Episode 11

"Today's class will be quite straightforward," the painting instructor stated serenely. "We'll be giving life to abstract figures, so I want your creations to emerge from within—" — Your passions, amusement, things that make you feel unique and extraordinary. Keep that in mind."

As always, the art teacher encouraged us to manifest our true selves in our artwork. I exhaled deeply, well aware that embracing that mantra would likely lead to failing grades or even suspension. I'm no longer a child whose parents get called in for drawing Bleer with a knife in his chest and blood-soaked ground—one of my framed works by my father.

I reminisced about the simplicity and straightforwardness of those times, as I grabbed black and red paints and prepared to paint.

"Don't you think your canvas will look a bit dismal with those colors?"—Daniela's annoying voice chimed in.

"Why are you here?" I asked, disregarding her comment.

"I'm in this class. They omitted introducing me as the new student. Do you think I should introduce myself, Alessandro?" She pondered, touching her pincel's handle to her lip corner.

"If they haven't requested you to introduce yourself, it's likely because you're unimportant. Kindly stop bothering me," I retorted, refocusing on the canvas before me. Yet she spoke again.

"Professor?"

"Yes? Are you new here?"

"Yes, Professor. My name is Daniela. It's a pleasure. But I wanted to inquire if we're permitted to work in pairs?" She turned with a smile toward me.

"A brilliant suggestion indeed. Let's pair up; the fusion of two personalities into one canvas is far more interesting."

The maestro then meandered on about emotional baggage and the trivialities of the heart, along with other notions that failed to capture my attention.

"I'll partner with you," Daniela announced, her grin wider than the Cheshire Cat's.

"No... I prefer working alone." I dismissed her and began sketching with black, blending it into the red center.

"You have a fondness for black and red, don't you?" she inquired, her gaze so intense that it made her mere presence uncomfortable.

"Just shut up," I snapped at her.

"Your sister wishes to be friends with me. Do you want me six feet under?" I turned with a smile.

"Well, if you were buried, I'd watch with curiosity as you panicked and clawed at your coffin lid, bloodied nails and all, to see your face distort in oxygen deprivation."

"Oh, what else?" she replied, still smiling.

I considered her, first her eyes, then her lips.

"Where'd you buy that lipstick?" I asked, fixated on her red lips.

"You like it?" she asked, her smile contrasting with the crimson hue.

She didn't wear it when I picked her up earlier.

"Yes, it's nice. Stef would look good in it. Where did you buy it? I'd like to get one for my..."

"Ah, this? I'll tell you later; it's a gift, so I need to remember where it's from."

"No need. Just stay away from me."

"No... I'm your partner," she insisted, reaching for pink paint.

"Don't even think about using pink on my canvas. It's the color I detest most."

She washed her brush and chose purple instead.

"Seriously?" I asked. She washed the brush again, this time selecting blue.

I returned my focus to my canvas, but before she could paint, she chose a pastel blue and aimed it at the canvas. Just as she was about to begin, she splattered the brush on my nose.

I reacted quickly, grabbing her hand firmly before she could withdraw it.

"I'm not amused by these games; I'm not a child. Don't try that again, or I'll cut off your hands."

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again!" She hurriedly wiped my nose with a napkin in her other hand.

I released her hand but then spotted a mole on her arm, drawing me to it once more.

"What?" she asked.

"I've seen that mole before."

She withdrew, covering it with her shirt sleeve.

"It's just a birthmark, like a stamp."

Unsure of where I'd seen it, I declared, "This half is yours, and this half is mine," dividing the canvas.

She respected the boundary for a while, but my thoughts remained fixated on that familiar mole, leading me to paint distractedly onto her side of the canvas.

"You said this was my side. You crossed the line," she protested, crossing over to mine. I did something foolish for the first time and reached onto her side, which made her laugh as we both crossed back and forth with our brushes. I'm not one for laughter, but seeing her uncontrollably giggling cracked a smile on my face.

"That's the spirit, kids," the teacher said, peeking between us, shocked at the chaotic mix of colors on the canvas.

After that, I didn't speak to her again.

Classes progressed as usual.

Upon returning home, I headed straight to my father's study.

"May I enter?" I asked.

"Come in." He stopped his work to look me in the eyes. I pulled out a drawing from my pocket, unable to shake the image of that mole.

"What's this about?" he asked, glancing at the sketch before setting it on his desk.

"Who is she, and why does that damned mole look so familiar?" I demanded fiercely. My father remained silent, exhaling deeply.

"Avoid questions when you dread the answers," he said. "Better yet, do something worthwhile and watch over her."

"I'm not the good Samaritan, damn it, Kevin Smith; tell me who she is!"

"And where's your sister?"

"Probably off hooking up with some guy or girl."