Until Her...

Chapter Eleven

It's the end of the day so all of the students and lecturers have gone home, and it's just me left in the studio. I'm listening to music as loud as possible as I always do when I work. My mood affects the choice of music and my music affects my art. I let the world fall away, all my fears, worries, questions and even my hope and wishes. It all fades away, so it's me and an empty canvas. Waiting for my soul to pour out and be put on display. I can't help but paint and dance as Bruno Mars comes on shuffle. Jumping and singing along, stroking the end of my brush against the canvas, completely free. Dancing until...
"Oh my god... What the fuck" I scream directly at the dark figure standing in the doorway. I go over to my phone and turn the music off.
"Don't stop on my account" a very familiar voice says, and Gabriel walks into the light of the room beaming.
"You scared the shit out of me" I try to control my sharp and fast breathing due to the dancing, but mainly from the utter terror he inflicted.
"I knocked" he shrugs before he sits on a stool in front of the bench full of my drawings, paintings, and photographs.
"What are you doing here?"
"Same as you. To use the studio. I find it easier to get my work done later in the evening when it's completely quite"
"Oh well, I'll keep my music down so you can get back to it" I say turning my music back on, hinting for him to leave.
"What are these?" he asks, pointing and looking at my photographs.
"There just some picture" 
"There really good. Do you use them for your paintings?" He asks pointing at the canvas I'm working on. I don't say anything, hoping that ignoring him will make him leave.
"Come on were friends now remember?" he says cockily, putting his feet up on the table and on top of my work. And I push his dirty feet off of my drawings, making a point to show him that it's rude.
"I like to do a few different things"
"Like what?" Why he's even interested?
"Well, I guess... this one here" pointing to one of my finished paintings. "I got really fascinated by the idea of integrating photography and paint. So I use a small section of a photo, usually someone's face or outline of their body. And then I use the paint to distort the image or create a background"
He looks closely assessing it, and I get nervous waiting for him to say something, so I keep talking instead. "Or I'll use the photos as a reference for a painting. But I mostly like to work off of my sketches"
"Where do you get your sketches from?" I can see how intrigued he is by my style of art. I usually get the same reaction, I think cause it's so different from traditional styles. And if I wasn't the artist I'd find the idea of someone secretly drawing me invasive, but it's my process of inspiration.
"Anywhere... I sketch whenever I'm inspired. I could spend all day watching people, drawing them and imagine who they could be" I realise how stupid it sounds now that I've said it out loud.
Sketches scattered on the table and I watch him examine each one, it's like he's looking at an intimate part of me. Then he pulls out a sketch I'm all too familiar with. He stops and stares at it, completely taken aback.
"What's this... is this me?" he asks a little tension in his voice.
"No, of course not" I say, trying to snatch it out of his hand.
"Really, cause it looks an awful lot like me? And if you hadn't noticed your pretty fucking good at this shit, so ..." I think he's angry but I can't tell, his voice and face are so flat, not expressing any emotion. I have no idea how I'm going to explain my way out of this.
"When did you draw this?"
"Early last month, you came into a coffee house before the semester started. I didn't know that...well... when you came into class that day. I was shocked and embarrassed"
"Sure you're not stalking me?" he says, lightening the mood slightly.
"You're the one who came into my studio while I was in here alone late at night" He starts walking around the table towards me, and I back away unsure of what it is he's doing.
"How many times have you drawn me" he whispers.
"Only the once" I tell him. And he raises his eyebrows clearly not believing me.
"Once, I swear" I lie and continue to back away until I'm up against the wall, but he continues to move toward me.
"Why?"
"I don't know" Which is true, I never know why, he keeps coming into my mind whenever I sketch.
"Yes, you do" he whispers in my ear as he pins me against the table, his arms either side of me, I'm unable to move.
"Well, we're friends now and I draw all of my friends"
"That's not it. You know exactly why you draw me" his breath is hot against my war and my body tenses as I've never been this close to him. He pulls his head back, so our faces are close to touching. His eyes are light blue now, and I wonder how often they change colour. Then I look at his lips and imagine what they'd feel like. Would they be soft, while the pressure of his against mine would be rough? What would his hands feel like on my body? How would my hands look in his? I look up and see that he's watching me watch him. He leans in staring at my lips, and I think he's going to kiss me. I've wanted him to so many times, to kiss me. Kiss me...
"If I catch you drawing me again, I'll make sure you regret it" he says with so much bitterness. He really is a fucking psycho. One minute we're completely enthralled in this hot intense moment, and then the next minute he's threatening me. What the hell is wrong with him? My loathing comes back into focus and all I want to do is push him out of my studio and out of my life. 
"I won't, believe me" I say with fierce hostility. "If you don't mind I've got work to do"
I knock his arm that is trapping me and turn my music louder than it was before just to piss him off, and make a point. He storms off out of the studio, knocking a chair to the ground in frustration. I sit against the wall trying to control the many emotions I'm feeling. All I want to do is smash this room up and rip every stupid drawing I've ever made of him, which I do. All but the first one.