Tethered // Teen Wolf // Isaac Lahey

FIFTY- TWO

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KOREY

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"Now, if we consider this piece in particular," Mr Pittore, the new art teacher, moved to the other side of the board, pointing to a painting I'd done the first day back after Spring Break. "The blending of colours, between the blacks, greys, and blues, creates an excellent contrast against the pale figure of the woman in the middle. This is a technique known as chiaroscuro, which is Italian for 'light-dark' to refer to sharp contrasts between light and dark colours."  

The teacher shifted so the yellow light above would hit the painting directly, sticking his fingers out to trace the face of the woman I'd painted. "You may have noticed the lack of facial features on this portrait. I certainly have, and I've noticed the pattern on all these other paintings." He motioned across the board before tapping my night painting again, "We could call this technique non-figurative expression, which is when we use shapes and colours to express something instead of a face." He paused, taking a step away, his back now to us, "For example, I see this woman as a lonely, sombre creature trapped in the forest, afraid of the world around her. She only feels comfortable revealing herself under the cover of darkness, where she thinks her imperfections cannot be seen."

Mr Pittore whipped back around to us, his arms spread wide, "Though perhaps, it is not the figure that is afraid, but the painter." His eyes find mine through the bundle of students, "What are you afraid of?"

"Isaac," I whispered, nudging the tall boy's leg, "kill me. Kill me now."

He smiled lightly though his face remained tense, on guard, as he reached out and held onto my wrist, "It's okay. He's not saying anything bad about it. He's just showing it off."

"Yeah," I hissed, my eyes going wide, "without asking. Isaac, those are my paintings, my drawings, they're private. They're mine. I don't want everyone to look at them and..." I couldn't figure out what I didn't want people to see but there was something about my work that I was so protective of, I couldn't bear everyone looking at it and taking it upon themselves to understand and critic it. It was mine, for me only, my eyes, my understanding, and my criticism.

"Okay," Mr Pittore clapped his hands together, "now that we've had a think about what we are afraid of, I want you all to try and paint or draw your fears. Let me see your raw, authentic selves on the canvas, your real faces." He paused and I could have sworn he was looking right through me when he spoke again, "Or, if you don't know your real face, paint how you see yourself, faceless as that may be."

Isaac's grip on my wrist tightened slightly before he rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand, "Well, now I'm starting to get annoyed by him." His eyes shifted, so he was looking at me out of the corner of them, "If you want to go, we go."

"And do what?" I mumbled, my heart squeezing in my chest as the teacher left my paintings up on display, and a few students got up to look closer at them.

"Whatever you want," Isaac leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice, "we could run?"

Running sounded good. It sounded amazing. In fact, it would get rid of the tension rippling through my shoulders and the echoes of anxiety ripping at my mind. I nodded shortly, stooping to pick up my bag as Isaac did the same.

"You okay?" Allison frowned up at me, turning away from Lydia, who she'd been talking to.

"Yeah, yeah," I tucked my chair in, "I just need to not be in this class right now."

Lydia seemed to get what I meant before Allison did, and the strawberry blonde jumped up, her heels clicking as she walked across the classroom, briefly stopping to study the board. Then, she began to unpin the paintings, ignoring Mr Pittore as he made towards her.