This Man Confessed

‘Well, no.’ His frown line jumps onto his forehead.

‘What then?’ I ask, utterly intrigued. He looks shifty all of a sudden, uncomfortable and all boyish. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘Turn around.’ he commands softly, resting his hands in his pockets.

I’m not sure I want to. I look at him questioningly, but he remains silent and his frown line remains fixed in place. He’s concerned, which makes me concerned, and very very curious. I slowly pivot, wanting to close my eyes, but far too inquisitive to do it. And then the wall slowly comes into view, and I stop breathing. A choked gasp flies from my gaping mouth, and I’ve taken a step back because Jesse’s chest is pressed up against me. Or maybe he has stepped forward to steady me. I’m not sure. I can’t even take it all in. My eyes run from one side of the large wall, the length of his office to the other end.

It’s completely coated in… me.

Every square inch is me. Not framed pictures or canvases or photographs. It’s wallpaper, although you would never know it. Each seam is so incredibly perfect, it looks like one giant piece of art—a homage to me, and the biggest piece, the centre piece, is me spread on the cross in our room at The Manor. I’m naked, my eyes are dropped low and my lips are parted. My hair is a mass of glossy waves, framing my lust filled face and the sensual vibes pumping from my body in the still shot is tangible. I can feel it as I’m standing here.

My gaze starts to drift, absorbing it all. There’s too much, and I’m gasping again as I spot a motion shot of my back as I rush down the steps of The Manor. It wouldn’t be particularly strange, but I can clearly see the head of a calla lily, extending from the side of my fleeing body. And I register my dress. It’s my navy pencil dress. It’s the dress I wore to my very first consultation with Mr Jesse Ward.

‘That was the first one I took.’ he murmurs, ‘It became a bit of an obsession after that.’ His voice is quiet and unsure. I swing around, my mouth still gaping. I can’t possibly speak. The lump in my throat is doing too good a job of stopping me. He’s biting his lip, watching me closely. I swallow and turn back to the wall.

The Ava wall.

I’m everywhere. I’m at the launch night of Lusso; I’m sitting on the bench at the dock side after our encounter; I’m in the shower, the kitchen, on the terrace. I’m in Harrods changing rooms, and I’m sitting on my stool in bar at The Manor. I’m kitted out in my biker leathers, and I’m storming away from him in an oversized, cream knitted jumper. I smile, noting so many shots of my back from where I’m running away from him, probably after I’ve received the countdown or I’m having a strop. I’m naked in countless, or just in lace. And then there’s me in handcuffs on the bed, and another of me swimming in the pool at The Manor. I’m laughing with Kate; I’m brushing my hair from my face; I’m eating lunch in Baroque; I’m dancing with my friends, and I’m tapping my front tooth with my fingernail. I also see myself slouched in the passenger seat of the DBS, clearly drunk. I’m running towards the Thames and I’m collapsed on the grass in The Green Park. I’m pushing a trolley around the supermarket, I’m getting changed into my baggy shit, and I’m brushing my teeth. I’m asleep on the jet and standing on the veranda in Paradise. I’m poking about on the market stalls, kicking the sand on the beach and cooking breakfast in the villa. We only returned from Spain yesterday. How did he do this? I’m asleep in his bed and asleep in his arms—there are so many of me asleep in his arms. Every facial expression imaginable and every habit I have is displayed in one of these pictures. It’s like my life in images since I first met this man. And I wasn’t aware of any of it. He really is obsessed with me, and if I’d have known about this in the early days, like when he persistently pursued me, I think I’d have ran faster and farther. Not now, though. Now I’m just reminded after a tiring day of this man’s love for me.

I’m astounded and unaware that my feet have taken me to the foot of the wall. I’m slowly walking the length of it, absorbing it all, each flick of my eyes finding another picture that I didn’t see before.

‘Here,’ Jesse’s quiet husk pulls my bewildered eyes from the Ava wall, and to a black, permanent marker pen. That alone makes me smile. ‘I want you to sign it.’

I take the pen and look up at him, unsure if he’s playing or not. He wants me to deface his Ava Wall? ‘Sign it with my name?’ I ask, a little confused.

‘Yes, wherever.’ He waves at the images.

I glance back at the wall and laugh lightly, still dazed by what I’m confronted with. I step forward and pop the lid from the pen, looking for a spare space for me to scribble my name, but then I spot the first shot that he ever took of me and I approach it, armed with my pen. Smiling to myself, I write beneath the shot of me fleeing The Manor.

Today I met you.

This day was the beginning of the rest of my life.

From this moment, I was your Ava x

Then I make my way over to the image of me sitting by the docks on the launch night of Lusso.

Today I realised how in deep I was.

And I wanted to be so much deeper with you.

I move along the wall to the picture of me drunk in Jesse’s car and smile as I write;

Today I learnt that you can dance. I also admitted to myself that I was in love with you, and I think I might have told you too.

I’m in my stride now. I quickly locate the picture of me in the chunky jumper, after he manhandled me into the damn thing.