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.
Today I found out that I’m just for your eyes.
Then I’m writing underneath the picture of me walking naked from the bedroom after I found him collapsed at Lusso, and after he showed me how he does his talking.
Today I learnt that I’m for your touch and for your pleasure only. But my favourite part of today was when you told me that you love me.
My pen drifts over to the shot of me handcuffed.
Today you introduced me to the retribution f**k.
I quickly scan the wall and find a picture of me walking in front of him through the foyer of The Ritz.
Today I found out how old you are… and that you don’t like being handcuffed.
I can’t stop. Each and every image brings a thought, and I find myself marking picture after picture with my memories in words. He doesn’t stop me. I just keep going, like I’m writing a diary of the last few months of my life. I don’t need to record it, each and every moment is etched on my brain, good and bad, but these are all good. And there are so so many of them. It’s sometimes too easy to let them slip to the outer edges when the not so good gets in the way. Our short time together has been a bombardment of bad, but all of this good far outweighs the challenging moments. He’s reminded me.
My hand is aching by the time I reach my final picture—my final picture for now, anyway. I’m sure I’ll be thinking of more captions to add. It’s the one of me standing on the veranda in Paradise. I push my pen to the wall.