Painting Challenge
The Talk
By Elizabeth
Note: This is a Danny POV piece. It takes place in the past, before the big wedding that Manny had at Casa Santos.
Rating: There's some cursing.
I'm getting married.
Ok, I know. I'm already married. But it still hasn't really sunk in. When Michelle and I got married that night, that first awful night, it was in a judge's house at three in the morning. Both Michelle and I were shocked by the events of that night--I'd just found out she'd killed my brother, and my impulse to marry her was so sudden that I stunned myself when I suggested it--we both just sort of stood there and repeated what the judge told us to.
When he said that I could kiss her, I'd taken one look at her mutinous face and demurred. And the judge, nervous and sweating because I'd woken him up demanding repayment for a favor, he stammered and coughed through the entire ceremony. It just didn't seem real.
But telling Mama--that was real. And Mama's insistence on a big church wedding--that's real too. I agreed to it. I promised Michelle that I would protect her. And that's what I'm going to do. Take care of her.
Why?
God, I wish I knew. She hates me, truly hates me. Will hardly speak to me--laughs in my face when I suggest anything, hell when I even try to talk to her. I haven't even touched her.
But she's under my skin anyway.
And now Jesse, Michelle's beloved Jesse, has gone and made things even worse then they already are. He's supposedly "working" for us. I know my mother wants him to crash the wedding.
But I won't let him.
Why do I care so much about this damn wedding? It's not like it's going to change how Michelle feels about me.
*********
I knock on the door of their stupid apartment. I still can't believe that the four of them lived in it. I asked Michelle about it once, and she just screamed that how could I understand what it was like to be scared that you were going to die. I pointed out that in my family, death seems to be lurking around every corner--and when that shut her up, I have to admit, I felt satisfied. Yeah, I've ruined her life--but she hasn't made mine a picnic either.
Jesse opens the door. He's holding a paint brush, and there's smudges of paint all over his hands. Oh yes, Jesse's an artist, I think--hating him, his name--the fact that Michelle loves him.
Bastard.
I push him, not hard, just a little, but God it feels good. I walk into the apartment, leaving the door open.
And then I stop. Jesse has been painting alright, and he's painting Michelle. He's stretched the canvas out on an easel (did Michelle buy it for him? I wonder about that and feel a pang of jealousy wash over me) and he's filling in the outlines of the portrait.
Jesse's painting a picture of the day he burst into my home and demanded to know what was going on. A picture of Michelle when she told him that she'd married me.
In the painting, Michelle looks like a heroine from some 19th century novel. Her hands are clenched at her sides, and there are tears in her eyes. Jesse has painted her face--her beautiful face--as all soft lines and shadows. All she needs is a white dress and a knight to come rescue her.
"That's not how I remember that day" I tell him.
"Yeah," Jesse smirks. "I was being kind--she actually looked a lot more scared."
I just shake my head. He's probably right, although I hate even thinking that--but still, he's missed something.
Michelle is no Victorian heroine. She's not passive, she doesn't let life happen to her. Yeah, she was scared that day and yeah, she was upset. But she was mad too. He's missed that. Plus, now that I look closely at the painting, I see he's missed something else.
Michelle has this, I don't know how to describe it--but there's this glow about her. Sometimes, when I look at her, and she's so strong and vibrant--so damn alive--I get this funny feeling in my chest. Like she has something I want, something I need. I think that's what drew me to her in the first place.
And Jesse's missed it.
Maybe Jesse doesn't know Michelle as well as he thinks he does.
Maybe there's a chance for me.
And then I look over at the table.
******************************
Nothing special, a regular table.
Chairs.
Carton of milk.
Bowl.
Spoon.
Fruit Loops.
*******************************
Marriage to Michelle is never boring. It's exhilarating--it's exhausting--it's depressing, but it's never boring.
This morning, she slept late. I think last night was the first time that she let her guard down long enough to actually fall asleep. Really fall asleep.
I woke up around four in the morning and just lay there, listening to her. And when it got light out--looking at her.
She is so beautiful.
The site of her, so peaceful, so serene, so relaxed, made me feel something I haven't felt in ages.
Happy.
So I made her breakfast.
I ignored the chattering and giggling of the staff. I ignored my mother's smirks. I carefully put milk, bowls, cereal, and even a stupid vase with a rose in (yeah, really) on a tray and carried it up to our room.
Michelle had even sort of smiled when I came in. "I like roses" she said. I can't believe it, but that one damn comment made me feel so proud. I smiled back at her.
Then she looked at the tray.
"Fruit Loops?!" she half-screamed, half-sobbed. "Fruit Loops?!"
She grabbed the bowl and threw it against the wall. It broke and I watched as milk and cereal slid down the wall to land in a soggy puddle on the floor.
"I used to eat this with Jesse!" she screamed at me. "I used to have a life, my own life, before this, before you!"
She was truly furious. I thought of Dietz and the bodyguards out in the hallway, listening to us and felt my face turn red.
"Shhh!" I hissed at her, glad that I could be angry--could ignore the hurt I felt. Stupid, stupid of me to get my hopes up.
"I'm sick of hearing about Jesse!" I told her. "I'm your husband."
She looked at me like I was the world's biggest idiot. "Jesse is my real husband" she said, and then she left the room.
After she left, I sat on the floor. Just sat and looked at the puddle of cereal and thought.
I realized I had to see Jesse. Michelle is too stubborn to protect herself--fine. I'll take care of her anyway. I'll protect her.
Why?
I don't know. I don't want to think about it.
The wedding is soon. I have to make sure Jesse doesn't ruin it.
"I want to talk to you about Michelle" I tell him, and push the apartment door closed.