Caught In Your Chaos ✓

Chapter Sixty-Five

Jacob

Two Years Earlier

It had been two weeks of struggle, a constant struggle over something that used to be a mere merger of my techniques and creativity. Vanessa made it difficult for me. Every single encounter with her was turning into something new. When we first started with the whole her being my Muse idea, everything appeared perfectly befitting.

Vanessa stared at me through her hazel eyes for what felt like an eternity while I gave her a nervous chuckle. She wasn't too older than me, still in her early twenties or less. I didn't ask more about her age when I had nothing to do with it. It would have been an absolute psychopath or stalker move if I did indulge more in her personal life. By the end of our coffee and conversation, she seemed positively thrilled about me finding interest in painting her eyes.

We settled to meet every Wednesday after our art class at whichever location worked out for her. I wanted her in one of the barstools of my art studio. But I also wanted her to be comfortable with the idea.

After contemplating a list of places, we decided the art room was the best place for our entire arrangement. The days that followed were both exciting and trivial. I had never felt that rush of thoughts and ideas in my seventeen years of life, like the way her eyes made me feel whenever I sneaked a peek. Sometimes she would stare back at me with an unknown emotion, sending my mind and heart into a spiral. Other times she would press her lips together and suppress the smile breaking through them.

I was no longer inspired to paint or sketch anything else before I finished painting those enchanting eyes and all the secrets hidden within them. They were a blend of earthly green and ocean blue with streaks of grey skies.

"You know there's only a fine line between an artist and a psychopath," Vanessa said from across me as I was busy outlining her eyes. We've stayed after the art class, another perk of being rich. You give a couple of sparkly dimes to the crowd around you, and they do whatever favor you ask them. I had always hated the analogy, but in this case, I needed it till I graduated from high school and landed in my dream art academy.

"And what's that?" I perked up at her theory. It didn't make any sense until I looked in her eyes, and it appeared she believed whatever she said. Why would someone compare an artist with a psychopath?

She crossed her legs over one another, changing her sitting position. I gave her the flexibility to sit as per her wish unless her face was close enough for me to see her facial details. There was a glint of fun in her eyes as she looked at my confused expression.

I was sitting behind my easel for god knows how long. And all I had been able to assimilate on my canvas was an outline of her eyelids. Venessa wasn't making it any easier for me to paint. The emotions in her eyes kept changing ever so fast, forcing me to reset every single time it did.

"It's the sanity of mind," she stated, tapping her index finger on the side of her temple. "Once artists lose mind, they do the crazy. Studies prove that artists share traits with psychopaths."

"Are you saying all artists exhibit psychopath tendencies?" I narrowed my eyes at her sudden comparison. Why was she so weird at times? Did she think of me as one of them?

I would never hurt you, Vanessa.

"No, not exactly, but chances are always higher with them." She stepped out of her barstool and walked over to me. She stood behind me, observing my failure yet again. But my heartbeat exhilarated the moment she leaned over my shoulder and whispered into my ear. "Don't worry, Jacob. I don't think of you as a psychopath."

I forgot to breathe for a second. That was another emotion Vanessa concealed within herself. When I first met her, she was hesitant, but as we spent more time in that art room, she shifted slowly towards being more into our moments than I was.

And what should have been a moment of enlightenment for us had turned into delirium.

Things took an unexpected turn from thereon.

That night I couldn't sleep, not with an empty canvas and failed attempt. Why everything had to zoom into her eyes? Was she right about the similarities between artists and psychopaths? Was I losing my mind after all?