↠23↞ The paintings

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↠23↞

The paintings

On Saturday I feel on edge because I'll have to face Will's father again, but mostly, I am relieved that me and Rayna have overcome our discord, and now, we're as good as ever before.

"You look stunning," she compliments.

I inhale deeply and smoothen the grey frock that Will picked for me. It's a pencil, knee-length one, the long sleeves and square neck of which make me present myself beyond elegant.

"Thank you," I mutter, adding an extra layer of hairspray to my waves.

"Stop it." Rayna yanks the bottle off my hands. "Unless you want to transform into a hedgehog."

"Rayna?" I murmur tentatively, overlooking her remark.

Her face grows serious. "Yeah?"

"I miss him," I confess, and almost start crying, seeing my own, miserable reflection in the mirror.

This whole week I've been shunning Will. I've come up with dozens of various excuses just so I wouldn't have to see him after school, saying I was too busy studying, feeling unwell, or I purposely ignored his messages, and luckily for me, he just let me be.

First few days of Nathan being gone from my life were alright because I was still in denial, but after that, his absence started to become very obvious and agonizing. I found myself missing him; his smile, his grunge-ish style, the way his eyes glimmered with glee everytime he looked at me, and most of all, I missed his kindness. And the more I missed him, the less attracted I was to Will.

Rayna's blue eyes balk around my face. "Of course you do, but do you still love him?"

I sigh. "Yeah, but the problem is that I also feel something for Will. Whatever it is, even if it's just lust, I can't deny that it's not there."

Rayna maneuvers my waves into submission. "And do you think it can evolve into something much stronger than what you feel for Nathan?"

"I . . ." I ponder. "I haven't got a clue. Will can be very . . . confusing."

Her fingers freeze somewhere in between the layers of my indurated with hairspray hair. "So what exactly happened between you two?" She raises a brow.

I realize that I've never actually told her. "We touched?" I say hesitantly.

"Are you asking me?" she laughs, and shakes her head. "Is he a good kisser?"

Is he, Davina? Oh, wait. He's never kissed you, has he? Maybe he doesn't want to taste the poison that are your lips because you continuously lie.

I open my subconscious' mouth and feed her some bitter hairspray.

I feel embarrassed. My sight travels down to my black, heeled sandals. "I . . . I don't know," I murmur.

"You haven't kissed him yet?" Rayna's eyes pry open.

"No."

"Why?" She frowns.

"He didn't let me." I shrug, unsure of the reason.

"That's a bit-"

"Odd?" I snort. "Yeah, I know." I sigh again, wondering why on earth does Will behave so untouchable.

"Davina, there is something that you should know . . ." Rayna's anxious voice resounds in the bathroom.

My stomach churns. Suddenly, I'm nervous. "What's that?"

"On that day . . . when you and Nathan split up . . . I . . . I went out for coffee with Will, remember?" she asks, fiddling with the hairspray bottle.

"Yeah, so?" I frown, still understanding nothing.

"I think I might have made a little mistake by assuming that he had a crush on you." She gives me an apologetic look.

For some reason I find it hard to swallow. "What do you mean?"

"He . . . um . . . kind of said that he doesn't like you." Her face wrenches in awkwardness. "I mean, he obviously thinks you're pretty, and he wouldn't mind sleeping with you, but I think that that's all he's after."

I give a quiet cough of surprise. "Wow." I'm dumbfounded. "So much effort just for sex." I huff, and swallow hard when I meet Rayna's inquiring stare.

"What do you mean? What effort?"

I force every single one of my brain cells to cooperate. "You know, like, taking me to this party now and stuff," I blurt out another lie.

"Oh, right. Well, I hope the truth didn't hurt you."

My subconscious sneers. Saying it for once would.

I think about how it made me feel, then say, "It definitely wasn't nice to hear, but I think that my heart would break only then, if I saw Nathan kiss another girl," I declare, once again smoothing the fabric of my dress because Will should be here any minute now. Then I look at Rayna, her face has gone weirdly pale. "Wait. Has Nathan kissed someone?" I ask, my chest becomes lead-heavy, even though I am the one who had ruined everything.

"How would I-"

"Sorry, I've got to go. Will's here." I peck one of Rayna's cheeks.

"Okay, have fun." Is all she says before I disappear behind the door.

~~~~~~~~~~

"You look . . ." Will scrambles to get some words out of his mouth, however, his chest expands in admiration. "Very beautiful," he finally finds the right adjective.

His modest remark brings some colour to my face. I would have never expected him to compliment me.

"Thank you," I respond in a timid manner. "You look quite admirable yourself."

He glances down at his dark trousers and a pair of classic Vans. He then smoothens his loose, vertical-striped shirt. "Thank you. I think that black and white really suit me. Shall we?" he asks, adjusting a thin, silver necklace that he decided to wear.

The confidence in every of his moves intimidates me. Then, as if my sanity heard my thoughts, I recall myself what Rayna had said about his indifference towards me. The bubble of short-lived perfection bursts.

"Sure," I say curtly.

Will frowns, but instead of questioning my sudden aloofness, he steers me to a car that is already waiting for us outside.

He holds the door open for me. "Ladies first," he says.

I nod my head and get inside the vehicle, yet I can't stop thinking about how much longer can he remain being so polite for, and most importantly, why is he?

~~~~~~~~~~

"Wow." Is the first thing that I say when we arrive at the threshold of 'The Midnight Soul Blossoming Art Gallery'. "This is marvelous." I glance over at Will. "Why is it named so?" I ask, intrigued.

"Because the most beautiful ideas usually come to us late at night," someone answers for him.

My heart stops. It's Will's father. To my amazement, they don't look alike; his dad is much shorter, his hair is brighter, and his eyes aren't black but blue.

"You look unrecognizable, Miss Nash," the man points out.

My cheeks turn vivid red. He obviously must remember the average, ninety-grand girl.

"Thank you," I mutter politely.

Mr. Reyman puts his hand on his son's shoulder. "Show her around. I need to take care of other guests." He smiles a wax-figure smile and disappears seconds later.

Will's expression remains inscrutable. "Ready to meet my mother?"

My insides tie into knots. "Your mother's here, too?"

"Yes, but she doesn't know about our little agreement, so you can loosen up now," he responds, and catching me completely off guard, he wraps his arm around my waist, leading me through the main hall of this three-storey building.

Oddly enough, as if he has never done anything to hurt me, my body relaxes at his touch, as if my receptors had already envisaged this moment before.

The aura of this warm and airy place is soothing. Secrets and unspoken thoughts hide behind dry paint - most of them are locked safe in modern frames. Like celebrities in the spotlight, the ambiguous paintings bath in a soft glow of picture lights, proudly flaunting their respective name plates.

The variety of art in here is astonishing. Over the last two decades, there must've been many people who contributed into enlivening this gallery with their impeccable work.

Ambling through a glazed, porcelain floor, I examine the reflection of paintings that deform into vague ghosts in its white, smooth surface. Some canvases are displayed on the walls, some allure the visitors with the way they seem to float in the air in the middle of the gallery, hung on long, cascading from the ceiling chains.

"Oh my!" A sudden voice filters up towards us. "Is that a girl!? You came here with a girl!" A lady, which must be Will's mother, emerges by our side. Her lips seem to have been permanently sewed into a broad smile as it doesn't disappear from her face even for a brief moment.

For some inexplicable reason, Will's eyes turn hard. "You are very observant," he states coldly. "Davina, this is my lovely mother, mother, this is a girl," he introduces us in this odd way.

I involuntarily laugh.

"Oh, come here." His mum scoops me into her warm embrace. "How long have you been dating for?" She looks at Will. Her onyx eyes shimmer with glee.

I splatter at the sound of her question. Will isn't giving her any answer, so I rush with one. "We aren't dating."

His arm brings me a few inches closer to him. "Not yet," he mutters.

I blink, stupefied.

"I hope you do," his mother says.

Knocked off balance by Will's comment, I focus my attention on his mother. "I'm sorry, I still do not know your name."

"Lydia," she responds, a warm smile fills her mouth.

"Nice to meet you," I say, then gasp in shock when she locks me in her arms anew.

Will pulls me aside. "Time to go." His voice is dry.

"What's wrong?" I frown. "She's very-"

"Drunk. She's fucking drunk," he grumbles, cross.

"What's the problem?" A single wrinkle appears on my forehead. "She must have had a few to loosen up. Today's celebration seems like a big deal."

"That's not the reason why she's drinking." His tone is full of something I can not name, but it leaves me concerned.

I ask hesitantly, "Why is she then?" My eyes immediately widen at the sight of his own gaining a peculiar sheen. "Hey, what's wrong?" I make his face meet mine.

"Nothing," he mutters, quickly recovering from his momentary sadness. "Everyone started to gather. We should join them."

Enthusiasm deserts me. I'd rather stay where we are, and find out what made him so upset.

We find ourselves among a group of equally elegant people. Silence descends upon the throng when Will's father comes forward, his giggly wife stands right beside him, a glass of champagne remains unsteadily poised in her hand.

I glimpse over at Will. His jaw is clenched, looking as if it's been carved out of stone. He's embarrassed, no doubt. The fact that I've never seen him this helpless in a situation makes me somewhat sorry for him.

Unsure what to do, I surprise the both of us by linking our arms.

Will first glances down, as if acquainting himself with this alien sensation, then moves his sight up to my face.

Relief washes over me when his stare softens, the embarrassment hides behind something I'd dare to name gratitude.

Meanwhile, Mr. Reyman has already commenced his speech. Being this close to his son, however, hinders my ability to focus on his words. There are just so many, whilst the only ones roaming in my head are related to Will not rejecting my touch.

My subconscious downs her flute of bubbly champagne. Remember what Rayna said. He just wants to use you.

". . . and therefore, I am honored to present you the latest works that from now on will permanently adorn the walls of this gallery." Mr. Reyman's solemn announcement causes a round of applause to spread across the crowd. The bravos and cheerings only intensify when sheets covering the mentioned canvases get dropped to the floor.

"Oh wow. I mean . . . wow." I raise my eyebrows in astonishment because the artworks are truly mesmerizing and breath-taking.

Gauging my reaction, Will lets a placid smile beautify his face. "Do you like them?"

I blink, rapt. "I've got no words. These are amazing."

Will lets go off my arm and once again wraps his own around my waist. He then steers me closer in the direction of the exhibition, a nicely dressed man hands us flutes of effervescent, pale gold alcohol.

"This one looks great," Will says, pointing at one of twelve paintings that are there.

I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing thick layers of red paint that portray some abstraction of hell. "You're into the dark stuff, eh?" I laugh, not understanding this painting at all.

Will overlooks my jest. "Which one do you like then?" he asks, seeming naturally intrigued.

"These here." I point with my glass at three canvases depicting the same person; a young, dark-haired girl with piercing, cold eyes. All of these paintings have been created in various shades of blue and black with some gold touches to it.

"These are actually mine," Will says humbly.

My mouth falls open. "Are you serious?" I blink, words fail me. "Who is she?" I ask, feeling the itch of curiosity.

"That's-"

"Are you enjoying the exhibition, Miss Nash?" Mr. Reyman asks, appearing out of nowhere.

The official way in which he refers to me makes me quite uncomfortable. "I am, indeed. Thank you." I flash a timid smile. "These are truly beautiful." I nod at Will's work.

"I couldn't agree more," he says, and both of them; him and Will, just keep staring at the three canvases.

Who is that mysterious girl?

Suddenly, as if jolted out of trance, Mr. Reyman clears his throat and looks at us. "In an hour we're heading home for the celebration. I'll see you both there," he adds, and pats his son on his shoulder. "I'm very proud of you." He nods his head in reassurance, then simply walks off.

Once his father is out of sight, I ask again, "Okay, who is she?"

Will's eyes remain glued to the canvases before him. "No one," he says quietly, and that's when I understand that the girl from his paintings is someone much more than just nobody.

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