Wicked Wednesday #140 — Trust

Polly did not know if she could trust Colin. His mouth was not on her body anymore, so she was able to think better than she had a moment ago.
“That cannot happen again. I am with someone now, and I can’t…I don’t want to,” she declared.
“It did not matter when you were with that other guy, the one you were living with.”
She looked down at her hands, folded neatly like they would have been when she was a schoolgirl.
She was always the good girl.
“That was different, things were different.”
“So you are in love?”
Polly pounded her folded hands gently on the table.
“What does it matter to you? I don’t have to explain anything to you. Especially when you are going to throw things back in my face. You know it was not easy with Greg. You said you would console me, it got out of hand…I was sad. I’m not sad anymore.”
“So I am only for when you are sad?”
Polly shook her head.
“This is why we could never be together because you do this. You always do this. Try to manipulate me. I am not who I was when you met me, but you haven’t noticed have you?”
Colin laughed.
“Because you are all conventionally pretty and successful now? And how were you different from when we talked about art, went to museums and I drank your blood like wine Polly?”
When he said that she was transported for a moment. She had trusted him so much at that time, trusted him with her mind and her body. They used to go to auctions with his parents, dressed goth and people wrote about how they looked in the papers. No one knew how dark they really were.
She remembered the taste of his blood, if she closed her eyes very tight. It was all just sort of a whim to him though, and she was along for the ride.
“And who are you now Colin? A poor little rich boy? The tortured artist? The fashion impresario? CEO of your father’s company?”
He looked uncomfortable. She had not really meant to hurt him, but he had gone for the jugular first and she was more of a fighter now than she used to be. Without words, she communicated to him that she was sorry. He nodded his head.
“I started collecting Dubuffet.”
Polly shook her head, unfolded her hands.
“You did?”
Colin stood up, and she followed him as he walked and showed her the Dubuffet.
“I thought you did not like his style.”
“I was having dinner with a new artist, who was telling me her style was like Dubuffet. She wanted me to buy one of her paintings, and it made me revisit Dubuffet and said I might as well buy the master.”
“Smart. You have always been so smart about art.”
He ran his hand over his head.
“Not so much about women.”
Polly looked at him. The usual way that she consoled him was with her body, but now she was with Oscar. Oscar was not like anyone she had been with before. Not that her relationships had been bad, but Oscar made her feel lighter in her heart than she had ever felt before. Being in Shanghai with him, doing karaoke, kissing him and lying in bed with him for hours…days before they actually had sex. He made it so light for her, had swept her off of her feet in a way that she had not been swept before. With Colin, at some point she was so desperate for him that it felt less like love, than some kind of dependency. Even now. It was hard to trust if her emotions for him were real, or just remnant of something she used to crave so desperately with him.
“I love you Colin, will always love you. But you and I, you know what it was…”
“What was it Polly?”
She could not read his eyes, she looked at the Dubuffet, the fecal colors she almost felt. His work was gritty and earthy.
“I am surprised that you are collecting Dubuffet…”
“You don’t really know me Polly.”
Looking from the Dubuffet to him, she realized she did not.

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soul of the underground by jean dubuffet photo fragment by f dot leonora

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