Alison Jade Jorgensen had it all - wealth, beauty, and the adoration of those around her. At eighteen, she was the epitome of privilege, shielded from the harsh realities of life by her affluent family.
But when her beloved grandfather passes away j...
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Samara Weaving as Natalie Winston
JADE
I turn each page, captivated by the diverse array of drawings all crafted by Jared.
His skill in depicting the exposed forms of these women, who bared themselves exclusively for his artistic vision, is truly remarkable... although the notion of him having glimpsed the nakedness of multiple women does leave a disconcerting impression.
My thoughts were drawn back to the moment he mentioned starting this collection of works when he was just 18. I couldn't help but notice the stack of albums resting on the chair beside us, and a curious thought emerged in my mind. I decided to voice my question, driven purely by my inquisitiveness.
"How old are you, anyway?" I asked, catching him off guard with the unexpected inquiry. His gaze shifted towards me, his expression betraying his surprise at the question.
His arm rested on the back of the couch, hovering close to my shoulder. He composed himself, offering a slight shrug in response.
"I was 18 seven years ago... you can do the math," he replied, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
"So, you're 25," I stated, closing the album on my lap and turning to face him fully.
"You're really good at this," I blurted out, prompting a snicker from Jared.
"What do you mean?" he asked, seemingly genuinely curious.
"I mean your art, the drawings, the paintings... they're really impressive," I replied, gesturing to his work surrounding us.
Jared remained silent, his expression unreadable.
I didn't want our conversation to come to a sudden halt, so I pressed on.
"You have this studio to showcase your artwork, yet you still engage in graffiti and vandalism?" I playfully nudged him on the arm, to which he responded with a mock expression of pain, rubbing the spot.
"Why? What else is there to live for, right?" he retorted, teasingly.
I couldn't help but playfully hit him once again, and we shared a chuckle, momentarily forgetting the weight of our conversation. He shifted his gaze away from me, and for a moment, it felt like there was something he was holding back.
The expression on his face made it clear that he didn't enjoy being the one under scrutiny, prompting him to change the course of the conversation. He flipped the table and directed the focus back to me with a straight face, asking, "So, what is it that made you escape your home so early in the morning?" His gaze seemed distant, as if he was lost in his own thoughts, awaiting my response.
Why was he asking me this now? It had already been a good hour or two since we met.
"Oh, no... we're not talking about that," I quickly interjected, desperately attempting to divert the conversation by pretending to search through the album on my lap. I hoped to escape Jared's mild interrogation and regain control of the situation.
