Sparkling Diamonds

"God dammit," I groaned as I pushed passed him to the private elevator to his apartment. Martin and Ben followed after me as Ben swiped us into the lift and to the floor we desired. "I knew that he would fight back, and strong to."

"Is there something that you're not telling us?" Benedict asked, trying to get my attention but failing to do so as we continued up his floor.

"Not now," I breathed as the elevator made a noise to let us know that we had reached our level.

I stormed out of the elevator and began to set myself up by one of the windows, pulling one of the bar stools from the kitchen and setting it up behind all my things. I set up the easel and rested the large canvass that I bought onto it.

Picking at my paints and getting an old glass that Benedict didn't want anymore to use as a cup for my paint brushes, Martin and Benedict watched me as I moved about the apartment as if I was on a mission. The fact was, however, I was on a mission -- to forget the past and whatever James had inflected on me, especially in the long term.

"So, you going to answer the question?" Martin said, trying to get me to answer something I didn't want to.

I looked to him, long and hard, before I answered, "No."

I turned back to my blank canvas, taking in a deep breath and thinking about how I was going to start drawing. This would be taking me all night, and all of tomorrow night also. Those were the only two times that I had free where I could spend long periods of time working on my present to Benedict.

"Ben," I asked, extending my hand out towards him and motioning for him to come towards me. "Come here for a second."

"Why?" he said, not moving from his position. "You still haven't done what I asked."

"Just do it," I retorted.

Benedict raised his eyebrows, saying, "Alright."

He moved from his position by Martin to the other side of the canvas. It was then that I full saw Benedict. Previously, I only saw parts of him…what he was feeling showing through his eyes, how he was touching me. Now, I saw everything. It was like I was becoming his character, deducing him in every possible way.

The laugh lines in the corner of his eyes, the slight curl of his hair that licked his face, the thickness in his eyebrows that brought strength to his eyes, his elongated yet hardened fingers that had a slight yellow tinge from the years he had been smoking -- he had been smoking recently, a few hours, minutes ago because of the news that he had just received from his lawyer.

His eyes showed his stress, despite how hard he was trying to hide it. HIs pupils were dilated, posture stressed yet eager to find out what I had to say. Benedict'd lis were parted slightly, keen for something to keep him occupied -- a cigarette hopefully and soon.

I kept my eyes upon him as I dipped my paint brush into the black ink and started painting upon the canvass. I didn't know what I was painting yet but I hoped that everything that I was seeing was being passed onto the canvass between us. They also say that pictures are worth a thousand words. I just hoped that I would be able to paint something more then that, something that he would appreciate.

"Is there something that you're not telling us, Di," Martin said, somewhere in the distance. I was so focussed on the painting that I barely even heard what Martin was saying. "Tell us, we would both really like to know whats going--"

"Shh," Benedict said. "Something's going on and I don't think we should disturb her."

Martin groaned, throwing his hands up in the air as he said, "We'll, I'm going to make some tea while I wait for a bloody answer as it seems I'm the only one that's interested."

Time passed as I continued to paint, unconscious to the world around me. In the distance, from the kitchen, Martin made two cups of tea -- one for himself and one for Benedict. I heard him muttering to himself, something about me, as he went to give Benedict his tea.

Ben took it gratefully, sipping at it as they waited for me to stop. Through the light in the window and the smoke that escaped from the tea, inspired me to see a whole different side to the scene that I had originally deduced.

I noticed all the wrinkles that the wisps of smoke rolled passed; I noticed the fake blood staining the skin underneath his nails; I noticed the bulge in his pocket that lighted up every few minutes -- someone was clearly concerned.

I looked at the painting that I had started to create, somehow unhappy with what I had made. As a result, I started making major adjustments to what lay in front of me. As I continued to paint, I saw that I wasn't happy with what I had changed either. My rows knitted together as I roughly shoved the paint brush into the cup the rest of my paint brushes sat in.

Benedict was the first to notice that I had suddenly changed. I hadn't realise that this had taken all night and the sun was starting to rise over the city. Martin was asleep on the couch in the living room nearby with his clothes from the previous night still upon him. He snored slightly, but nothing too distracting.

Hopefully Eliza wouldn't find that too hard to sleep beside, knowing how things were progressing with them. I was starting to see less and less of her…or maybe it was more and more time that I was spending with Benedict but I was definitely noticing the change in one of my closest friends and the close friend of the man that I was currently seeing.

Ben moved over to me, his eyes drawn and dark circles lining the bottom of his eyes due the lack of sleep and what work was trying to pull out of him each day. I glared angrily at the painting in front of me, half finished and representing nothing that I wanted it to.

When Benedict saw it, however, he gripped my shoulders and tight in that too. He pressed his lips into my hair, letting out a sigh as he did so. He then wrapped his long arms around my middle, just under my breasts, and held me tight. I placed my hands upon his that wrapped around me, running my fingers over his hands.

"You're beautiful," he whispered to me.

"I'm not sure that's the right word for what you see here," I replied. "You have the whole of he oxford dictionary at your disposal and you have to use the most common word to describe what you see."

"Ravishing," he tried.

"Sounds like you're about to eat me," I snarled.

"Divine."

"No."

"Enchanting."

"Try again."

"Exquisite."

I was silent as I picked up the paintbrush again, dipping it in it's black ink and writing the word exquisite in cursive in the bottom right hand corner of the painting along with the date. Just above it, I wrote cumberbear.

I held up the paint brush in the air. just above the canvass. I was about to start painting again but something was stopping me. Some kind of emotion was surrounding me that I didn't realise.

I placed my hand upon Benedict's cheek above me, my holding the paint brush was shaking as I let out a haggard breath. It was a pain that I wasn't used to…something that I had been warned of with my condition. A cry of pain escaped my lips, tears welling at my eyes.

Come on, Di. Get this done. It's the only time that you will get the chance to do it.

So, with my shaking hand dipped in black paint, I drew some lines across the canvass as I felt Benedict swearing underneath his breath. His fingers pulled themselves from my body as he tried to swivel me around. I refused to let him do so as I finished the painting with the sun casting it's golden light across the city.

When I had finished, I dropped the paint brush to the ground and gripping onto my stained pants. Benedict turned me around in the seat saying, "Oh God, oh God. What's happening?"

Martin must've heard the commotion that Benedict was making because he was on his feet in a matter of seconds. When he saw Benedict on his knees in front of me, his swearing getting louder by the moment, he rushed over to me and rested a firm hand upon Benedict's shoulder.

"What the hell…" Martin muttered as he pulled out his mobile and called the ambulance. "Ambulance, yes. Come now. There is a woman…bleeding in a way that's not healthy. Pregnant? I don't know…oh God." Martin glanced to me, fear in his eyes and his face dropping, truly showing his age. "Please don't tell me…"

"Just make sure they get here," Benedict said, his fingers creeping up my legs as they began to be stained further with blood. "Fast."

"Hurry, please," Martin cried into the phone. "Oh God."

I felt the energy slipping from me as my posture began to loose as the pain grew more intense. I slipped off the stool, too my knees, and into Benedict's arms. He held me loosely, like a rag doll, completely shocked about what was going on.

"Why didn't you tell me…?" he said, his voice full of pain and tears.

"I didn't want to believe it until now," I said weakly.

"Oh God," he cried, pulling me from him so that we could see each other.

His eyes were red and welled up with so many tears that if I didn't let out all the pain that I contained, my heart might have broken. His lips clung together by the spit that conglomerated in his mouths he took in a harsh breath of air. He clasped his hands around my face, his fingers imprinting themselves into my features.

"Why don't you believe me?" he said shakily.

"I don't know what to believe," I said. "Why should I believe you when I can't even believe in myself."

"Oh, Di," he said, his features becoming so contorted that I hardly recognised him anymore. "You're are so precious…as precious as a sparkling diamond. Please don't let me lose you."

"I can't…" I cried, tears spilling from my eyes as we let go of our disguise.

He brought me back into a tight embrace as the ambulance was let in my Martin, the ever present Dr. Watson -- adapting whenever he needed to. Whatever happened next, hardly felt like it happened at all.

All I remember was that when the paramedics hoisted me onto the stretcher, they could hardly take their eyes of the painting of Benedict, myself and the child that we could have had but I had lost.