jasper | part one (completed)

Chapter Eight

I stared at the detailed pieces of artwork in awe, each precise brush stroke had a purpose, unlike my art which was a jumble of mess.

I stopped and my eyes widened.

"It's beautiful," I gestured to a painting of a handsome man, fat tears ran down his chiseled face. His eyes seemed soulless but so full of raw emotion at the same time. My heart ached for him, his features were portraying what I felt inside. 

The painting was a contrast compared to the other paintings in the gallery, which were all beautiful portraits with smiling faces and vibrant colours.

"Why is this one so different compared to the others?" I turned to Jasper, he seemed surprised but quickly covered it with a veil of indifference.

"Maybe you should ask the artist," He shrugged, his eyes raking over other paintings.

"Is it for sale?" I asked, the more I stared the more I fell in love with it. I wanted - no I needed this in my room.

"I assume so," He mumbled, "I also assume you have no money to pay for it."

"Well you assumed correctly," I huffed, then sighed, "Maybe I should get a job."

"Perhaps, then I could start asking for board money," Jasper muttered.

"That's fair, I guess," I mumbled thoughtfully, "I do eat a lot."

"Yes, you do."

I sent him a dark look, "You aren't allowed to agree!"

"Why not?" He raised an eyebrow, his tone serious.

"Well, jus- arghhh! " ---

"Shhh," He grumbled, "You are very irritating when you do that." 

I gave him a look, "Do what?"

"Squeal like a child." 

 I huffed, "I don't know why my mum wants to marry you, you're just like a grumpy old man."

Jasper looked at me and sighed, "There are many important figures here today, some that may be the deciding factor to whether you make it into the art world or not. You don't want to start off on the wrong foot."

"Why should I care about what some old, pompous rich person thinks?" I retorted, "fuck em, I say."

There was a cheeky grin on his face, "If you insist."

My heart skipped a beat and I had to internally lecture myself.

'That's not his smile making you quiver, that's the coffee you bloody addict'.

We continued through the gallery, Jasper seemed to be scrutinizing each piece we walked passed I just stared in awe. They were amazing. 

"The artist uses oils right?" I mumbled in astonishment, it would be near impossible to get such a smooth finish with acrylics. 

"She does," He grunted, ".....it can't be helped." 

"What?" I raised my eyebrow in puzzlement. 

"Frankly, It's a mess," He scratched his chin, his eyes trained on a portrait of a beautiful woman sleeping under the water, colourful fishes swam around her head. Each brush stroke was precise, each detail intricate. The painting was simply breathtaking. 

A mess? He was mad. 

"I don't see anything wrong with it." 

"Of course you don't."