INDIGO➵Harry Styles

3 ___TONIGHT___

Finding myself back in the rich comfort of my hotel room, I immediately flicked on the TV and checked all the news channels. Adrenaline was still buzzing in my veins, speeding up my breath and freshening my sight. I was still high on danger and trouble and pure recklesness. I couldn't wait for the news stations to once more report on another one of my missions. I didn't care that it was crazy, I relished the chance to see the whirlwind I left in my wake. A sense of power and accomplishment completed me whenever I saw it.

Smug accomplishment welled up within me as my ears caught the beginning of the evening news update, noting the explosion at the Cursor Estate. Of course there was no mention of the safe. Money that was soon to be laundered wouldn't be mentioned as part of the damages - that was the whole point. That was why I couldn't be caught. These people couldn't expose me without exposing themselves. That was the beauty of it.

Only moments later, my satisfaction was cut short. My head swivelled towards the tv.

"A break-in at Trouth central bank has just been reported a few minutes ago -"

My head snapped away from the television, but I couldn't tune it out. That bank had been my next target. I gasped. No funds were reported missing. Nothing was gone. Except for Trouth himself, owner and multi-millionaire, another known thief who had never been caught. I wanted to crush his throne too, but he had vanished without a trace.

I couldn't define the haze of my feelings. I felt like something had been taken from me. I wanted the focus of the world, at least for a few minutes, to be on what I had done, to see a crack in the kingdom of a thief living in luxury. Instead, their attention had been diverted to someone else, someone who had stolen my whirlwind. The burn of the anger that seared through me was stronger and hotter than it had felt in a long time. Who had done this? I wanted to be the one to make these criminals account for their actions, and my next target had just been taken right from under my nose.

My thoughts led me away from the TV, towards the corner of the room dedicated to a plain wooden easel, where an empty canvas resided, loosely framed by a scattered array of paints and brushes. Kneeling on the floor, I regarded the bare canvas for a few moments. Ideas warred, flying back and forth as they struggled to form themselves into a coherent concept, a single image. At first I just let my mind wander, accustomed to the feeling of it trying to shape the paint in my eyes before I could transfer it. Then, I started to panic as they continued flitting in a frenzy, never settling.

I decided to lift a paintbrush in my hands anyway, somewhat calmed by the polished surface of its handle between my fingers. As I brought the brush to the canvas, I steeled myself, willing myself to create as I had always been able to do, no matter what the circumstances. All that stretched across my mind's eye now were explosions, estates, suits, ties, and banks, all swirling in a frenzy of colour that was both blindingly bright and dizzyingly dull - I couldn't even bring myself to at least paint this somehow.

Oh no. No.This was my one constant. I needed this. I needed to feel the smooth glide of acrylic beneath my brush, steadied by my hand. I could always paint something. Anything.

I moved my hand closer by some milimetres, ready to add some stroke or flick of colour, of light, of shadow, the shadow I carried in me. My hands shook. The brush trembled with it. Nothing.

It was as though an electric connection had been severed, the wires overcharged, overwhelmed until they had simply burned out, blinked off, just like that. Now, with my bursts of emotion, when I needed it most, my art had burnt out, without so much as a flicker; a glowing centre of light one second and pure darkness the next. Black. Empty on yet another level. Or maybe, even more than empty - emptiness allows indifference - when what I felt wouldn't make such allowances. Yes, worse than empty, full, too full, bursting with no release, waiting, exploding with no smoke or fire or powder, without breaking or changing so that I could at least be rebuilt.