Twice The Trouble Book 2 of 2: Twice The Love

Chapter 46: Art Attack

Sophia

It was the second week of October when I finally got the chance to see Lucas's art studio.

"Are you thirsty?" asked my boyfriend from across the room.

I placed my pale green shoulder bag on the cream white sofa in his comfy living room. My brown eyes swept over the simple, modern decor of his apartment. While Bryce's condo was composed of black, white, and gray hues, Lucas's place consisted of a milky cream shade, pastel blue, and deep yellow. The interior was overflowing with the same comfort that a hotel suite exuded.

"Water, please," I said in response as I pulled down the hem of my black shirt with sheer flutter sleeves, the soft fabric swishing over my upper arms whenever I moved. I had paired the blouse with faded jeans and practical rubber shoes. I wore my eyeglasses, and my long brown hair was pulled back in a high ponytail.

"You used to do modern?" I asked over snacks in the kitchen area, where we sat across each other, the two of us sandwiching the firm kitchen island.

Lucas swallowed his oatmeal cookie before he answered me: "Sort of. I moved on to abstract realism when I was fifteen."

"You know I have no idea what that means, right?" I told him before I grabbed another cookie from the light blue bowl.

He chuckled softly, folding his arms on the counter. His warm brown eyes locked on mine. "Basically, I start with realistic scenes as a base. But mostly I follow the brush.. adding vibrant colors and geometric shapes, or random splatters and swirls and drips until I feel that it's done. I have pieces I've been tinkering with for years because they're just not right. The problem is, I'm not always sure how to make them right."

"Sounds artsy." I flashed him a grin.

Lucas laughed again, the sound like a youthful melody to my ears.

"Ever since I was twelve, I've dreamed of being represented by someone and to have my pieces showcased at any distinguished gallery that would hire me. But I always made up excuses not to do anything about it.. being too young.. not confident enough.. my art not good enough to be hung on walls or even sold," he admitted with a morose smile.

I reached for his hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "I'd love to see you works," I confided in him.

Lucas returned my squeeze. "That's why we're here." He stood up, his hand still in mine, then he led me to one of the doors of his apartment. He pushed open the wooden door. He slowly pulled his hand away from mine when I surveyed the art studio.

There were paintings stacked along the wall and another on an easel; there was an apron draped over the battered desk along with hundreds of containers of paint.

"This is where you work?" Everywhere I looked, there were canvases and buckets of paint.

"Used to," Lucas corrected."My studio," he declared, sweeping a hand around the room.

A blanket of silence fell over us.

I allowed myself to roam about the studio, my bespectacled brown eyes skimming over the ocean of paintings in wordless appreciation. I hugged my bare arms while I studied my boyfriend's art. A vast majority of them looked like they were created on impulse and out of manic anger. Almost as if a child vented out his frustrations through furious strokes and violent splashes of colors.

Almost as if...

"Lucas?" I unfolded my arms, letting them fall limp to my sides.

I turned, startled to see Lucas already standing close to me. He was standing alongside me, both his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark blue pants. His head was bowed, his black bangs dipping low near his unfathomable brown eyes as they stared at the canvasses before him.