AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You feel guilty for marrying me, for taking me away from my life. So, you’re trying to ease your conscience by giving me the chance to paint.”
“I’m giving you the opportunity to nurture your talent. Something you weren’t allowed to pursue because your father decided otherwise. I thought you’d be more pleased?”
I bow my head, hating the fact that I feel guilty for even questioning his motives.
I wish I could be more detached, but I ruined any chances of that the moment I sat down at the easel he bought me.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll see you after the class.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the car door.
Alexei’s eyes stay on me as I walk over to the red-bricked building, but I don’t give him a second glance before I open the double doors and head inside.
It’s fairly quiet as it’s almost seven in the evening and most classes are finished for the day. But there’s a door at the far end of the hall which is ajar, and there are quite a few people milling about inside.
My stomach is a bundle of nerves as I walk down the hall, taking in the artwork that’s hanging on the walls on either side of me. There’s a mixture of abstract work, still life, and portraits, and the level of skill is enviable.
I wish Alexei had given me more time to think about this.
Art has always been something just for me, a creative outlet that helps me work through my emotions when I can feel myself falling into a dark place.
Though I thought about studying it before, it’s not necessarily something I want to be graded on.
It seems Alexei called ahead and spoke to the head of admissions as the moment I knock on the door and peer round into the classroom, a woman in her late thirties rushes over to me, a huge grin plastered on her face.
She has a mass of dark curls piled on her head, and she’s wearing paint-covered overalls and a white T-shirt.
“You must be Bianca.” She holds out her hand.
There’s at least one ring on every one of her fingers, and heavy bangles hang from each of her wrists. “I’m Ella, I’ll be running this class.”
“Hi.” I force a smile as I glance behind her at the rows of easels laid out.
Most of the other students are already sitting at one and pulling out their supplies, their projects already started.
My stomach sinks.
Was I meant to bring my own paints?
Ella seems to follow my train of thought as she drops my hand and wraps it around my shoulders, ushering me inside.
“All supplies will be provided for you, don’t worry. But you’re always welcome to bring your own if you prefer your own paint brushes or paint.” She brings me over to a vacant stool at the back of the classroom. “You’ve only missed the first week, so you’re not behind.”
I glance to the person beside me, a girl around my age with blonde curly hair. She’s working on a painting which seems to be very harrowing, with lots of dark colors and blood dripping down the edges.
“The theme of the first few weeks is grief,” Ella explains.
I almost roll my eyes.
How on brand for me.
“You’re welcome to use whatever medium you wish, I only ask that the piece reflects your own experience with grief. Not what you think grief is, but what you know it to be.”
“Sounds great.”
“Have fun!”
I take a seat at my stool and glance at my empty canvas.
A cart of supplies is beside me, with everything from chalks to watercolors.
