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.
Teddy reached for my hand with a hint of endearment. He pulled me along, wanting to step further into his studio. “Come,” he
ventured forth with a firmness 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 body towards me. “What did you see?”
“I saw...” I broke my gaze with him. “I suppose it is normal for artists.”
“What is, my dear?”
“You- you drew...”
He leaned forward with concern, while a darkness covered a portion of his face with distrust.
“Nude women.”
“Yes, sometime ago,” he sighed out with relief. “Live models for burgeoning artists to try.” He leaned backwards to return to his
normal position. “Does that bother you?”
“It just startled me, that’s all.”
“There is nothing wrong with it,” he quietly explained. “At least, not for me.” He stepped forward and lightly grazed the side of my
cheek with his left hand. “But it makes you uncomfortable. Well, you will be comforted to know that I do not engage in that sort of

thing anymore.”
I nodded my head weakly, while my mind began to grow hazy before him.
“Sela,” he urged. “I am sorry to say this, but this is what happens when you go snooping.” His thumb dragged along the side of
my face with some affection before it rested over the side of my neck. “Count your blessings, it wasn’t something worse.” He
winked at me playfully, a sign that he was only taunting me for his own sinful pleasure. “Now, are you ready to go out? We should
head into town before it gets dark.”
“Yes, Teddy,” I answered him in a monotone voice.
“Is anything else bothering you?”
“Do you look at me that way?”
“In what way?” he asked with a puzzled expression that he could not hide from me.
“Like in those pictures.”
“Do you want the truth?” he asked in a lower tenor that grew husky by the end of it.
“Maybe.”
He simply arched up an eyebrow and let his facial expressions speak for itself. “I’ve gotten a kiss today. I shall ask for nothing
more. I promise you that.” He tugged on my hand lightly to lead me to the open doorway. Upon entering the hallway, he let go of
my hand and stuck it deeply into his trouser pocket. A low exhale escaped the corner of his mouth, and then he looked to the
right to gaze at the empty staircase. “We should leave,” he said with more determination than before, and with that he turned to
the left to seek out the refuge of the front door and the world that lay beyond it.