An Unceasing Affair

2. Senses

If you were terrible at painting, I wouldn't hesitate to tell you.

That is what continued replaying in my mind, as well as the rest of the speech that Novikoff had given me regarding my portfolio. Although today would have been merely my second class, I dreaded going inside. Before entering the class, I stopped at the door, almost afraid of what resided within. Deciding to enter, I took a step but halted at the sight of someone walking my way.

The attractive man who stopped before me caught and held my attention with an unfaltering grasp. He was the professor I had spent my night thinking about, the memory of his conversation with me consuming my mind.

"Ladies first," He said, ceasing to smile surprisingly, which made a spark light up inside my heart - I supposed I wasn't the only bad person in the class.

Without saying anything to him, simply acknowledging that he was there with a mere gaze, I walked into the classroom in front of him, seeing Lilith seated at the table we had been at the day before. I joined her and she greeted me, returning the favour.

Professor Novikoff explained what he planned for us to do that day, which was to begin planning our first painting, and if we wanted to stay after hours to begin said project, we were welcome to do so, as he would reside in his office doing work for some hours after class, and would perhaps be able to aid us occasionally.

I began planning out my first painting, and also the theme that I planned to connect my works for the semester: forbidden love. I would start with a painting of a woman who was engulfed in darkness. It took me the entirety of the lesson to plan out these things in my drawing book, adding many notations as well as doodles of the desired result that I imagined.

Getting out my laptop, I found a reference photo and decided the woman was satisfactory enough. She lay there, crouched on the ground, holding her naked body which was almost white compared to the darkness that surrounded her. It was a perfect expression of being pressed upon something that many believed to be taboo.

"Are you staying after class?" I asked Lilith as most the rest of the students began packing up their belongings: class was over, and the time was now two in the afternoon.

"No, I have plans. But can I get your number? For academic purposes." She replied, getting her phone out.

I did the same. "Sure," We exchanged numbers and she left the studio without saying anything else.

I stayed in the studio for the next two hours, doing my work. I started with taping my paper, which was A4, and painting a sanguine background behind it with red gesso, as I wanted the painting to be dark and in Renaissance style.

Novikoff spent a lot of the time during these two hours helping one of the other students who had stayed behind, as he was seeming to have quite a bit of trouble. He may have been cold, but he was overall a good teacher. At one point, he came over to my table to see what I had painted, and his expression was unchanging at viewing my work which was still under construction, all that was there being the pencil outline of the woman and some of the light spots being already painted.

"Keep going." He said, gesturing towards my painting.

I said nothing, just continuing to paint. To my surprise, he stayed standing next to me, seeming to simply want to watch my technique. He stopped me at one point.

"Stop," He said, holding his hand out as though I had made a horrible mistake. I lifted the brush far from the paper. He pointed towards my reference photo, explaining my mistake. "You've made her skin too dark here," And I had.

I nodded, fixing my mistake, and pulled up a chair next to me.

"I looked over your portfolio again." He said, gaining my full attention. I looked at the handsome man, my eyes intrigued at what he had to say. "You need to work on your observational drawings, as well as your colouring... unless I misinterpreted some of your works as looking completely wrong."

I nodded once, not really knowing what to say.

"You don't speak much," He said, resting his arms on his knees, bringing his eyes to my level.

"I don't really have much to say." I explained.

"Well," He seemed to want to hear my voice, as he prompted me to speak. "Tell me about yourself."

"Oh, um..." I wondered where to begin. For once, I didn't think about the logical meaninglessness of useless conversation, because, in my mind, this conversation wouldn't be useless - I wanted to talk to Novikoff, and, it seemed, he wanted to talk to me. "I've always enjoyed painting and reading, so I decided to take up one of those professionally. I'm living in a dormitory on campus, and it's actually pretty nice. I became an adult last year, but I still don't really feel like it."

"Hmm," He pondered. "Why don't you live with your parents? Are they far away?"

"No," I explained. "They weren't supportive of my decision, and I didn't really care, because they're kind of assholes."

"Fair enough."

"What about you," I asked. "I mean - tell me about yourself."

I hadn't realised this before, but I was now fully facing Novikoff, nothing in my hands, and completely engulfed in his presence and engaged in this conversation which I had earlier considered to perhaps be a waste of my time.

"I think my story will be a little longer than yours." He stated, his eyes cold having just listened intently to me.

"Well then, tell me the basics - where did you grow up, why do you like art, what does your life look like now?" I prompted him, wanting badly now to hear his deep, beautiful voice.

His dark eyes left mine for a moment to recall and answer my questions, regaining my gaze as he spoke. "I grew up in Moscow, Russia. I lived there until the age of thirteen, when my parents got sick of me and gave me away. I moved to America to live with my new family, who were extremely poor. They were, like your parents, also assholes. I like art because painting would always distract me from the troubles that I endured in my life. My life now..." He tried to think, for a moment, getting lost in my eyes until he regained his train of thought. I felt as though I had power in that second. "I teach full time here at university, and I paint in any free time that I get. I live with my wife."

That last sentence seemed to send a bolder into my stomach - it wasn't as though I had any intentions with this man, but his marriage certainly halted any possibilities.

I took a moment to think before speaking, Novikoff seeing this. "Do you ever think about your parents in Moscow?"

He thought. "Yes, but not in a good way. I don't miss them, if that's what you're asking. I detested virtually every adult in my life when I was younger, especially those who held power over me, my guardians, who, time after time, failed me."

"I'm sorry." I said softly.

"You're not." He didn't hesitate.

"Why would you think that I'm not sorry?" I truly wondered.

"Nobody ever is. It doesn't matter to them. Let me ask you this - why are you interested in me?"

"Simple - you're interested in me."

He smiled a little, then staring deeply into my eyes. I left the studio that day along with a sense of tension which I feared would not cease its magnetic existence any time soon.

≪☆End of Chapter 2☆≫