Page 71 of Madness

“So, you would help her bathe? Like you are doing with me?” she asks, tilting her head back to look up at me.

I nod, “If I didn’t, she would stay in the same clothes for weeks sometimes until you couldn’t tell what dirt was on her skin and what was onthe fabric. The water would turn brown, and I would have to coax her to even get into the water while she would sit there comatose almost.”

“So, how would you make her happy when the flowers would die?”

I hold Red closer to me, needing the strength she always seems to lend me in this moment, “She would take me outside just after sunset with a can of red paint, and she would tell me that the flowers had to be painted before she woke up…”

Red gasps, her hand covering her mouth and the flower is forgotten in the water as she clutches my hand in hers, holding it against her chest, “How long were you out there for?”

“All night. She would lock the door, and I had no choice but to do as she asked; otherwise, I found myself locked away when I came in in the morning. It wasn’t so bad if it was a little warm, but the cold nights were the worst, and the only way my mind seemed to be able to cope was to make the flowers come alive… to be my friends.”

“Did she not think it was strange to paint the flowers?”

“It wasn’t strange for her,” I reply, “It made her happy, and when she was happy, things were… easier.”

“Easier, how?”

I hesitate, feeling the weight of my past and not wanting to admit that I might just be as mad as Alice was, “She had her moments. Moments when she was different when the madness wouldn’t affect her, and when the flowers werebeautiful and not sad, those moments were less brutal and more loving. She would remember to feed me, and I wouldn’t be locked away as often.”

Red stares at me for a moment, “Did anyone know?”

I shake my head, “No. It was our secret, and just like the flowers, the truth behind the paint was hidden. I wasn’t allowed outside of the house when it was daytime, only at night when it was dark.”

There’s a long silence, and I keep my mouth shut, scared to say anything else that might scare her away. Red finally breaks it, her voice softer than before, “What if we could paint the flowers in some way? I don’t have paint, but I do have an idea.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Are you going to use blood?” Al asks inquisitively.

“Do you want to?” I ask him, not wanting him to feel like he has to.

When I paint, I need every stroke of the brush to tell the story. For some, the paint, pencil, and charcoal are enough, but after having no other choice but to use the blood from my body, it’s become more genuine… raw. The deep crimson of blood carries an intensity any other mediums lack. When I build the liquid on top of the others, layering it until the red turns a deeper burgundy colour, I feel the connection with my work.

I sacrifice for my art just like I’ve sacrificed everything else in my life.

My freedom.

My family.

My sanity.

Al hesitates, then nods, “Only me though.”

Tilting my head, I consider his words, “Why?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I can’t help it, but I laugh. It’s short and sharp, “Oh, Al, don’t you know that all I’ve ever known in Wonderland is pain?”

He wraps his arms tighter around me, his arm grazing against my soaked bra, and I suck in a breath at how tingles spread from the contact, “If I could take all your pain and turn it on myself, I would do it in a heartbeat. Hurt me instead, Red, so that you can try to find some peace.” Al says with such sincerity that tears gather in my eyes.

“You really mean that, don’t you? Do you want me to hurt you, Al? Make you feel like you are punished for the crimes that got you sent here instead of punishing myself?”

Al sucks in a sharp breath at my words, his cheeks turning red though I can’t tell if it’s from the steam or what I’ve just said.

“Yes.” He whispers, almost inaudibly, “I mean every word. I want to be your shield, your solace.”

His words strike a chord deep within me, and I feel the barriers I’ve built when it comes to him crumble to dust.

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