We are the outcasts

Part two

After what felt like hours in that hot shower, when my fingers had wrinkles on it like an old woman and I couldn't breathe anymore from all the steam. I finally managed to get those eyes out of my system. I had spent the rest of my night in my art room. Yes I have an art room.

My art room was more of a hidden compartment because art, like everything else amazing in the world, was banned. Pathetic. Why would anyone want to take something like art away from us? Because it was 'imperfect' and 'messy'. 

I think that's just a load of bullshit. Miss Jane and I have come up with a theory that the government had banned these things as to take away creativity and thinking. If people were thinking, they'd finally realise how terrible this place really is. And that would lead to riots, protests. And no government ever wants to go out of power.

I slip the little key card I've made to the lock of the secret compartment. A little hatch opens from across the room, the smell of paint wafting in the air and encircling my mind with new ideas. I get my art supplies from the same guy that gives books to Miss Jane. 

I slowly step into the little room, which had no window. Just the small little entrance and a few tiny air vents so I don't suffocate from the fumes. There were paints, brushes and canvases everywhere. Paint was covering almost every surface in the room. I really have to ask for more canvases.

I close the door behind me, locking it just in case, picking up a little paint brush and standing by the only white canvas I had left. I paint over some of my pieces, the ones that I'm bored of or don't like anymore. I stare at the blank sheet, chewing my lip in thought until it became all chapped and bruised.

Those eyes slipped into my mind once more. they had a tinge of light crimson swirled with walnut. Or was it more burgundy? I had to get those eyes down on the canvas before I forget. 

--

Hours pass of me just staring at the canvas or fixing little mistakes that I've made until every fleck inside those eyes were perfect. I let my imagination go wild on the rest of the figure's body, having not seen what they looked like. The result was a silloette of strongly built man, muscles lining his whole body. But not so many muscles that he looked like a boxer on sterroids.

The only features that were apparent are his eyes, everything else was just black. And yet the sight of this painting made my stomach twist and my core heat up once more. What was it with this man whom I didn't even know of? Is it wrong to fall in love with a painting? I knew the figure was a man, I could just feel it. But I didn't know his face, his name, how he spoke, how his personality is. I just felt... him

Being gay. That was another thing that was banned from here. Just another sword over my head. It was seen as 'impure' to love someone other than the opposite sex. If gay people were found, they weren't just banished, no. They were taken out to the dead lands and burned to a crisp. Miss Jane is gay too, she even had a lover... had.

After about ten minutes of just staring at the painting, drooling a bit, I decided to leave. I slip out my secret compartment and lock it once more. I was full of paint, meaning I needed to have another shower.

--

After my second shower today, I slung a silk robe over my naked body and walked out to the balcony again. I admit the only reason I was even looking out into the darkness again was to hopefully see those eyes again. And maybe a little more.

My efforts were rewarded as I saw that same pair of eyes. Closer now than the last time. I was right, it was burgundy in his eyes. The man studied me again, his eyes showing a little disappointment that I had clothing on this time. My face bloomed into a rosy pink colour as I wrapped the robe tighter around my body, feeling like he was staring right through it.