Chapter 57 – Through the Window

I open my eyes to a familiar setting.

I'm back in Tanya's studio.

It feels good to be in a familiar place. To be in my own time. To feel a semblance of reality for a second. Seeing Tanya is always grounding.

But Tanya is not in a good mood today.

I can feel it before I even hear her speak.

She's standing in front of one of her paintings, frowning, looking entirely displeased.

"You're here," she says, not looking my way, her eyes still fixed on the canvas I front of her.

"I'm here," I reply, and go to stand beside her, looking at the same painting. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replies a little too quickly.

Maybe the reason why she seems in a sour mood is only because of the painting, and it's not something to worry about, but somehow, I think there's something more to it.

It feels like something deeper. Something uglier.

And I know Tanya does not have the best grasp on her mental health.

But I also don't know what I'm supposed to do here. Would I be overstepping if I mentioned I'm worried?

Do I have the right to do that? Does Tanya see me as a friend? Or still only a figment of her imagination.

Because, to me she's a friend. One of the very few ones I have.

And I don't want her to be hurt.

"Do you not like this one?" I ask softly, trying to get her to open up.

"It's fine," she simply replies, looking away from it.

Maybe I need to change subject. Maybe that'll help. "So, what did I miss?" I ask, trying to be the right amount of cheerful.

"Nothing," she says again, just as quickly.

I fell... useless.

The problem is that, I don't know her well enough to know what to say to help. What to ask to coax answers out of her.

She knows so much about me, but I know so little of her.

I've been selfish. I've always kind of been selfish, because it's always been just me, so I put myself first, to protect myself. To survive. Even before the curse, even if I had a boyfriend.

I was alone.

And I'll be alone again when I wake up.

Maybe I don't want to wake up...

And maybe I want to be a better friend.

"Have you eaten today?" I ask her.

"Oh, sorry, are you hungry?" she asks, and that more words than she's used so far. But that's also not the right answer.

This isn't about me.

"Don't worry about me. Have you eaten?" I ask again.

She shrugs. "I guess. I ate a toast earlier."

"Do you want to get something to eat?"

She snorts. "Want me to pay for your food?"

I'm going about this all wrong. But I need to try something.

"I know my credit card number by heart, we can order something online," I tell her. I know I don't always check my transactions at this time in my life, because I want to ignore my boyfriend's useless charges.

I probably won't notice those wherever I am right now in this world.

"It's fine, I got an advance. We should go out. I haven't gone out in a while," she says, changing up her mood.

"Great!"

"You're gonna need to change," she says, looking me up and down. "Good time for another wash too."

I roll my eyes. "It's fun that you and Gustave are always calling me dirty."

She grins. "It's good for you to be self aware."

"Ah ah."

Tanya gets me some of her clothes and I take a quick shower, while she throws my dress in the washing machine.

This is not our first rodeo.

Once I'm cleaned and clothed, we walk to a little dinner Tanya appears to be a regular at. The people know her by name and I see one of her paintings on the walls.

The server is extra friendly with her.

I mention it once he's gone after giving us water and menus.

"Oh, yeah, that's Sam," she replies, like that's supposed to explain anything, while checking the menu. "Their lasagna is really good here. I know burgers is usually the go-to, but if you're not feeling it, I highly suggest the lasagna."

I tilt my head, looking at her. "Are you ignoring what I just said?"

"Did you not want lasagna?" she replies, clearly knowing this is not what I was refereeing to.

"The server."

"Sam," she replies automatically.

"Overly friendly."

She avoids my gaze. "He works for tips."

"I think he's looking for more than a tip from you."

Tanya shakes her head. "You're wrong."

"Is Sam not your type?" I ask. I think he's fairly cute, but who am I to judge? I'm a married woman after all.

Also, maybe Tanya doesn't care for cute guys. I don't know her preferences. Maybe it was rude for me to assume.

Maybe she has history with him. Maybe she has history in general. Maybe she has more baggage than I could assume.

"I guess he's fine. I just don't think he's interested in me."

"Why not?"

She lets out a sigh, and looks straight in my eyes. "Because I'm a mess."

"A hot mess," I joke. I'm not good at being serious.

"A mess regardless."

That was the wrong thing to say, so I correct myself. "You're not a mess."

"I am."

"You're not."

"I'm talking with a curse girl that jumps from paintings to paintings and that disappears when she falls asleep. How I am not a mess?" she asks, a little exasperate.

I feel like shit. Tanya is a good moment for me. But I'm probably a bad one for her.

"I'm sorry... I guess the fact that I exist and I'm real is such a sure thing for me that I don't think about how it might truly affect you. And I'm not saying this to make you feel bad," I add quickly, because I see her getting gloomier. "I'm sorry that this is putting such a strain on you. I'm really sorry. Seeing you is always such a good part of this curse, that I don't think about the fact that it might not be a good thing for you. Mental health wise."

"The voices are getting louder," she admits in a small voice.

"Medication isn't helping?"

She shrugs. "I guess. But I feel weird on them. Wrong. So, I settle for the voices."

This is bad. Worse than I thought.

"Is it weird because it's not as loud in your head, and you're used to that?"

"I made that last painting on my medication. It feels... drab. Boring. Wrong. It doesn't feel like something I would do," she explains, holding her glass with both hands.

Sam comes back and takes out orders.

We both order the lasagna, and he's gone again.

I continue our conversation. "You know, we talked about the price to pay for the things we care about. My price for Gustave is the curse."

"And my price for my art is the voices."

"I think it should be the other way though. The price for your sanity..."

"Should be my art?" she ends for me. She looks heartbroken.

But shouldn't her sanity win in this battle?

"Maybe. Or the art you're making now. You can learn to do things differently, when your mind is completely yours again."

Tanya's eyes fill with tears. "Without my art I have nothing. I don't know what I would do without it. I don't know what I am without it."

"Have you talked about this with your therapist?"

"She doesn't listen," Tanya says, grabs a napkin and starts to tear it in little pieces. "She just wants me to take the meds and she keeps saying I should get checked in a facility. My mom too."

"Maybe it could help? Those mental health places, they're not these horror shows anymore."

"It's one thing to know you're crazy, and an entirely different thing to tell it to the world."

"You're not crazy."

"Says you," she replies.

We look at each other. I don't think I can say anything that will fix things for her. And I don't think she even wants to hear it. I think if we push more she's going to start saying things she might not mean.

So I let it go.

Because I'm a coward.

But also because I can't help someone that doesn't want to help themselves. And also because maybe I'm the reason why she's not okay. So there's nothing I can do to help.

We get our food and eat in silence at the beginning, and then start talking about little things. I ask her about what she's been doing, and that exhibit she might have soon. About her family and her friends. About anything that can get her to open up.

We go back to the apartment and spend the evening binging Once Upon a Time, as we usually do.

We don't talk more about the heavy stuff.

Once my clothes are dry, I put them back on.

And I fall asleep on the couch beside my friend, worried to leave her behind like this, wishing I could be more helpful, but also understanding that maybe my being there is the problem.