Chapter 10
ERIK STERN
16th February 1933
Ida sat by my bedside, unwrapping, rewrapping my cuts. Her gentle hands circled my arms with soft fabric and bandages.
“Erik, we’re not so different. I know you would prefer for me to not exist...”
Ida slowly shrugged off her cardigan and I glanced down at her scarred arms, they looked old, but they remained deeply embedded.
“Hah... What’s your reason?” I looked up at her face, I think I was slowly warming up to her, “Your life seems perfect.”
“It always seems perfect, doesn’t it? Klaus thought you seemed perfect enough to be left alone that day...” She nervously twirled hair around her fingers, “But my reason?... It’s a lot. My family was poor- well, all of ours were. Some of my friends were sold off. And I almost was too. As soon as I turned 12, my parents- my... father said I should help them earn a little more money. I assumed I would be cleaning people’s houses, or something simple like that. It was... much worse... I’d rather not go into details.” She averted her gaze and quietly chuckled, “I’ve never really shared that with anyone. It feels nice... to get it off my chest.”
I reached out a weak hand into her own and squeezed with the strength I had, “You’re safe now, right?”
“Hah... Yeah, it was only a one-time thing, my mother couldn’t sleep knowing that she had allowed that to happen.” She ran a hand through my hair, “Hungry? I can make you some lunch.”
“Thanks, Ida. Sorry for earlier...”
“Don’t worry about it. I would’ve been the same.”
*~*
“What’s Klaus like? With you, I mean... Is he romantic?”
Ida’s red lips curled up, “Him? Romantic? In my dreams. He’s pathetic honestly. In a cute way, y’know?”
A cold ache burned through my bones, forcing a groan out of my lips as I tried to sit up. Ida placed a hand on my back to steady me, “Careful... Don’t push yourself. What do you need? Water?”
“No... no, nothing... Just need to stretch...”
*~*
Klaus returned a few hours later, dressed in his uniform. Ida moved out of the way for him to sit beside me on the bed, “Let me see your arms, how are they healing-?” The sparkle in Klaus’ eyes faded quickly when he noticed Ida’s arms exposed, “You too?”
Ida gasped with a nervous smile, tugging her cardigan back on, “It was ages ago, Klaus, before you met me.”
My hand made it’s way into Klaus’, before my body decided it was time to drift off to sleep.
*~*
IDA KÜNSTLER
18th February 1933
I brought my art supplies over to Klaus’ house. I thought it would be beneficial for Erik – also I felt horrible not being able to do art for so long. The calming strokes on canvas and the textures of paint on palettes.
Erik insisted he wasn’t an artist, but he took the sketchbook into his hand and he drew for hours. Meanwhile I set up my easel and started to paint. The young girl on the canvas looked back at me with pain, her small body wrapped in cloth.
“Who’s that?” Erik peered over with curiosity.
“Well... I’d say it’s me, but I think most girls would say it was them at some point too.”
“Art is confusing... How do you get your paintings to have meaning?”
“You don’t make them have meaning, that’s first. Every piece of art has meaning, big or small. Every piece of art is an expression of what you’re feeling. The gentle strokes in my paintings can show sadness and innocence and if I were to...” I splashed a cup of crimson at the canvas. “Do that, it could show anger. It could show I’ve given up on following the rules of art, or following expectations, allowing myself to be independent.”
“Did you just... ruin your painting to prove a point?”
“You can’t ruin a painting. And I was intending to do that anyway.”
Erik stared into my eyes with awe, his iris lighting up with stars, “You’re so cool...”
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White hospital floors,
And silver, outlined doors,
A resting place protected
By paper thin curtains,
And with unannounced visitors.