Bleeding Canvas

Vania was staring at the canvas in front of her, biting her nails unhappily as a new habit that had been born out of anger and frustration she just obtain few hours ago. It was truly a great painting—one that deserve an easy A from the professor—and she would have finish it just a little more, if she did not get bored and slashed the center with a knife in disgust.



“I don’t quite understand. What’s the problem, Ms. Vania?”

Vania did not reply. She kept on playing the eight times eight Rubik boxes she found on the hallway.

The professor coughed a little--fake, of course--hoping to get her attention this time. “Ms. Vania, what’s the prob...”

“I don’t know, alright?” Vania cut his word sharply, darting death-glare at the professor. “I have been painting, painting and fucking painting for the last two weeks and everything I ended up doing have always been useless, uninspiring, garbage and plain bullshit that I could not even see without throwing up.”

“Ms. Vania...” The professor sighed heavily, looking at her in a rather amusing way. “All students in this university know about you and your exceptional talent, but you just work too hard on this. I have seen one of the paint that you consider ‘garbage’, yet if you pass them on, they would get you a very easy A.”

Vania angrily stood up, causing the chair to topple behind her. “You listen, and you listen well! I do not care about grades! What I care are expression, beauty, and art! When I call something ‘garbage’, it means it does not embody all of those things and I hate it!”

She threw the Rubik out of the window before storming out of the room, leaving a desperate professor staring at her back.

Vania had never received a punishment—not with her rare gift and blissful talent—because she had been blessing to the college, and even the entire university. The only thing that happened if she was expelled was the university crying the moment she was accepted in another.



“Excuse me, may I sit here?” a stranger’s voice asked.

Vania did not bother to look up from her sketchbook and just grunted in reply, and to her amazement, the stranger understands and sits right in front of her, unlike the others that would just sigh and leave. She blindly grabbed the French fries on the plate and started doing a sketch again.

“It’s nice,” the stranger said.

She frowns and she was supposed to throw a murderous look at the person but she failed.

Perfection was a quality that Vania has always thought no human could ever possess, but the more she looked at this person, the more she become convinced that she has been wrong for so long. Every part of him—his face, hair, skin, fingers, lips, eyes, neck, just everything—seemed to have been thought up by some godly artist and tirelessly sculpted, painted, welded into something painfully unrealistic.

“D-did I need to go?” he asked when Vania looked at him and her eyes refused to leave him.

Vania grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the cafe without giving him the chance to refuse.

“What are you doing?”

The stranger quickly blushed when he received an answer from Vania firmly, “I’m making you my eternal perfection.”



Professor was surprised of the loud sound that disturbed his ears. He turned around from the window and found Vania—randomly he thought that it was someone else cause she barely come to any of the class—standing there, with a stack of seven or eight canvasses on her table.

The professor started to look at them without bothering to wait for her explanations; because usually there wasn’t any, nothing could describe what Vania came up with.

It was series of human body part, with a hand and fingers as the main part. Eyeballs, lips, nose, tears was attached to the hand and fingers. Moreover, the paintings have been done in a hyper-realistic style, so flawless that it feels as though you could touch the surface and feel actual skin and bone. The rather messily done stitches red and white candy-like fingers as the base of the parts add mystery, horror, and—strangely enough—romance.

“You’re back on track, I suppose?”

For the first time in long months, Vania smiled, though the professor cannot help but saw something unusual about the way she did it.

“Believe me when I say that I am now an artist was being dictated by a masterpiece, and I allow the enslavement with everything I have,” she said softly.

He tried to smile, even though he hardly could hide his curiosity of the smile. “A brilliant change in you, I see. I’m quite surprised, though, because according to your professor in Figure Drawing, you absolutely hated drawing people,” he said.

“There’s only one person that I was meant to draw, and I knew of him just a week ago,” Vania smiled again, in the same, unusual way.

“So there won’t be any more problems with your plates?”

Vania nodded once. “And with everything else.”



His name was Six, and he was one of the people whose laughter echoed through the hall of university every day, reprimanded with an amused smile by most teachers because he was likable, bubbly and charming, possessed a face that only brightened with each day passing.

His friends were also colorful, beautiful, and shining, but not like him; his aura easily outshines them all. Vania should know—she’s been blinded by it from the very first second.



“So…” Six said musingly while munching on chips in Vania’s dining room. "I’m going to be the subject of all of your plates?”

“And my personal works.” The sound of pencil scratching against paper did not stop even though she replied. “Don't move. I cannot get enough of you. You’re everything I’ve ever searched for.”

Six’s hand frozen in mid-air. “Are you by any chance in-love with me or something?”

Vania peered over the top edge of her sketchpad. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

“That’s impossible!”

“I told you not to move.”

“No, we have to talk about this,” Six turned his chair around so he can rest his elbows on the back of the chair and his chin on top of his forearms. “An artist like you—at the top of your class with ability to see and depict beauty so legendary—has never fallen in love before? Now that… That I cannot believe.”

Vania lowered her sketchpad until her entire face was visible. “Art is my lover.”

Six laughed loud and hearty, free unlike Vania’s laugh, which was always reserved and lifeless, as she finds no sufficient humor in life to make her let go. He calmed down with tears in his eyes and his face all red; Vania has a frown on yet again.

“Tell me, Vania... If you kiss your paintings, will they passionately kiss you back? If you tell your rags that they mean the whole world to you, will you see their eyes widen and goose bumps form on their skin, all because of your words and your voice?” Six smirked. “Art cannot be one’s lover no matter how tantalizing it is because it does not think, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t feel. Love is all about having your senses fixated on one—or two or three or more—person and you feel suffocated but in a good way, in an addictive way.” He slipped out of the chair, taking his bag of potato chips with him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want someone who has not yet experienced the ultimate human emotion to have me as her subject.”

Vania was unable to move for several moments. Six was already halfway through the living room when Vania caught up to him, grabbing him by the shoulder. Six turned to the right, his face nearly colliding with the other's.

“My answer was wrong,” Vania said in a low, husky voice.

“What?”

“If I had known earlier that love has that for its description, then I would’ve quickly answered ‘yes’ to your second question.”

Six recalled what his second question had been and blushes in an instant.



When the entire College of Fine Arts found out that Six Volfied, the mischief-loving boy-next-door, and Vania Fritzalphe, the depressingly anti-social art goddess, were going out, no one disapproved nor approved it. Six was a lot bouncier than usual (no matter how absurd that sounds at first because he had been born that way), and a great number of people have discovered that the happy expression can actually survive the harsh environment that is Vania’s face.

Most of those people thought that the relationship won’t last long because they’re two totally different people, the only common factor between them being their love for aesthetics.

Six and Vania know better.



" Vania... Why did you pick me out of everyone in the college?" Six asked.

Vania blinked. “You’re perfection.”

Six laughed at the answer. “Me? Perfection?”

“Yes,” she said as she put down her sketchbook, “None of others has such a beauty that can be considered perfection. I never even thought there would be any person in this whole world that has such perfection.”

“Na-ah,” Six denied as he pulled her closer, when the latter looked at himself in the full-length mirror present in the bedroom. Six pressed his lips on the side of Vania’s neck while observing their reflections. "You are the perfection."



“Beach?”

Six nodded furiously. Vania looked up from her sketch book and raised an eyebrow. It was obvious that the answer would be a definite ‘no’, but Six wanted for his lover to say it anyway.

“No.”

And came the ridiculously cute pout that Six had hoped would at least make Vania consider his request, but of course the younger was too busy glaring at him to notice it.

“Come on, it’s so beautiful. It’s rare that my class decided to have a trip like this,” Six whined. “Please? Once? For your beloved, handsome, cute boyfriend?”

“You’re such a drama queen.”

Six laughed on her comment and fixed his expression. “And you are straight-forward. Come on, it’s just a two days one night trip. You’ll like it.”

“I don’t like nature,” Vania said.

“As I said before,” he stretched out every word, “Beach is beautiful. Most importantly, it’s God’s creation.”

Vania didn’t answer, merely turned to the sketch book again.

Six rolled his eyes at Vania and sighed. “Oh, come on! At least don’t turn your back on me,” he pouted, “Beach is beautiful, God’s number one amazing creation.”

As if justifying her point, Vania stuck her tongue out and crossed her arm. “I thought we had agreed that God would not disturb these kinds of conversations.”

“Fine. But we could do almost everything fun there! Swimming, snorkeling, volley boy, soccer—”

Vania managed to catch the glint in his eyes. “I bet you want to be there. You love soccer, right?”

He grinned, more likely smirked, that at least the girl got something that lightened up the conversation. “Yeah,” he nodded as he pulled her by her waist and peck her cheek,. “But I love you more…”

She scoffed. “Cheeky.”

“But you think I’m your perfection, right? I think your rather sudden confession had made it clear.” He hugged her tighter, recalling on how it all started. It was more like a demand, to be honest.

“Flowers were perfection too, you know,” Vania smirked.

Six’s eyes automatically widened. “But you love me, right?”

“Well, I love flowers, I love abstract pictures, I love you. See, you can love more than one thing at the same time.” They kept silent for a while before Vania continued, and Six waited patiently. “It seems like I love flowers more…”

“What?!” Six exclaimed.

“That’s because between you and flowers, I love them more like a friend,” she explained, and based on the fact that she was really a loner, he believed that it wasn’t a lie.

“Me? What about me?”

“I love you too, as lover, as perfection,” she smiled.

Silence.

Silence was the only thing connecting them right now but for goodness’ sake, Vania thought that this little connection was eating him alive. Six’s reaction was blank.

“I’m sorry,” Six whispered.

“What?”

“It’s your fault!” Six now said, his voice raising an octave or two higher.

“Enlighten me, please?”

“Because I was kinda expecting you say you only love me. My expectations were high, I must add. And then you say you love flowers more. And they’re not even moving! My heart broke into tiny little pieces—why are you laughing?!” Six exploded like a bomb, sprouting non-sense. But it actually made sense.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Vania asked between her amused giggles.

“You’re enjoying this, are you?”

“What were you saying?”

“As I was saying! I really thought you like that useless thing more than me! And you’re like sporting an unrequited love for them or something and just like what I said earlier—don’t laugh—my heart broke into tiny little pieces, almost like powder! Then you say it’s different kind of love and you love me! My expectation were crashed then suddenly words that really, really exceeded my expectations make my heart jump out of my ribcage! Whatever I was saying! I don’t know anymore. And you know! My heart powder really found it hard to mend in that short time you gave me and it took me—”

“15 minutes.”

“Yes. 15 minutes to actually react to your words. I love you but it’s tiring to say this.” He finally finished his ramblings and realized that he was out of breath.

Vania smiled. “I love you too.”

“I know. But you’re not—” Before Six could finish his sentence, he felt something touching his lips. Focusing on something or rather someone in front of him that seemed so close, he saw Vania again.

“Wha… What’s that?”

Vania patted his head. “I need to shut you up. Seriously, I don’t know you talk a lot.”

“I do, and I—”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Vania said, and with that she took her sketch book and started drawing again.



The trip was longer than expected and they arrived at dusk. The leader of the group split them up based on gender and gave them their keys. Considering on how depressing it would be sleeping with Vania, she got her own room.

“Vania, come here,” Six grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the hotel.

“What?”

“I wanna go to the beach,” Six smiled widely, clearly overjoyed.

“Now?” Vania stared at him in disbelief. “It’s five, the beach must be closed already.”

Six pouted, whispering, “We’ll sneak.”

“I thought you wanna play soccer?”

“We’ll play later. Now let’s go!”



Six was more than overjoyed when Vania finally agreed to go to the beach at that hour. He jumped happily when they saw the beach, directly running to the sea and started swimming.

Vania, however, did not look as happy. Yes, she smiled, and yes, she did not argue, but she was bored. She tried to enjoy the view, the beautiful sunset that become the background of her boyfriend.

Thinking on how strange it was to see him running like a five years old boy at his first visit to the beach successfully erased her boredom.

Six.

Six was an exception, a very rare exception, the one and only.

And then her eyes caught another sight. There he was, her boyfriend, looking at her with a pair of black, sharp eyes. His right hand ran through his hair, fixing his messy hair that seemed to be awkwardly funny. The light of the sunset was yellow, and that beautiful view was such perfection as it was combined with Six’s existence.

The golden sky was reflected by the sea and with Six in the middle of the paintings, Vania could not ask for more. For once, she let the reds and oranges soothe her eyes, like this is all a dream. And all the sights in front of her were features that render feel of deep texture.

Six was such a flame of pulchritude.

“What are you looking at, Vania?”

Vania could just smile. A pact, unspoken, but of souls imbued. But one word settled all things ran through her head.

“Perfection.”



Six stopped molding the huge chunk of clay in front of him and leaned over to kiss Vania on the cheek, giving her a gummy smile afterwards. “You’ll find another subject for your thesis, I’m sure of it,” he said.

Vania sighed. “But I really wanted it to be this one,” she whined.

“Hmm… You can still do those paintings, right, as a personal project, gallery material even?”

“I was meaning to talk to you about that,” Vania replied.

Sitting on the table with one foot on the floor and the other on the chair, she gently takes Six’s left hand; the nails of its fingers invaded by very tiny amounts of orange clay, and pressed her lips on the jutting bone connected to the middle finger. “I want you to be in them.”

Six cocked his head to the side. “But I always am,” he reasoned.

Vania’s deep brown eyes darken even more when she spoke. “It will be different this time. You’re not going to be the subject—you’re going to be the medium."



The thing with Vania was that she gets easily absorbed by the things that captivate her. Her first crayon swipe across the wall had led to a life of depicting abstracts on solid surfaces. Her first look at Six had led to thinking of him and only him, as focused as a surgeon during a surgery. Never having felt that way for anyone else before, Vania starts to believe that she’s turning mad; why else would she have the aching desire to take super glue—the type that can burn skin—and stick herself to Six? She was not sure which fantasies were acceptable and which are not, but she never tells Six. No, of course, because compared to her desires, Six were more, well, normal.

In the midst of painting picture—whether it was random picture or Six himself—,Six often whispered into his lover’s ear all the things he wanted to do in the next hour or so, ideas that had formed during half of the many stare-into-space sessions that had occurred throughout the day. 'Paint me this way'. 'Move like that'. 'Compare me to an artwork'. 'Tell me how much you want me in the most poetic way'.

Vania complied because it was stunning how Six converted love into such a creative ritual. It had been Six’s idea to buy a huge roll of canvass, paint each other with what their favorite colors.

Vania hasn’t quite thought of anything to match what Six had planned then but Six thinks it was fine and keep on coming up with things involving their bodies and art materials.

As she watches Six slept on the sofa, Vania was so aware that the perfection had taken over all of her senses. She realized that it was a big possibility that she’s found something she treasures more than her craft.

The thought frightened her.



One kiss was more than enough.

"Who the hell is she?!" Vania's voice echoed throughout the corridor of her house.

"She... She's an ex," Six replied.

"And did she get your permission to kiss you?!"

"No," the boy quickly replied, looking at her straight to the eyes.

Vania got into her nerve. "I'm going to hunt her down."

"No, wait!" Six was panic, hugging her from behind. "Please, whatever you want to do, do it to me. Just... Punish me. It has nothing to do with her. Just the two of us. Together."

"You're defending her?!"

"It's just our problem!"

“I hate you!” She screamed; her voice almost cracking. It was impossible to hold her tears back anymore and she just let them flow. She lost all her strength and fell down on the floor. She felt hurt, abandoned and pathetic. “I fucking hate you!”

She cried, hugging her knees to make herself as small as possible and burying her face, completely forgetting what was the trigger to their fight, and repeated what she just had said. She hated him, hated him, and hated him. She cried so hard that she didn't hear Six approaching and crouching down. She just suddenly felt a gentle hand on the shoulder.

Vania dared to look up and they made eye contact, looking intensely at each other’s red, teary eyes. There, deep inside, they found something they hadn’t seen before. Or rather then that, they saw something they just hadn’t paid any attention to. They didn’t see anger and sorrow, but regret and forgiveness. They saw love, that love both once had experienced together. They saw everything they thought the other had buried to never, ever dig it up again.

Six moved and slowly embraced the painter, one hand hugging her by her waist and the other caressing her hair. Vania didn’t respond the hug, but just cried. She cried with so many feelings, crying of sadness, crying of happiness, crying of relief, crying of betrayal. She even wondered if someone ever had died from crying.

She cried without restraint, burying her face in Six's shirt, her hands gripping Six’s shirt hard--not willing to let go.

"I love you, Vania," he said. "I just love you... I promise I'll never let that happen again."

It was too painful to know. Her heart now was just a heap of shattered hopes, flood the life with tears, staining her soul.

"What did I need to do to make you believe?"

Vania was too obsessed by Six. Both of them knew that she would not just let it go. Something in her eyes told him so.

Grief. Or to be exact, emptiness. He could not named it. He even wondered if he was still sane. Breaking her heart, begging for forgiveness. A sharp grief sparked in her eyes.

Six knew.

The moment when the tears dropped from her eyes, he knew.

And it was right.



“Flawless execution as always, Vania,” Vania looked up from her coffee to be met by two of her professors and a former client during her days as a freelancer, the one who had spoken. “It saddens me, though, that none of these are up for bidding.”

“They mean too much,” Vania said softly. “Especially the sculptures.”

“Horribly beautiful those are,” one of the professor said. “They’re mighty realistic, too. Did you use a model for them?”

“Yes. I had to. He had the proportions I was looking for,” Vania replied.

“And I suppose you had to go through Biology books to get all those internal organs’ details?” asked the client. “The textures were astounding, and the placement! I honestly thought I was looking at a real human torso cut open!”

“Your compliments, sir, overwhelm me,” the girl bowed slightly.

“The most important part of that sculpture is, of course, the missing heart,” said the other professor in a straight face. “Is that piece related to love?”

“Not love,” Vania turned her head to the direction of the sculpture across the gallery. “Jealousy.”“

Jealousy? Care to elaborate?” asked the client. “I’m very much intrigued.”

“That man’s lover realized that he has given his heart and taken it back many times in the past, and he could do it again. To her. She’s had no one else before him and she’s scared. So, she rips it out and keeps it for her own. Out of jealousy, she erases the possibility of him separating from her.”

“I see… Is that all in the literal sense?”

“Most certainly.”

“Then she’s left with a corpse!”

Vania’s eyes darted from the sculptures to the row of paintings settled on one of the gallery’s walls. Every image was monochromatic. Vania smiled warmly at the memories.

Meeting Six. Falling for him. Painting him. Dreaming about him. Going on dates with him. Thinking about him. Hurting him. Waking him up. Saying sorry to him. Kissing him goodbye. Chopping him up. Displaying him in the gallery.

"It doesn't matter," she said. Vania looked at the three men without erasing the happy expression on her face. "I had found my eternal perfection, after all."