An Alternate Ending to Girl with a Pearl Earring
Pairing: some Griet/Vermeer, Griet/Pieter.
Author's Note: I wrote this a long time ago, but still think the book is amazing. However, I was left unsatisfied at the end. So of course, this is the result.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of Girl with a Pearl Earring or, sadly, Colin Firth and Scarlett Johanson, who have amazing chemistry together!
I would not allow myself to cry.
Even though he had been gone for two months, I had not shed one tear since the time I heard about his death. I had been strong; I had other things on my mind that I thought of, things that would not lead me to think of him. I kept to myself and the children, Pieter chose to just let me ride out whatever I was going through by myself. I was thankful for it.
I held the coins in the palm of my hand. The same hand that held pearl earrings just minutes before. But they were gone now, I had sold them. These coins were all I had left of him and our past, if you could say we had one. I touched my ear lobes out of habit, something I had become accustomed to doing when I was in deep thought.
I still remembered that day when I ran out of their house, desperately wishing he would have followed me. I was a fool then, just a maid who had too many dreams for a man with none involving me. But not matter how much I wanted to blame him, to place all of my anger and longing on him, but I knew it was not his fault. He was married and I only worked for him. Maybe he truly did love the painting of me more than he loved me, but the same could not be said for myself.
I began to wonder what it was like in the house on his last days. I wondered what they talked about, what he said, and what he sounded like. Did he still have that soothing voice? Did he still reveal nothing about himself to anyone? Suddenly, my heart began to ache like it had before when I saw him. I took deep steady breaths, trying to rid myself of the feeling. It worked.
I took the long way home, not wanting to run into Pieter so early from my trip. I looked up and saw a curtain sway back and forth, like someone had just been there. I drifted back to the time I knew he was watching me, but I had no proof. All I had was the swinging curtains going back and forth taunting me with evidence of something I could not prove.
I suddenly began to miss the way my head would start to ache from sitting in the same position for hours. I missed the way I would smell after crushing the materials for him. I no longer wanted to smell of meat and blood. I missed the attic, and how comfortable I was there knowing that just below me was all of his paintings in the process of being made into greatness.
I did not dare think about the time he touched me. I did not dare to think anything about that day. I could not.
Instead I thought of what I would say to him if he were still here. I knew that I would not have the courage to confront him again like I had before, but I did still wonder if I did confront him, what my words would be.
I would tell him of my husband and children and ask him about his. I would ask him about the paintings he has done since mine, and also who ground his materials after I was fired. Images of the two of us grinding the materials flashed through my mind, making me remember all I had trained myself to forget. There was that one moment that he touched me and I drew back. I regret drawing back.
Even though my heart did not want to, memories of that day when he was so gentle with my ear, my face, came into my mind and made me shiver with feeling. My breath started to come short and my heart began to ache. I could feel the tears coming and tried to stop them. But this time they were unstoppable.
I was in love with my master for the three years I lived in his house, and I was in love with him ever since I left it.
My heart squeezed and I leaned against a brick wall in the alley way. I wondered if he could see me and my suffering. He would think I was foolish to be crying over him. But I could not help it.
Finally, after all these years of holding it in, all this time and energy trying to forget, I let myself feel, really feel for him, and let my tears fall.