Jean’s POV
Alcohol wasn’t something I was so inclined on drinking but since she offered so persistently in the past few days, I thought why not. After such a horrible shift at the publishing house. I deserve a drink. Perhaps 3 drinks down, I was already a bit too tipsy but I didn’t really care at that point. I just wanted to enjoy the night for tomorrow would be another working day for me.
“I really hate being a paperboy, you know? I came to Paris wanting to be something. But all I am is a pile of trash on the side of the road. Sure It’s paying for that sh*thole of a dorm I’m staying at but that isn’t what I came here for”
As usual, Linda was quiet. I was lucky enough to get a nod or two from her but otherwise she would just listen, ask a few questions. I couldn’t tell if it helped but she really never was the talkative type
“And I only worked at the publishing house because I wanted to be a journalist… I wanted to travel more.. Be as far away from my hometown as possible.”
I moved to sit on the sofa where Linda had settled in and as shameless as it was, I rested my head on her lap. Shocked as she was at first, she eventually just placed her delicate paint stained hands on my head and began treading her digits through my oil-slicked hair. It was comforting but it made me more and more confused as to why she was doing all this for me.
“I just don’t get it!” I sat up a bit and downed the wine she had just poured into my glass. I was sure I hadn't had a lot but I was really getting past my limit. I was confused and was pretty sure I wouldn’t even make it back if I don’t stop myself.
“And what’s been bothering you today?” I could sense the sincerity in her tone but it was probably the wine talking at that point.
“You. Work. The newspaper publishing house. My life. Everything” As soon as the words left my lips, I could barely stand to face her out of fear of what her expression might be now
“That’s a lot. But what’s with me?” Her words were still cool. Still the normal Linda i’ve spent these pastfew days with.
“Why do you say you want to draw me all the time. Are you some sort of pervert? Never have you shownme whatever it is you’ve been working on. Am I that ugly to be ridiculed like this?” It was true. I wasnothing but a piece of trash. To my family, my hometown, here, everywhere. Maybe she got her kicksfrom making me do all those poses.
“You? Ugly?” SHe seemed to be more offended by me degrading myself than by having called her apervert. She definitely was a strange one. If I were back in my hometown, everyone would probably haveagreed yet not her.
“You say you’re ugly?!?” I could feel her irritation as she stood abruptly. My eyes trailed her until she
came to a stop in front of the white sheets she told me never to touch. No words came after, she justpulled off the covering and there stood two canvases. One was what looked like a scene from the pub.
The first time I played… She painted it. From memory? Yet it came off so vibrant. The blaring red lightsthat seemed to reflect off my skin and my eyes, the empty gaze I had, the red wine that seemed redderin the painting. It was nothing but beautiful. Like the rest of the world didn’t matter in this image. All herattention was on me, even now. The second one.. It was when I was sitting on the window sill. Thesecond pose she made me try out. As much as the light hurt my eyes that day, I looked almost peacefulas white light seemed to make my pale skin much paler than it should be. But the way she made the blueof my eyes more vibrant.
“These.. Are me..?” These couldn’t be me.
“These too” I gazed down at the small sketchpad she was handing me. It was the one she said was a top secret. Why was she giving this to me. I flipped through the pages and surprise wasn’t even enough todescribe the sensation. I was simply in awe. Every moment that she could, she observed me, sketchedme. Had I always been this beautiful in her eyes. I couldn’t be.
“I think I’ll head home now. Thank you for the drink and your time.”
“I’ll walk you. You’re drunk and you might not get home.” It felt like seeing those images and sketcheshad drained me of all my energy that I just allowed her to do as she pleased plus it seemed the betterchoice with all that wine I downed.
The walk back was silent except for the passing carriages but otherwise neither of us spoke until we bidour good nights at the doorsteps of the dorm. From the window, I could see her lingering downstairs,probably thinking.
That night I didn’t sleep and I believe she didn’t either. It still took her awhile before she left but as shewalked, I could see her look back every now and then.
I'll put the links when I'm on a pc again. Anyways, my sketching skills have gone ugly so fast but i think it's just the bad pen i was using and the lack of imagination
Seems lots of people getting spammed. 😏