Where We Begin & End II K.N.J II

Chapter 14 - The Painting

A/N: I know this is late, and it's heavily unedited. I mean HEAVILY unedited. I'm sorry. But I hope you enjoy.
I read over the previous chapters and I realised that the story is progressing quite slowly, I hope you don't mind that either.

Love,
MsNoShelfControl.

"Kang Jieun?" I looked up at the sound of my name being called, "Here," I flashed the French man a friendly smile. The tall European sauntered over to me through the bustling corridors of the gallery, his figure radiating power.

"I hear you are putting up a ten piece collection this time," He says in his thickly accented English. I take up his outstretched hand and shake it firmly, "You heard correct, Atticus." He grinned at the sound of my heavy accent too.

"Well, everything looks splendid so far. But that's no surprise considering the artist," He winked at me, eliciting a laugh from me, "You flatter me too much. Would you like a personal tour?" He shook his head and took a sip of his champagne, "That's alright, I like to bask in your art by myself for the full experience."

A fond smile curved my lips at his support, "Well, then. Have a wonderful experience, and make sure to tell me all about it when you're done." I say as I walk back into the crowd.

Atticus and I had studied together at École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts. I'd wanted to get in purely on my talent but in the end I had to touch my father's fortune to get into the prestigious art school. It didn't take me long to realize why it had been so difficult to get in. The talent there was unmatched and I'd slowly lost my self-confidence, struggling to keep up with everyone.

Atticus was the only one who noticed and didn't let his competitiveness stop him from helping me out. He took me out and showed me his hidden spots in the city from where he drew motivation and inspiration. After countless nights of making me paint and paint, he slowly built my confidence back up.

Of course, that was before the incident.

They do say pain drives an artist to their success. I could certainly attest to that. After spending months drowning in the darkest pit of my life, the ability to pour everything I felt onto a canvas was the only saving grace life had to offer me. Unexpectedly enough, my work drew the attention of an alumni who just happened to be a famous art curator in Seoul. It was all thanks to Atticus getting us introduced.

As my career took off, I felt more alone than ever. I'd long gone numb from the past months of self-isolation and when I'd realized that I had successfully driven away any friend or acquaintance I had made over the years, the loneliness made me turn to recklessness.

So I worked hard and partied just as hard.

And that was how I met Yoongi.

I'd been at a bar, doing shots when this obviously drunk man sauntered over to me.

"Excuse me, miss," He'd slurred, "I just wanted to say you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen on anyone, but I couldn't go a second longer without having them look at me."

I'd given the slurring man a once-over, deciding that he seemed harmless enough.

He'd shown me just how wrong I'd been on that account that very night when he ravished me like a starved man at the small studio apartment he'd been living in then.

I did not have any intentions of crossing paths with him again, but to my surprise I'd woken up the next morning to him making me breakfast.

I'd struggled to hold in my tears as I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a homemade meal. Even more astonishing was how he'd flashed me a wide gummy smile and peppered my face with kisses as he dropped me off at my place. He'd not once pried into my life that whole time so I'd assumed that was where we parted ways amicably. I'd decided it had to be, because he drew out an emotional part of me I didn't need.