Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Art school seemed like a good idea. Study with the masters. Learn from the best. But then, her grandfather said the best tool is your own mind, your own creativity. Institutions stifle creativity. They have rules and if you don’t conform, you’re not doing it right. How can a painting be wrong when it’s through the artist's eye. Those thoughts made her want to skip art school. She didn’t need someone telling her she was wrong—she had her father. He did it enough to last a lifetime.
Her phone rang. It was in the other room, sitting on her nightstand. She hadn’t talked to anyone other than her aunt in weeks. Kiel hadn’t called or texted her, nor had she. She didn’t know what to say, other than she was sorry and that he should run far away because being a shut-in was easy for her.
Eloise hadn’t stayed in her apartment the entire time since she told Kiel she had to work. She had gone to the gallery and painted. She went to the pier, the docks and painted. Kiel was there, with his sisters, his parents. Eloise saw them, she captured them in her memory and transferred the scene to canvas. Kiel was right when he asked if he was her muse—he was. He was easy to put on the canvas. Perfect and flawless in her mind.
The canvas needed to dry. She took it off the easel and placed it on her drafting table and then grabbed another piece. More paint, more lines, more Kiel. He never left her mind, and she wondered if she had a sickness. Was this how Van Gogh felt? Is that why he ended up in an asylum?
Her father had wanted to put her grandfather in one. Growing up, she heard, “he’s sick,” or, “he’s not well,” neither of which was true. George was the sanest man Eloise knew. He taught her everything about painting. About art. About finding the beauty in everything. If painted right a fly could be as gorgeous as a flower. Not everyone believed that except Eloise and maybe Margaux.
She could see her father wanting to put her in a home. He loathed that she didn’t have the ambition he thought she should have. Sometimes Eloise wondered if her dad was right—where would she be if she gave up painting and went to college. A “real” college by her father’s standards.
Miserable.
That was how she had felt for days when she hadn’t painted. Part of her wanted to blame Kiel. He preoccupied her time. Her mind. But it wasn’t his fault. It was hers. She craved him as much as she craved the way painting made her feel. She imagined it was like being addicted to something that increased your endorphins. Telling him she needed to work was hard. Not calling or texting had been easy because she had her art. She had her palette to keep her busy. To remind her of her goal—the showcase. Eloise wanted a spot next to her aunt. She needed validation. If she got it, she’d call her father and tell him even though he wouldn’t care. The words she’d heard growing up, “Art doesn’t pay,” echoed in her mind, in his voice. She closed her eyes and willed thoughts of her father away.
Her phone rang again, and she finally went to see who it was. The name “Homewrecker” showed on the screen. Eloise silenced the call and didn’t bother to send her mom to voicemail. She didn’t want to talk to her. Mostly because she didn’t have the energy to deal with her mom.
Instead of going back to the canvas, she headed downstairs and went to take a shower. It had been days and she always promised herself to stay on top of her hygiene. Something her grandfather would neglect until he finished a piece. For him, that could’ve easily been weeks or a month.
Eloise stripped down, turned on the water and waited for it to heat up before she stepped inside. She stood under the rain shower head and tilted her head back, letting the water cascade over her face. Minutes went by before she began cleaning. First her hair, and then everywhere else. Paint washed off her skin, dripping down her wet arms and legs to the shower floor and down the drain.
When the water turned warm, she got out and wrapped herself in a towel, and one around her hair. She left the bathroom and went into the kitchen. Her refrigerator was stocked with fruit and protein. Items to keep her find fresh. Eloise pulled out the container of strawberries, yogurt, and took it to the counter where she made herself a small parfait. This was the most human she felt in weeks.
Eloise sat on the couch, got a whiff of Kiel’s cologne, and lost it.