The Tragic Tale of Teddy Woven

For once I was left to my own devices. I was able to wander about his studio in idle amusement, taking every opportunity to explore his treasured place. Teddy was upstairs changing for tonight, which allowed me every opportunity to explore his home. Frédéric Chopin’s elegant ensemble echoed from Teddy’s music room, steadily streaming its way over to his art room across the hall. I was bent over to pull back a rich silky cloth that covered a set of canvases. They were works of architecture; ancient stone buildings that appeared to be from different parts of England. Many of these houses would be the envy of any person; illustrious country houses with a view of expansive farmlands or rugged stone bridges that hovered over a winding stream. It was clear he travelled far and wide to obtain these landscape images, a hopeful sign that he left the house from time to time. I placed the cloth over the canvases again, and then looked over my shoulder to see that he had not appeared yet. Rebellion stirred within me, so I swiftly headed over to his large table where he had once kept that secret sketchbook. I pulled out the small compartment to find that it was missing, which made me regret my wilful decision to invade Teddy’s privacy in the first place. I scoffed under my breath in misery, before opening up another compartment that was just down below. I pulled out a heavy stack of paper, noticing that his drawings were deliberately done for a fashion magazine. Women dressed in the latest fashion captured my attention, for I was enamored by the vibrant colours that radiated off the model’s smooth porcelain skin. I began to envy her as I flipped through the page. To my horror I found myself questioning my own physical appearance, and whether Teddy liked it at all.

As an artist, Teddy would have undoubtedly encountered such glamorous looking women, so what could he possibly see in me? I pulled his stool closer to the right and took a seat, knowing Teddy would not come downstairs for another few minutes at least. The pages fell over the table quietly, while my eyes scanned the next few pages with serious contemplation. Over time a series of models began to wear less clothing, and soon enough they were dressed in only lingerie. I blinked at them slowly, seeing women of every colour and curve exquisitely depicted by the careful strokes of Teddy’s inked pen. I had a strange inclination that they were earlier sketches, for they lacked a certain quality that my self-portrait contained. Teddy was right that it took years of experience to become the artist that he currently was, for these very images were a testament to them.

I tilted my head to the left once I reached a set of thick creamy beige papers that looked old and withered as they rested in the palm of my hand. My lips puckered inwardly, half-startled to see the depictions that had now captured my attention. Multiple drawings of nude women were sketched upon the page. Great detail was poured into the background with the use of a coloured pencil; a long russet-hued tapestry gilded with rounded golden shaped leaves were printed on the grand curtains behind a naked model. Most of the ladies were lounging on a curved mauve coloured divan. There were some models that brashly stood before their artist without a shame in a world. As for myself, so innocent and hardly knowledgeable of the ways of the world, it left me with some discomfort. Such images were normal for an artist, but for a person like me, I felt a spread of a rosy damask hue overtake the sides of my cheeks. A part of me was curious if Teddy ever saw me in a sexual light, if his own imagination could picture me lounging on his divan or standing before him in all my nakedness. I nervously scratched the back of my ear as I recalled the passionate feelings that overwhelmed me when he kissed me upon the blanket over an hour ago.

Footsteps sounded throughout the house, so I quickly piled the sketches together and rested them in the cabinet where they rightfully belonged. The stool was pushed backwards, and when I was just placing it in its normal spot, Teddy entered into his studio.

“I am sorry I was gone so long.” He stopped in front of the doorway, and I knew instantly that he sensed something was amiss. “Sela?” He questioned me. “What is the matter?”

I turned around while rubbing the palm of my hands together. Unfortunately, I could vividly recall the last time he caught me snooping, and was deliberating whether I should tell him the truth or not. “Oh, nothing,” I lied, before I stepped forward to greet him.

He stood motionlessly before me in a proud sort of way, raising his chin upwards once I stood in front of him. Teddy had changed his clothes indeed; a smooth navy-blue suit blazer fit snugly against his lean frame. A white dress shirt was buttoned up all the way, adorned with a plaid red and blue bow-tie that fit the details of his outfit. I looked down at his dark mustard coloured pants, a brighter shade than I was accustomed too.

to his voice that lent authority. “I left you in my studio, and now you are behaving differently.” He stopped in his tracks and turned his

gaze with him. “I suppose it is normal for

“What is, my dear?”

“You- you drew…”

while a darkness

“Nude women.”

sometime ago,” he sighed out with relief. “Live models for burgeoning artists to try.” He leaned backwards

just startled me,

with his left hand.

weakly, while my mind began to

dragged along the side of my face with some affection before it rested over the side of my neck. “Count your

him in a monotone