a moment when I’m not aware of the level of caliber that I possess. Sometimes, even I’m demented by the rationale behind studying art. I’m not built like that.
“Mr. Victor Blane. I must clarify that we’re quite stunned by the experience. You worked in, like, authentic restaurants. Sous and grill. Hence, I must ask, why would you apply to be in here? This is a maid cafe where it requires not much cooking, and I don’t suppose this cafe could afford the amount of payment of your previous work.”
My shirt is stained by various pigments and different careless presses of the brush. “I’m aware. I…I was fired since almost every restaurant requires a more attentive and dedicated employee…while I must attend to university and studying…” “I understand. It must be very difficult for you ever since the accident.” She nods a little while checking the files once more. “What? I’m sorry?” I’m genuinely surprised. “Sorry, I forgot to mention that I like Olivia Blane very much, the prodigy artist. She speaks directly through her masterpieces… Sorry, my condolences.” I nod slightly while words dissolve into the void as the acid sentiments slowly corrupt and decimate every thought.
“Mr. Victor Blane! It’s so fantastic of your assistance in inspecting these paintings.” Ellie exclaims while guiding me into the living room. “There are 5 paintings in the living room. Surprisingly, almost no paintings are retained in here. It’s quite astounding that you appear to possess most of Olivia’s assets.” This place remains as decent as before, almost like the accident is purely a morbid illusion. When I witness the easel in the living room, the illusion of Olivia silently painting pops up for a moment before the reality kicks back. “Would you happen to understand the details of these paintings? Like their motif or the topic?” “Yeah…sure…” This is a lot for me. To understand the circumstances and the swelling sentiments building rapidly inside. I trail the lines of these paintings, lost in the memory hidden in the most silent place.
“We painted these. Like back in childhood.”