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Colin was in his flat when the phone rang. He had been feeling funny since the morning. There was a lingering headache, he didn't have his usual appetite, and an awful feeling had a hold of his whole soul. He tried painkillers, litres of water, and a short nap. However, nothing helped neither with his mood nor with his headache. He was watching nonsense of a comedy show that did not help his situation or make him even smile.
Today was an awful day, Colin decided. He was to take a shower, try to ease his head with some steam when the phone rang.
"Eloise, it is not the best time," he sighed, answering. What he didn't expect was to hear his sister sob into the phone. Eloise was tough, and she hated when people saw or heard her crying. Hearing her cry and call him while she was crying was a shock on another level for Colin, "El," he said, concerned if Eloise was crying and letting another soul hear her crying, something was seriously wrong, "El, what's wrong? Are you okay?" he asked a worry painting his whole being. The headache and his mood were ten times worse now, the concern and fear gripping his heart.
"It is Pen," she hiccuped, Colin's heart dropping, "You need to come, Col. Pen is hurt," she kept sobbing, much harder now. And for a whole minute, Colin couldn't breathe. His lungs denied air; his heart missed a beat. Penelope couldn't get hurt. Penelope didn't deserve to be hurt. She was too kind, too gentle, too good.
"Where?" was the only word Colin could get out. The moment Eloise called the name of the hospital, he was already in his car, driving.
***
"Rather boring, isn't it?" Penelope heard right behind her, Colin's chest grazing her shoulder. She turned to see him smiling down at her, two flutes of champagne in his hands, one pushed towards her. She thanked him softly, tearing her eyes away from his handsome face.
"Aren't these always boring?" she asked, looking at everyone around them, chatting, laughing. It all seemed too fake, too pretentious. Colin's eyes fell onto the redhead beside him. She looked uncomfortable. Colin was well aware, Penelope did not like these gatherings; she didn't like the upper society. Most of them either ignored her or didn't treat her as she deserved. Colin, couldn't care less about what the others in the room were doing. He began to enjoy these events after noticing that they were opportunities to spend more time with Penelope, without Eloise's intervention, as his sister hated these and rarely was in attendance. Colin did not have to either, but he kept regularly attending, both to escape his mother's scolding and primarily to have Penelope all to himself.
"What is bothering you, Penny?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder to squeeze to comfort her and to keep her from escaping.
"Nothing," she said softly.
"How many years have I known you, Pen?" he asked, smiling, "Like it or not, I can read you like an open book at this point. And I know that right now, something is torturing you inside your pretty head."
Colin was not expecting a bitter smile at his words. He did not expect the wall Penelope put on right in front of his eyes. And he certainly did not expect Penelope to grow rigid under his hand, making him remove his hand.
"I doubt that, Colin," she said, voice void of any emotions.
"What do you mean, Pen? You are my best friend, aren't you? Of course, I know you!"
"I am Eloise's best friend, Colin," she corrected, "I am your sister's best friend."
"But mine, too," Colin insisted.
"Am I?" she challenged, "I don't think you third-wheeling when Eloise and I hang out, out of having nothing to do, would not be making you my best friend."
"But Pen," Colin was not ready to let her go without a fight, Penelope was his dearest friend. She has been the most important person in his life, right beside his family, for years. And he would not let whatever was bothering her to take this away from him, take her away from him. But Penelope was faster,
"I need to go, Colin," she said, "It was nice to see you."
Before Colin could answer, she was gone, leaving a Penelope shaped hole in his heart. Something was wrong with Penelope, and Colin had no idea what.
***
Colin was still thinking about his last interaction with Penelope. He tried to call and text her after the party but could not reach her. He didn't want that to be his last memory with her. He prayed things were okay with Penelope, but he could also not deny the horror in Eloise's voice, which was an unnatural event.
He ran into the ER, searching for the redhead or his sister. Anyone, at this point, that would lead him to Penelope. He was met by Anthony, who was holding Eloise, as she still sobbed.
"What happened? Where is Pen?" he said, running to them. Eloise looked worse than when she broke her leg when she was 12. And Anthony looked purely worried, not anger or sign of brooding seen on his face. Anthony's whole demeanour did also tell him that it was bad. And there was a big possibility that Penelope was not in a hopeful situation.
***
"Have you seen Pen lately?" Colin asked as he was spreading some strawberry jam on his bread.
"No," Eloise sighed, "she is in a mood. She said she needed to be alone for a while. She looks," she lingered for a moment, "she looks rather dull lately. As if it is the shell of her. Not smiling, not joking, just there, floating in existence."
"Did something happen? Did her mother do something."
"She doesn't say, Colin," Eloise huffed, "I asked. I begged her to tell me. But it is like talking to a wall. She won't say she won't share. And I have no idea how to help her. How to make it better."
***
"She passed out. El found her," Anthony said.
"Passed out? Where? Why?" It didn't make sense. Why would Penelope pass out? She was in perfect health.
"We don't know. But she hit her head on the table corner when she fell," Anthony grimaced, "We don't know how long she was unconscious or how much damage the hit gave."
"What damage?" Colin was panicking; Eloise's crying did not help, "Where is Penelope?"
"They wanted to check her brain to make sure everything was in order."
"What is the worst-case scenario?" Colin asked; he didn't want to hear. But, he needed to know. Anthony avoided his eyes, and even though he didn't utter a word, Colin knew the worst-case scenario was losing Penelope. All he could do was to sank to the chair beside him, his hands shaking. He could not lose Penelope. Penelope wasn't supposed to even be in the same sentence with death. She wasn't supposed to be in a hospital. She wasn't supposed to get hurt. Penelope was supposed to be safe and sound, always and forever. And it made no sense. Being here, waiting on the news if she was okay, hearing Elosie cry over the possibility of losing her best friend. Colin could not lose Penelope. There was so much to live, so much to immortalise with her. It was not enough; every second he spent with Penelope yet, was not enough. Colin was paralysed in fear of not having any more memories with Penelope. He was frozen in the idea of waking up to a world that Penelope Featherington was not a part of tomorrow. The mere idea of Penelope's absence haunted him.
Colin didn't know how long they waited. Eloise and Anthony were sitting by his side, Anthony still rubbing a hiccuping Eloise's back. A young nurse approached them. Colin was impatient and terrified of hearing what she had to say.
"Miss Featherinton's family?" she asked.
"Yes," Anthony said, in his head of the family voice, leaving no room to argue.
"Mis Featherington is stable. She had a contusion. As it was not an extreme one, she will not need surgery. However, the next several days are crucial. We assume there won't be any lingering effects, but she will experience headaches, confusions, nausea and difficulty with her memory. We believe seizures are not a high possibility for her case, but you will need to keep a close eye on her in case one happens."
"Is she awake?" Colin asked. He knew what the nurse was saying was not all bad. Penelope was alive, hurt but alive.
"She is just waking up," she smiled, noticing the worry on him, "She is a bit disoriented. However," her smile fell to be replaced by a more serious expression, "Are you aware that Miss Featherington was starving herself?"
"What?" Eloise whispered.
"According to her blood work," she hasn't eaten at least in the last five days. And even before, she seemed not to eat a lot. Her nutrients are almost non-existent."
"She hasn't been eating?" Eloise whispered. Colin's mind went back to every interaction he had with Penelope in the last few weeks. He couldn't remember a moment she ate something. The most he had seen was her sipping coffee, and that was not even food. He didn't notice; how could he not notice. Penelope looked more tired; more make up under her eyes; she didn't look healthy. How could he ignore all the signs? How could he let things to come this far. Risk Penelope's life.
"We will need to schedule a mental check-in when she is physically better. The doctor thinks she might be suffering from depression and an eating disorder, but we can't confirm that before the check-in."
"Is she going to be okay?" Colin begged. It felt like the whole hospital just collapsed on top of him, and he couldn't breathe.
"Physically, yes," the nurse nodded, "but it is too early to say anything about her mental state."
Later the nurse took them to the room Penelope was resting in. Colin's hands were worse. He was shaking as a whole as Eloise ran into the room. Anthony rested a hand on his shoulder before they stepped inside.
"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing the distress all over Colin. He has never seen Colin this bad.
"I can't lose her," Colin chocked.
"We won't," Anthony promised, "We will take care of her, you know that."
Eloise was already sitting by Penelope's side, holding her hands in hers. It was not how pale Penelope looked that shook Colin to his core. It was not the white bandage bright against her fiery curls, the little spot of blood in the middle, either. It was her eyes. Colin never saw Penelope look this empty, tired, done. Penelope was always a ray of sunshine, even on the worst day. Colin knew if he went to Penelope, if he had a chance to see her, everything would get better and brighter. Before he could realise what he was doing, he was on the other side of the bed, sitting right next to the curvy girl and pulling her to himself gently. He was mindful of the injuries she carried but enveloped her in his arms. He pressed a kiss to the uninjured part of her head and buried his face in her locks. She smelled like a hospital and antiseptics. But taking a deeper breath, let him get the scent he knew too well for his own good. It was the smell left in his scarfs and jackets after he wrapped Penelope in them, not caring for her protests on a cold day. The scent he would get any time he could sneak in a long hug with her. The scent that he felt every night, in his dreams. His hands were still shaking, but holding her made things better; it eased the beating of his heart. Penelope was here, alive, breathing and in his arms. He would protect Penelope from everything, including herself.
"Never do this to me again," he begged the girl, his voice muffled by the skin of her shoulder, "Kill me if you wish, Pen, but never do this to me again," before he or anyone else could say more, the nurse entered the room.
"Miss Featherington is free to go; she will need a rest for a couple of weeks. And it is better if she is not alone. Is any of you going to stay with her? She can also stay here, but patients tend to feel more in comfort outside the hospital."
Before Eloise could answer, Colin, interrupted, "Penny will stay with me. I will take care of her."
"Colin," Anthony said.
"Eloise will be busy at the job, and I am the closest to Pen other than her. I am fully at home. I don't have an office-presence demanding job. And I can take care of Penelope," his voice was soft but left no room for an argument. Anthony nodded, watching his younger brother holding the hurt girl in his arms. Eloise was staring at Colin, too. He had an arm around Penelope. The said girl, still shaken and under the influence of painkillers, relaxed against her brother's torso. Her head was resting on his chest as Colin held her together and safe. Eloise wanted to object, but the first time in her life was she seeing her brother this determined and protective, and she just couldn't interject.
***
Anthony and Eloise were in Penelope's flat while Colin took her back to his. Eloise was packing Penelope's things for her stay at Colin's. Anthony grimaced when he entered the living room. There was still blood on the corner of the table, where Penelope fell, some on the floor too. Anthony took a deep breath; he hated when people close to him got this visibly hurt. He found some swabs and cleaned the whole area to erase the memories of the day. He knew Eloise was ignoring it, she was not ready to handle it yet, but it was clear Penelope was hurt more than it was visible to them. He made his way to the kitchen, he was afraid of what he would see, but he had to. Anthony had to know how bad it was if they were to help Penelope. Though he was sure, Colin was trustable when it came to Penelope. Though he was dumb, his heart knew what he wanted and cared about. The kitchen was almost empty. All Anthony could find was some soup, coffee and tea. There were no snacks, no real food or anything to make food of. Penelope was starving herself, for god knows how long. And it all happened while she was right in front of them. There were eight of them, more than a dozen when his mother and their partners were included, and they somehow managed not to know what Penelope was going through.
***
Meanwhile, Colin had an arm around Penelope's waist, holding her close while carrying her medication on his other hand. Penelope was silent, something Colin was not used to. He pulled her to the kitchen, not eager to let her leave his sight.
"How are you feeling, darling?" he asked, rubbing her shoulder as he was watching her. The doctor gave him general instructions on how to treat her. How he should incline more on liquid food rather than solid ones as her stomach stayed empty for too long and her contusion could make her nauseous.
Penelope gave out a quite "okay," which made Colin more nervous, but he said nothing, giving her a soft smile. His whole being was being torn apart seeing Penelope, a burst of sunshine in a human form, this sad. Colin could not hold himself anymore, and in two fast strides, he was right in front of her, wrapping her in a warm hug. Penelope did not hug back, but it didn't stop Colin from holding onto her a little bit longer than necessary.
"I will make some soup, yeah?" he asked, helping her onto a comfortable chair he pulled into the kitchen, just for her. The soup didn't take long. He already had all the ingredients, having shopped the day before. And he cooked the same soup to the girl many times over the years when she was sick, or it was cold, or she was upset. He brought both of them some fresh soup with warmed bread. Penelope was looking at him with tired eyes.
"Come on, love," he smiled, sitting next to her, "just a bit of soup will make you feel better and heal faster. You know you always loved my cooking," he smiled, nudging her shoulder with his arm.
"I am not hungry," she said, not meeting her eyes. They both were aware that she was.
"And I am not offering you a full meal, just some soup. To warm you up, heal you up."
"I don't want it," she refused.
"Please, darling," he begged, "just a bowl. And I promise I won't bother you for anything else but some tea and water until the evening," when the redhead made no move, Colin sighed and collected her spoon in his hands, and moved to feed her.
"What are you doing?" Penelope asked.
"Feeding you, darling. Like it or not, you are under my care now, and no one, including you, can hurt or harm you ever again."
***
Anthony and Eloise entered the flat to find Penelope wrapped in a large blanket, a mug of tea in her hands. As Colin sat next to her, holding a plate of biscottis, feeding it to her in tiny bites. There was a movie running in front of them, and Colin surprisingly looked peaceful, much different from the time they were in the hospital.
Eloise silently made her way to Penelope's other side, putting the tea to the other side, pulling her best friend in her arms, careful with her head. Anthony nodded Colin to follow him to the kitchen.
"How is she?" Anthony asked; Colin took a deep breath leaning against the wall.
"Silent," he answered, "sad."
"Did she anything?"
"Soup, a bite of bread. Barely, though, I had to force-feed her with some pile on the agony."
"Doctors were right, Col," Anthony sighed, "there was barely food in her kitchen. I think it might be better if she will be under professional care."
"No," Colin said, "I can take care of her."
"She might be bulimic, Colin."
"She might be. But sending her off to some hospital won't help. When she is better, I will take her to get some help. I promise. But sending her off means abandoning her. I know Penelope, Anthony; I know her better than I know anyone else in this world. And I know that she needs us to be close."
"What did the doctor advise?"
"Mostly liquid food. Her stomach needs to recover first to start more complicated things."
"Are you sure you can do this?" Anthony asked; Colin was never the most responsible type. The whole family knew Penelope was special for him, but this was much more serious than pulling the girl to the dancefloor at high society events. The glint of determination and care, together with how serious Colin looked, was foreign to Anthony, but he also would be an idiot if he'd say he hadn't notice Colin gravitating towards Penelope over the years, at every chance he had.
"I can," Colin said, leaving no room for any argument, "I will take care of Pen."
***
After Eloise and Anthony left, Colin prepared some tea with honey, bringing it to Penelope, who was busy reading his notes. He found his place next to her, sitting a bit closer than necessary.
"Tell me when you feel sleepy, love," he said softly, "I have a guest room ready for you. If you don't like it, you can always have mine. I want you to feel comfortable," he said, "it is as much as your house as it is mine."
"Colin, I am invading your space enough," she sighed.
"Pen," Colin called softly, putting an arm around her round shoulder, pulling her to his body. After he got content with their positing, her head tucked against his chest, her knees resting on his thighs, his fingers sprawled on her arm, enjoying the bouncy flesh under his touch, "believe me, love, even without you being hurt, or needing some pampering, I would love nothing more than having you all over my space. I hate that you are here because of a must, yes. But, I never enjoyed anyone's presence more than I do yours, now and before."
"You don't have to humour me," she said.
"When have I ever humoured you?"
"Every time you asked me to dance at an event?" she challenged.
"Penny," he sighed, "do I ever ask anyone else dance at those, as much as I ask you?"
"No."
"Do I ever go to anyone else to spend time at those awfully boring events?"
"No."
"Why do you think I am always by your side or with you on the dancefloor?"
"To make your mum happy. Out of pity."
"Never," Colin said sternly, "I could never pity you, darling. Can't you see how wonderful you are, how dear you are to me? I can't lie mum is happy when I dance with you, but she would be happy just with any other woman I would ask to dance to. But I only ask you, Pen. Because you like dancing, and I love dancing with you. I love how carefree you look, twirling in my arms. I love how it makes you giggle when I spin you a tab bit too fast. Nothing I do with you and for you is out of pity, Pen," he said, "look around, look at my life. Who do I have, except the ones I'm blood-related, closer to me than you? Even when you count them, you are either as close or even closer."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why?" Colin couldn't understand the question entirely. But he wanted to dig deeper. Penelope's voice, the emptiness in her eyes, he didn't like it.
"Why would you say those, Colin? I am Eloise's friend, your sister's friend. Why do you act as if you care?"
"Because I do care, about you, a lot."
"No, you don't."
"Then why are you here, Pen? Why did I fight both Eloise and Anthony to keep you by my side? Under my care? Why did it felt as if my heart stopped when I heard you were hurt? Why did it hurt more than it would if I was hurt?"
"Pity, guilt, maybe?"
"No," Colin shook his head, "It is because I can't imagine a life without you in it. A world where you don't exist."
"It would be a better world," she mumbled.
"It would be a world without the sun," he said, careful not to sound too harsh or berating, "I would much rather have you right here, love."
"I think I am tired," Penelope said. Colin smiled, urging her to finish her tea and helping her up. Colin kept a hand pressed to her back, leading her to the guest room. He had brought as many pillows he could find to the bed, knowing from all the sleepovers she and Eloise had growing up, Penelope loved cuddling with thousands of pillows.
"Do you like it?" he asked, "As I said, you can also have my room wherever you feel more comfortable. I am much too used to sleeping in hotel beds; giving mine to you wouldn't be much trouble."
"I will be fine here," she said.
"Change into your pyjamas. I will bring some milk and your pills," he smiled.
"I am not a baby; why do I need milk?"
"You are my baby, Penny," he said, squeezing her shoulder, "Into your PJs, now," he commanded softly.
***
Penelope was staying with Colin for almost a week now. Though Penelope's mental state was not much better, she still refused to eat unless it was Colin was there to encourage her. Colin was well aware of the negativity rolling off the girl. Colin was starting to notice how Penelope ran away from mirrors and other reflection that would make her visible. Penelope was hiding her body in Colin's sweatshirts. Colin loved seeing her in his clothing but hated the reasoning behind it. The redhead was sitting on the kitchen counter while Colin hovered around her, changing the bandage covering her head.
"You are healing nicely," Colin said, patting her cheek gently, "I don't think you need much bandaging now. But I should put a thicker one before we go to bed, just in case," he said, moving to wash his hands and throw away the dirtied bandages.
"Can I go home now?" she asked silently.
"Pen," Colin sighed, crouching in front of her, "darling," he called once more, making her look at him, "We both know you are not well enough yet. And I am not only talking about your pretty head. You are hurting in your soul. And, I cannot let you get hurt, like this."
"There is nothing for you to be guilty about," she whispered.
"Why do you think I am guilty?" Colin asked, knowing well denying would not mean anything to Penelope in this state of mind. He needed to find the reasons behind her distrust.
"Why else would you make me stay here?"
"Because I care about you."
"You are being cruel, Colin."
"Penelope," he whispered, "I know it is hard to believe and trust right now. I know whatever is inside your mind is not letting you smile, be happy. But, I am here, love," he smiled, holding her hands in his, "I am always here. And, if you want me to be honest, though the circumstances are not the best, the last couple of days were the best I had in this house. Maybe it is because I grew up in a crowded house, maybe it is because you are the perfect roommate. I love spending every moment with you, I love how I turn around a corner, and you are sitting in the middle of the living room, with your book in your hands, with your curls in a messy bun."
"Colin," Penelope said.
"We are in this together, love," he promised, "Just trust me through this."
***
It didn't take long for Colin to convince Penelope to visit the therapist. He was there to drive her to the clinic and pick her up. Eloise mostly joined them. She still was not happy that Colin basically took her place in Penelope's life. However, she also could not ignore the fact that Penelope was more stable. Whatever Colin was doing was working.
One unexpected development was Benedict's involvement in their little routine. Most of the Bridgertons, who were not as close with Penelope, were staying back not to overwhelm the girl. But when her therapist suggested working on a new hobby for her to keep her negative thoughts away, Benedict wanted to get involved. Everyone knew Penelope was a good writer, but it also was her job, so no matter how much she enjoyed it, it was not a hobby.
It was a Saturday evening at Colin's flat; Penelope was curled against his shoulder as he kept a loose arm around her while they watched a movie. It was the knock on the door, distracting them. Penelope lifted her head to look at the man beside her. She still had trouble feeling comfortable in other people's presence. Though annoying at first, Colin's constant and assuring presence has become a calming element in her daily life.
"Did you expect someone?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
"As if you have never met my siblings, Pen," he said, leaving her side to open the door. Penelope sat a little straighter, not excited for whoever was here. People expected her to talk, tell her what was troubling her. People were pushy. The only reason she accepted Colin's constant mother henning was because he didn't force her to talk. No matter how worried he was, he never pushed her. He was patient and gentle. He let her heal at her own pace.
"Hello, Penny dear," Benedict said, entering the living room with an irritated Colin following him. Everyone knew if Benedict arrived, Colin had to try extra hard to keep all the attention on him. Colin, no matter how charming and handsome he was, lacked the artistic nature and romantic smile Benedict had. Benedict sat right by Penelope's side, wrapping an arm around the shorter girl's shoulder, pulling her to his torso. Colin just huffed at his older brother and his unapologetic affection towards the voluptuous girl.
"Hi Ben," she said silently; Benedict was a better option than Daphne or even Eloise; he wasn't as talk-oriented as the Bridgerton women. He had no idea of personal space or appropriate behaviour, but he never had expectations of common social cues. He was content with people's presence instead of forced answers.
"Pack your things," he said. A soft command earning shock from both the girl under his arm and his brother, who already was intensely glaring at him, "For a sleepover," he said, rolling his eyes, "Your worse part is also invited, but we can kick him out if you want to," he said giving both of them a sunny smile.
"You already drove up here; why did you not pack?" Colin asked, not quite sure about the whole sleepover idea. And the fact that he would be sharing Penelope with his overly affectioned brother. Benedict was worse than Eloise. Benedict was flirty, handsome and shameless. Benedict was a rival.
"Your house is boring, and poor Penny has been trapped here for days, with your ugly mug," he said, "I have a great weekend planned for us!" he said happily, looking at the copper headed girl, "For you too," he said looking at Colin.
And it was decided, an hour later, they were in Benedict's cottage right outside the city. Colin had both their bags in his hand as Benedict lead Penelope by the small of her back.
"Choose a room for you and Pen," Benedict called at the younger Bridgerton, "Follow me, Penny," he said, pulling the girl in the opposite direction by her hand.
"Where are you taking her?" Colin asked.
"Choose any room you want."
Benedict took her to a room with glass walls, all types of art materials laying all over.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Your new hobby," he smiled, "I know therapies are a bit boring, and you and Colin have almost the same hobbies, except for travelling and running away from our mother. I can already imagine what you two do all day, read, write, cook and watch Netflix. You need some change to feel better, other from the situation you currently are in. It is fun to try new things."
"I am not an artsy person," she said.
"Come on, Pen," Benedict laughed, "You are a wonderful writer; you are an artsy person."
"Not this way," she said, motioning to all the stuff in front of them.
"I read some on art therapy," he said gently. Penelope was an almost sister to him. If Colin was to realise things a bit faster than his regular speed, she was a sister to him in a matter of months. And Penelope was always too kind and precious for this world, "I know it is just a side hobby. But I also know that you hate all the questions of your wellbeing, people constantly demanding you to put your feelings into words. Putting them into a painting is easier and much more private. You don't have to share everything you feel openly; just push your feeling into the canvas, you will have your privacy, but you will also be free of all negative things trapped in your mind."
"I don't know how to," she said.
"I can teach," he promised, "but, other than this more general and anonymous exercise, I had one particular in one. More invasive, more demanding, but something that I think you should face at some point."
"What type of exercise?"
"We both will draw you," he said softly.
"No," she said, she couldn't. She wanted to neither draw herself nor see her figure imprinted on a canvas.
"It doesn't have to be a detailed portrait," he promised, "just silhouette, your general form in your mind. I need to see it."
"Why?"
"To prove you wrong."
"About what?"
"We both know about what, Penny," he said, serious but not harsh, "I know your therapist has told you million times probably, but the issue is not in your body. It is in your mind. Your body is not sick, wrong or unhealthy. Your mind is because it believes your body is. And though I am not a mind reader, I can tell from the way you run away from the mirrors and photographs; you have not seen your body in a while. The more opportunities for that little voice in your mind to alter it in your mind and convince you."
"There is a reason why I don't want to see it," she said, voice suddenly colder than ice.
"I know," he said softly, catching her hands in his, "but I need to show you what you really look like."
"Horrendous, disgusting, fat?" she offered,
"No, no, yes, but not in a way you think."
"What?"
"You know what I love about art, Penny?" he asked abruptly, "It allows you to see wider than society, especially our upper one. It allows you to see the human body as a human body. Not a trend, not a one size fits all item, not something perfect. It allows you to see all parts of the human body, not just parts that are Instagrammable or cinematic. After the first couple of sketches, you get bored with the 'model body'. You don't want to draw just the slim, smooth, standard bodies. You seek models who are not fashion models; you want everyday models. You don't want to limit yourself to society's idea of beauty. You want to find all the other ones. Immortalise them in your art because that is what gives you the real sense of art, uniqueness," he looked at her, hoping she was hearing what he was saying, "It is easy to say someone with society's beauty standards is beautiful. We are forced to accept what those standards say as the ultimate form of beauty since the beginning of our lives. We are pressured to fit those standards, women more than men, because making someone doubt their worth is the easiest way to manipulate them, oppress them or take their own insecurities of them. When someone says a person is ugly, it is not aesthetic they care about. It is the effect of the power they hold over them. When someone says a person does not fit the social gender standards, it is not the religion, morality; whatever they are hiding behind that they are protecting. It is their own power they are watching using oppression. When someone tells a person they are fat as an insult, it is not their health they are concerned about; that person is not the subject of that insult. They are the victim of someone's insecurity deflection."
"I don't know where this is leading, Ben," she said.
"You, as in body type, are fat. But that does not mean that you are horrendous or disgusting. None of those words is synonyms or related to fat. I know it is not easy to accept the word as it is and not as an insult as we were made to believe it is, but fat is just an adjective. Its usage should be just as non-problematic as thin or skinny. I know in your current mental state, you won't accept my words, but I am saying this both as an artist and as a man who is attracted to women, you are a gorgeous one. Being fat, having a tummy, being short, all of those are just adjectives that I can use to describe you. But beautiful, gorgeous and attractive also are some of them I can describe you with. The issue with adjectives is not our current concern, though," he sighed, rubbing her knuckles, "I think the current issue you have, is not just how you define yourself, but also if you know what you are defining. The image in your mind might not match the reality of you."
"I know how I look, Ben."
"Then take my challenge," he smiled, "I don't want you to draw a high-realistic painting of yourself. I just want you to draw your shape and silhouette. So will I, and we will compare what we have?"
"Can we do this tomorrow?" she asked; she knew if Benedict wanted something, he would get it.
"Tomorrow morning? Sure," he gave her one of his large smiles, "I didn't plan to start our artsy stuff until tomorrow anyway," he said, pulling her back to the main area, coming chest to chest with an annoyed looking Colin, "I called Anthony to amuse your puppy, so we can have peace and quiet while doing that."
***
As promised, the following day, Penelope was sitting in front of Benedict, as they both had pencils in their hands. It didn't take Benedict for more than 10 minutes, but he could see Penelope's hesitation, so he pretended to be still drawing to give her the time. He knew it took a lot from Penelope. This was one of the most challenging exercises in her current situation. He could see her brows furrow, her teeth stressing her lower lip, the knuckles on her free hand. After some time, Penelope shook her head,
"I can't," she said.
"Let me see," Benedict asked softly.
"I can't," she said. Benedict stood up slowly to move to her side, having an arm on her shoulder to ground her. Penelope's hands were shaking; he knew it pushed her too far, but what he could see on the paper was better than he expected; her therapy was working. Her mind was fighting the evil voice.
"This," Benedict said, pointing to the dramatic drawing of a female body with overly enlarged limbs and torso, "is that voice, which lies," his finger moved to a more realistic shape of Penelope, with thick limbs and round torso, "this is what you more look like, still needs a bit of line teaching, but it is more real than the other one."
"I am not an artist, I told you before," she said.
"I know, and you don't need to be," he smiled, "I just need you to see that there are various images of yourself in your mind, and you shouldn't believe all of them. Especially the ones who think just mere adjectives are insults, that the human body can be stable like a stone statue. Humans are soft and flawed, and beautiful. So are you, Pen. Just because you are softer, rounder, shorter or more ginger than most does not make you ugly or unattractive. Being different from photoshopped versions of women you see on social media does not make you ugly. It makes you real. It is not fair for you to expect yourself to look like some photoshopped model when even that model does not look like that version of herself."
"I just want to look like a woman," she sighed.
"Darling, you look like a woman. You look femme and fatale," he said, "there is no doubt in your gender or your beauty. If you think that your current shape is unattractive to the opposite sex, just look at Colin when he thinks you are not looking."
***
Penelope had a lot in her mind when they returned to Colin's place. Colin could see that her mind was overworking, but she did not look as dark and depressed as in the first days of her staying with him. Thus he was confident it was the growing pains of her getting out of her depressive episode. Whatever Benedict did and told was working faster than everything he did, and he was jealous of that.
The following week Penelope was back to work, Colin still dropped by to take her to lunch or coffee, Eloise or Benedict sometimes joined them. Penelope was still hesitant to eat some foods, but she ate three meals a day with a fruit snack every once in a while. Colin was happy that she was more and more back to normal every passing day. Colin watched her as she was making tea for both of them. She was beautiful, she always was, but the look on her face, how peaceful she looked, made her ethereal. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to be his. He wanted this every day, bumping onto her in the corridor, brushing against her as they cooked together, finding her stuff laying around in the living room.
"Here," she said gently as he pushed his mug towards him.
"Thank you, love," he murmured.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, tucking one of her ruby locks behind her ear.
"I want you to stay," he said shyly.
"What do you mean?" Penelope asked, sitting next to him, "I am not going anywhere."
"When you are 100% better," he said, "don't go. Just stay here. Forever."
"Colin," she smiled softly at the handsome man in front of her, "You did so much for me. You have been putting your social life aside for months for me. You have a life outside taking care of me. I will have to leave you to it at some point."
"You are wrong," he said, "I know I act like it for my social media and travel blog, but I don't really have much social life outside my family that you are a part of. Having seven siblings means you already have too many people in your life that you don't ask for any more. Other than you," he said, shuffling closer to her to hold her hands in his, "I have no idea how Eloise managed to pull you into our trap at that young age. Don't tell the others but you joining our family was more exciting for me than the births of any of my siblings. I love them to death, but every Bridgerton child is similar. We don't get many surprises. Then one day, Eloise drags a chubby little girl with a head full of ruby locks. You were, still are, the cutest thing I have ever seen. But then, you grew up, Pen," he said, eyes focused on her, "And became this wonderful, gorgeous woman. I just wanted you closer and closer. I hate the reasons you are here now. I hate that I neglected you for so long that your mind made you believe all the lies and hurt. But your presence here, living with you, made this place feel like a home first time in almost a decade. I love you being here. I love falling asleep, knowing you are right on the other side of the wall," he smiled.
"I don't understand, Col," she said; the look in his eyes was so warm, so loving. It was such a foreign feeling, the excitement deep in her belly, from his touch, his want.
"I am in love with you, Pen," he said, "have been a while."
"Oh," she said, lips shaping a small "O", that his eyes could not help but drop towards.
"It wasn't the best time to tell before," he sighed, "even earlier, I was just a coward."
"Why now?"
"Because I have been losing sleep thinking of you not being here the next day. This feeling inside me, this love I feel for you inside me, it has gotten more than I could control, keep inside. I don't expect anything, not a kiss, not a relationship. I would love to have both and even more. But I won't ask you anything more than what you are ready for. I just had to let you know, darling, I need you to know how much I love you, how much I need you in my life, in my arms. I just need to let you know, and I love you more than I could imagine loving anyone."
"Oh, Colin," she whispered, tears rolling down her round cheeks. His hands were fast to cup her soft jaw, thumbs brushing off the tears, wetting her smooth skin.
"Yes, love?" he smiled, knowing the first time in months, those tears were not of pain, sorrow and agony. But of pure happiness and hopefully love.
"I love you, too," she said, "So much," she said, pushing herself closer to him, capturing his lips in a salty, wet kiss.