『The Sculptor』
- She took her sweet time responding to his voice. The woman laid on the floor shifting under the cover he had tossed on her body. Donovan did think but for a moment, it was a shame he covered her body at all. He could have possibly enjoyed the movements of her body. It was only right for him to enjoy her body in the morning, since he could not recall the actions of their previous night. He did not believe she would find the idea as appealing, especially waking to feel the cold floor beneath you rather than a soft mattress. There was a twinge of guilt coursing through him. The least he could have done was put the woman in the bed. Donovan didn’t take his eyes off of the figure on the floor. Was she suffering from a hang over? He did muddle over if he should give her a helping hand or not. It would be rude of him not to offer her help. She was on the floor in his house, in his bedroom. And, the woman was attractive; at least her body had stirred his interest. It couldn’t hurt to keep good relations with her. They could possibly have another night, one that he would remember, where she would not wake up with her face planted against the cold ground.
Knees curled like a paper clip, Donovan found him self squatting down beside the woman. His hand reached out, fingers itching for the contact of the woman’s shoulder when she suddenly sprung into a sitting position. Wild brown hair seemed to fly out at him, strands attempting to wrap themselves around his fingers, but sliding away from the temptation. Her hair was like a silk. His gaze jumped to his hand as if to control the natural instinct that told him to reach out and hold those silken strands. Touch them once again only to see if they were real. How could he forget hair that soft that silky? As a sculptor his hands held the most potent memories. And, for them simply to forget something so rich in texture was unthinkable. Donovan was a man that could play in a woman’s hair for hours. Hands taking in the texture and eyes recording the way it fell, how it laid around a woman’s body, face. But, for some reason he had not memory of this woman’s hair, no memory of the texture of her skin. Skin, he had been tempted to touch before he tossed the silk cover over her. The woman was awkward in her movements. Her hands moved to cover her face and the sound of her bones popping could be heard. She didn’t move with the grace of a woman wishing to continue a seduction; she moved like a woman unsure of her actions. Instantly, Donovan knew he would not have found her fumbling attractive. He was a man use to women that were controlled that knew their worth and moved with confidence on some level. Timid unsure women had honestly never been his type. So why would he have bought this woman home? He didn’t know but he had a feeling her beauty must have sold him on the deal. Now, if she would only tilt her head just at the right angle, just so then he would be able to see what it was about her that captivated him.
She wasn’t’ suppose to be moving? He didn’t know what to make of that comment. The woman was becoming a bit more intriguing as the moments passed. Why was it she believed she shouldn’t be moving? He never heard anything like that uttered from a woman’s lips. They were always moving weren’t they? Women were always on the go from one meeting to another, one function to another. They always seemed to want to be going. It was rare for a woman to simply sit. Yet, this woman seemed content to do just that. In fact, she didn’t even want to move. More importantly she didn’t want to look at him. Donovan saw the light scan she did of the room and if she had tilted her head back just a bit she would have been looking directly at him. He was bent right next to her, the angle was not perfect, but should she have looked away from the glass for a second she would have come into contact with the brown towel that was draped over his knees. Having been so caught up in the woman’s hair and movements Donovan forgot she wore nothing more than his silk sheet. And, the sheet had long spilled from her upper body to her lap. He found himself swallowing when he finally looked down to see her breast peering out at him. He knew this body, knew the weight of her breast the texture and even the beauty mark he molded into the skin and darkened with a bit of paint. But, that was foolish. He could not know this woman. It was merely coincidental that her upper body was shaped in the same manner as the woman he sculpted. What a treat that must have been for him last night when he found that upon her body.
She was searching and he decided to let her. Her hand touched his foot and he wondered just how far she was going to go. But, it did not last long. Her head began the journey upwards. The woman did indeed take her time looking at him. But, he was a patient man especially when it came to women. He knew well the games they played, the innocent and those inclined to blatant seduction. There was no seduction in her touch nor in her gaze. The woman seemed a bit well terrified as if she was afraid of what she would find. Perhaps she had never been the type to have a one night stand. Finally, her face travelled up the space of his neck and then BAM! She hit him. Not literally of course, but the look in her eyes. The color of her eyes. He knew them all too well. Green, how she could have those brilliant green eyes that so mimicked the eyes he envisioned on his sculpture. Donovan was a man that knew bone structure, he knew his creations. This woman’s face was too exact to the sculpture he made. Leaning back on the heels of his feet he continued to study the woman before him. A’ll be damned so that way why he bought her home.
Donovan had never been much of a believer in signs, though his step father had been. He often tried to instill in concept of fate and destiny. And, in a moment inspired but the man and none other; he took his as that moment destined. How else could he explain doing a sculpture of this woman that he had never seen before? There was no possible excuse other than he knew he would meet her. He could only think of all those years his three parents had harped into his step father, James. Only to find out, the man had been speaking some bit of truth. The universe and some greater power seemed to be at work here and he would not deny it. Donovan always gave respect where respect was due, and this was a moment for him to possibly respect a higher being, a possibility of there being something out there that controlled the events of life. The moment of respect over he looked back down at the woman picking up the silken sheet, he tossed it over his shoulders be he responded to her simple words of greeting. Once, the sheet was covering her shoulder and successfully her breast he spoke to her.
“ Hello there],” cupping her chin in a purely Donovan move he tilted her face from side to side to get a better look at the angles. Was it possible for her to even have that small nick he made on the side of her chin? Yes, hot damn yes it was possible. There the little bruise was and that did nothing to take away from the woman’s beauty, not that he imagined it would. “ Do you believe in fate, destiny…..a master of the universe directing your steps?” Donovan being the hands on man he was simply slipped his hand behind the woman’s back, pushing the other under he legs and cradled her in his arms as he moved to the bed and sat with her in his lap. “ You see…I was never one to believe such things. But, you little lady have me asking myself those very questions. And, finding perhaps for the first time a desire to believe these things. What of you? Do you believe in these things?”
Holding her in his arms, in the manner he imagined holding his sculpture was indeed pleasant. The innocent he was sure, would be stiff as a wooden board at sea. But, he would not allow her to resist. If she had no wanted his touch then she should not have come to his home, should not have been in his bedroom. Donovan was not a fan of shy and timid women but that did not mean he would turn one away should she fall into his lap. And, given the face and body on this woman, along with the ‘coincidence’ he couldn’t allow her to simply slip away. Fate, or something like it demanded he keep this woman with him for some time. Demanded he learn more about her and see if she was everything his sculpture was, or if she was merely the lesser of the two. Which he felt would indeed be a bit daunting, on her behalf, considering the later could not speak, move nor express a thought.
The hand at her back began to collect the long strands of thick brown hair that covered her back, which was left bare from the sheet. Sitting with her in his lap, their skin was in immediate contact. Her thighs brushed the rough course hairs that laid on the parts of his thighs that were left exposed by the towel. The couple were both naked but for mere pieces of cloth separating them from touching. It was indeed an intimate moment for two people who knew nothing of each other in the literal sense. The picture was one of lovers that knew each other well. Donovan captured it instantly in his mind. It was a something he would eventually sketch and put to mold. He was not sure which medium he would use for the couple; glass, marble, clay, wire…the list was endless. Bringing the hand full of hair to his face he took a deep whiff before letting it fall like a curtain over the smooth cream colored skin. Who knew a back could be so flawless so appealing? This woman with hair smelling like wildflowers, she was something he could not put his fingers on, even while touching her. Ha, and the woman was making him into a man that muttered poetry. Donovan was not a man of poetic inclination. He appreciated it, but never quoted it. He was a bit too rough, for poetry. The man was direct and flowery words were not his particular inclination. Though, he believed with and for this woman he could be poetic. And, what a foolish thought for him to have. He knew nothing of this woman. Donovan was doing a bit of transference. All of the feelings that burdened him while he sculpted his sweet Clio was being transported to this woman in his arms. He would have to control himself. Perhaps, if he was to explain to the woman what he did who he was and show her the reason for his sudden obsession she would be more understanding. Most women were, they enjoyed knowing they could be a muse for such an artist.
And, yes, his work was that good. If there was one thing Donovan did not fool himself about it was his work. His hands and mind were geniuses when it came to his craft. No one had to tell him that. It was a fact he knew. Arrogance it was not a thin layer spread into his personality. If possible it seemed to be the middle layer, the chocolate found within a swirl cake, or better yet the chocolate in a swirl ice-cream. It was a dominant part of him. He would not be Donovan without that arrogance. It was his mother’s that breed that into him. He was beautiful, smart, talented. They told him over and over again, possibly too much. But, he had been everything they claimed him to be. And, they were proud of him. Their baby.
He wondered what they would think of him at this moment with a woman in his arms contemplating the possibility of fate. His birth mother would be shocked, then a long conversation with her husband over his fanciful influence would commence. Donovan smiled at the thought of his mother trying to scold her husband, who was more than a foot taller than her. But, he knew James would entertain his mother’s demands. The man always did. He loved Donovan’s mother madly and the feeling was returned. They found their balance years ago. His mother, Mariah enjoyed control and most of the time James was willing to allow her to have that control. But, she knew when his limit was reached and in those moments she willingly gave over the reigns.
It was that balance. The balance he found himself looking for recently. A balance he envisioned in a sculpture for months. Then, it seemed his sculpture came to life in the form of this woman in his arms. He wanted to show her the sculpture, he wanted to show her what she looked like. Donovan recalled the rapid succession of emotions fluttering over her face before he picked her up and set her in his lap. “ Do you regret it? Being here?” He couldn’t rightly ask her if she regretted last night. Not, when he could not remember a moment of it. But, he was sure he could change her mind about it this morning, and embed new memories for both of them.
