Muse

14

It's funny how life can change in an instant, or slowly burn away all those beautiful feelings of curiosity, love and wonder that seem to accompany being a child.

"And this one, is my most recent." Alex extends his hand over to the largest painting in the room, a clear contrast between his very first. However this time his face hasn't lit up with reminiscing and pride, he seems to stare quite blankly at the canvas.

And so did I.

I couldn't quite figure out what the painting was, it almost resembled the figure in 'The Scream', Edvard Munch's iconic frantic pedestrian almost distorted to look more distressed, unnaturally distressed. The painting used dark colours, blues, greys, blacks and reds merging together in a series of brushstrokes that filled the canvas pedantically. I wondered what was going on behind Alex's dark brown eyes, the thoughts that lingered and reflected through them. His paintings seemed to be so deeply tragic, yet his outside demeanour showed none of it.

"What does it mean?" I blurt out, almost regretting asking. I glare up at his face, the afternoon sun had had its time and all the light that remained was the soft glare that the early nighttime brung.

"I don't know," He mumbles softly whilst scanning his eyes around the gigantic canvas. "I just paint what I think I'm feeling, it's therapeutic."

"It can be very therapeutic," I start to try to relate to him, clearly painting is an outlet for him, a way to express his emotions. In that sense the regard for the visual aesthetic becomes minimal, however, these paintings had an uncanny charm to them. Despite its carefully curated brush strokes and colour placements, the painting held such a desperate undertone, it made me wonder what could possibly have inspired it. "What we're you feeling?"

"What do you think?" He smirks, letting out a muffled chuckle.

"I don't know what to think." I softly let the words pass through my mouth, slightly ashamed at my lack of knowledge and observation.

"You see," He turns around, his head hanging low tucked into his neck to avoid eye contact. He makes his way slowly toward the window sill where he sat against the glass that protected him from falling a few stories. He continued with his head low. "It's a mix, of fear, desperation... loneliness."

"I think I see now." I mumble, looking over the impressively sized painting that towered over me. I wondered how I would possibly reply to that statement, including feelings I knew all too well, how he tended to portray such emotion differed widely to what I am used to, what I normally do to portray them. In fact, in my own paintings, I tend to completely ignore them, painting a picture of the perfect setting, my happy place. But art is subjective, it doesn't have to portray what you're missing in life, it can be a mirror image of what goes on inside your head. Sometimes it's terrifying to witness. "How do you feel now?"

"Hm," He hums, looking down into his intertwined hands. "A bit of confusion, a bit like I'm being judged, but also... I'm happy you're interested in what I'm feeling."

"Of course, it's a very interesting painting." I remark. "That's what good art makes you do, ask questions, you know?"

"I thought it was just a confused mess honestly, I wouldn't even understand it if I didn't paint it myself." He gets up from his place on his windowsill, finally bringing his head up to meet my gaze, his seeming perfectly structured face in the soft evening light seemed like the nicest piece of art in the entire room. The things I would do...

"Not everybody has to understand it," I slowly take a few steps toward him as my stomach churns gently, pushing the blood into my cheeks as I get closer and closer to him. "They just have to learn to appreciate it."

"But, do you think that people who go to the gallery will appreciate it?" He smirks slightly, with his half smile painted firmly on his face whilst waiting for my response.

The fucking gallery.

"Oh, Alex," I start, suddenly the soft churning became more aggressive, and the blush in my cheeks strive to humiliate me. "I should have said this before, but I don't work there anymore."

I look up at his face in desperation, trying to read what kind of emotion he's conveying. As someone who finds it easy to see physical facial cues as to what someone might be thinking, he sure as hell has the ability to bypass those skills. His face is set in stone, his mouth straight and his eyes peering directly at the floor instead of meeting mine.

"So basically, I invited you here for nothing?" His cold voice echos through the large room, seeming like it bounces off every painting a million times. My heart jumps out of my throat, my stomach in a complete pit as the words pry my mouth agape.

"No, I mean..." I struggle to find my words as the change in atmosphere becomes almost unbearable. "I loved looking at your artwork and I think it's good to have another pers–"

"But, I needed you to get me a place in the gallery." He bursts.

"Well you're the whole reason I got fired!" I retaliate, my whole being offended and repulsed by his insinuation.

"Oh so the dick fired you... why am I not surprised?" He finally relaxes his face and chuckles into his hands, rubbing his forehead as he furrows his eyes before taking a deep breath. "Look I'm so–"

"No, I think I should go, there's no other reason for me to be here, right?" I question but don't expect an answer. I slowly start to back away and create distance between us, making my way toward the stairs. I ridicule my mind for thinking ungodly things about this man whilst this is all he thinks of me – he sees me as a pawn to get him where he wants. To be fair, I should have known. It was foolish of me to think that he would invite me over as a person who also appreciates art.

"Come on I didn't mean–" He takes a step forward as I take a step back, his face changes from remorse to the stone cold blank expression I couldn't read before as he saw me step back. He stops and looks up at me. "It's okay, just leave."

•••

I check how long I've been speaking to Lottie, sloppily raising the phone to my face as I continue hearing her almost comforting voice through the speaker. 3:40:36.

"I don't know what he was thinking when he said that, do you think boys have any kind of thought process when they say anything?" She spiels, asking a completely valid question.

"Probably not, I just imagine that little toy monkey spinning and clapping it's cymbal is the only thing present up there." I giggle, the thought almost forgiving the ignorant statement Alex made.

"You've probably cracked it Veronica." She laughs. "They should make you a psychology professor, seems like you know the way the brain works."

"It would be nice if I could figure out my own." I joke, yet I know it's not exactly a joke.

"Well, what a better way to get to know your brain by destroying a couple of brain cells by having a girls weekend?" She asks excitedly, I can almost hear her clapping her hands in glee. "Let's hit the clubs, girlfriend."

The thought became very intriguing, thought my bank account would protest against it. "I love the thought of not having to think, but I think I should probably save my money."

"Don't worry about money silly, my shout." She proclaims, not knowing the weight behind her words, a night out for me can get very, very expensive.

"Are you sure about that Lottie because I wouldn't want you to–"

"Of course silly, remember I actually am still in a job, plus you've had the roughest of weeks." She exclaims, continuing before I get the chance to answer. "Okay so it's settled, Saturday night is looking messy."