[Note] Thank you Tarannum Taj for your deep, insightful comments. Sometimes when a writer's block threatened to stop the story. I would reread your comment  and they would inspire me to write again.

Three Colors

Devlin cautiously strode behind me, he had his white-doctoral coat resting on one arm, while his other hand held onto a loosely, strapped leather bag. I twisted the silver handle of the art room, stepping inside the room with him following me.

Incandescent lights lit the spacious room; panels of sceneries were displayed on the white walls while neat rows of desk were placed in horizontal series. In the back, there were worn-out wooden shelves filled with art supplies. Paints and brushes of all sizes and shapes lined the shelves.

Mrs. Clark was no-where to be seen. Even though, I had full-permission to use the art room, it felt as though as I was intruding into forbidden territory

I set my backpack on the front-desk. Turning my head, I saw Devlin standing there awkwardly, his long, gaunt fingers curling and uncurling themselves around the leather strap of his bag. I was surprised that he wasn't freaked out by the idea of someone randomly asking him to paint his eyes. I'm the one who came up with idea and even I felt kind-of weird about it.

"Stay here," I ordered afraid that he might run away or something. It's still hard to believe he's going to let me paint his eyes. Maybe he'll go all freak-show on me and tell me that I'm a creep. "I'll go grab the supplies,"

He smiled at me, the corner of his lips lifting upwards. "Yah, sure"

~*~*~

I quickly set up the panel and my painting stand. Pulling out my pencil, I roughly sketched the edges of his eyes on the small, square panel.

Devlin was sitting in-front of me; his legs propped up the metal stool while his eyes bore into mine. It was quite nerve-wreaking; it was like they could see right through me and my thoughts. I felt my pulse radiated and coarse painfully against my rib-cage. Everything was blurring into blue, pink, and grays.

"Stop it," I snapped, setting the pencil on the table, it rolled off the table, falling onto the ground with a hollow clicking sound.

He furrowed his eyebrows together, a crease dividing them. "Stop what?"

I massaged my temple as a sigh escaped my lips. Chocolate Syrup! What's wrong with me? It's official, I'm going insane. I was about to tell him to stop looking at me when I need to him to look directly at me. I shook my head, my teeth biting down on my lips. "Nothing,"

He frowned, in one swift move he hoped off the stool. "You did have lunch today?" It almost warmed my heart to see that he cared. But why should it matter, if he cared or not, damn those butterflies. Now I understand, why all those Disney princesses sang those sappy songs. I wanted to break out into my own little tune which would go along lines of-

If you can see chocolates in the sky,

Then you can dream about chocolate eyed jerks,

Wish made upon a chocolate bar,

Colors found in his chocolaty eyes,

If you can dream about chocolate eyed jerks,

Then you've must lost your mind.

I found myself, inches away from him. He stood beside me, his fingers pressed against my wrist while his eyes were glued to the wall-clock above the white-board. You know, I can literally see the ghost of my ten-foot rule standing in front of me.

"Your pulse is normal," He spoke after a moment, his hand slipping away from my wrist.

"I'm fine. Just go sit,"

He held up his hands. "I'm going woman, no need to be pushy,"

He mounted the black stool, placed at the front of the class. His hands rested on his thighs as he stared at me; once-again I felt my heart beat erratically.

 I picked up a thin bristled brush and swished it into the cold glass of water. Let the magic begin.

Three colors, three shades of paint were all I needed to paint his eyes. Dirt brown, metallic yellow and coal black pellets of acrylics lined my tray; I dipped my brush into the brown, its tip sinking into the dab.

White was fading away; brown was covering the panel fizzling with gold then black. My green eyes met his brown ones, again I was rendered breathless. In his eyes danced the light that had filtered through them like golden specks.

I felt a grin build up inside of me, I couldn't bite it down. It rose, higher and higher, enclosing my lips in joy. It's been a long since I've been this happy, this content.

It was like I was back homes, I had returned to my tiny escape known as wonderland.

With a tilt of the brush, I made the lashes framing his eyes. 

On the panel, the dull sketch was beginning to come to life, it wasn't as beautiful as the eyes of the owner but they still held some of the magic, some of that intangible charisma.

"Can I ask you something?" He spoke, the voice shattering the silence. He looked at me in a strange way like someone caught in the middle of admiration and sorrow.

I nodded, not being able to avert my eyes from his face. I still think he'd make a pretty girl.

"Why do you want to paint my eyes? Other than obvious fact that you enjoy painting,"

I bit down on the corners of my lips, the brush dangling from my fingers in mid-air, waiting to be stroked against the panel. "Because I'm weird like that," I shrugged, striking the panel, filling the eyes with light.

"Other than that,"

"Your eyes are really beautiful," I replied honestly, I bet that just inflated his ego.

He smiled wistfully as though remember some distant memory. "I get them from my mother,"

A pang of pain surged through me- mother. "Me too," I smiled.

"Really? That's cool,"

"I guess," I murmured, feeling a strange lump form in my throat. I lowered my eyes to the panel, not wanting someone to see the tears welling up in them.

"She must be really beautiful, just like you," He continued speaking with enthusiasm.

She was really beautiful both on the inside and outside unlike me...

I took a quick breath in and out, "Sorry for taking up so much of your," I tried changing the topic, not wanting to break down in-front of him.

I added the final touches to the painting.

He waved it off, grinning like there's no tomorrow. "No worries. I was free anyways plus I needed some time off my studies,"

"You must study a-lot since you're a doctor in training,"

He wrinkled his nose upwards, slightly. "Yah, I get sick of it sometimes,"

"Seriously?"  I wonder how one gets sick of studying. I avoid studying; only picking the book up when I need to prepare for exams and all.

"We have to study about eight to twelve hours day,"

I felt my eyes widen. He must be kidding me, probably showing off. "No way,"

"Some days it's like sixteen hours," He stated, as though talking about the weather.

"Dang," I breathed out. "How are you even alive? If I were you, I probably would have turned into a zombie by now,"

"But you aren't me," He replied, rather coldly. Maybe my comment had offended him.

"True, what gives you the strength to torture yourself so much?"

"It may seem like torture," He straightened his back. "But it's not when you're passionate about medical science and have an actual interest in it,"

I thought about it moment before replying. "I can understand that," In some way or another, my passion for painting, resembled his passion for science.

"Sure you-"He was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Clark.

She skipped inside the art room, her plump cheeks tainted slightly red. Behind her, she was rolling a small, red cart filled with large plastic tubs-probably clay for the crafts class. Mrs. Clark was dressed in red jumper, which made her look like a tomato. Her blond hairs with streaks of white were pinned up in a river braid.

She dropped the handle of the trolley by her desk. This is when she caught the sight of me. "Alice, what are you doing here?" I couldn't tell if she was pleased or annoyed.

"Um, well I was just finishing up a painting,"

Mrs. Clark turned to look at Devlin. Her eyes widened slightly. "Mr. Hutchins, you're here as well? Weren't you supposed to leave for an important lecture?"

My head snapped towards him. He lied to me. Why? 

His face contorted into uncomfortable expression like that of a deer caught in the headlights. "Something came up so," He left his words hanging in the air.

Mrs. Clark came to my side and observed my painting. "You were painting Mr. Hutchins eyes," She finally concluded, a knowing smile graced her lips as she glanced in between Devlin and me.

 "Y-yes," I stuttered unsure on what to say.

She stared at the roughly sketched eyes filled with different shades. There was a pair of eyes in the center, the iris were painted brown with slits of metallic yellow fused along them. Black had been used to highlights the edge of his eyes in the hope making them look more realistic.

"This is a masterpiece," She let go of a piece of air. "Ah-Alice you sure have a way with colors,"

I could feel color rise towards my cheeks. "Thank you," It's all because his eyes are so memorizing I wanted to add but decided against it.

"Oh, look I forget the clay downstairs," Mrs. Clark slapped her head lightly. "Silly old me, you guys carry on,"

She quickly rushed out the room whilst humming to herself; she was lying about the clay though. There were tubs of clay in her trolley right there. I wonder why she had excused herself so quickly.

"Can I see the painting? If you're done with it," Devlin spoke up, genuine curiosity lacing through his voice.

"Sure,"

I stepped aside. He strode to the panel, his eyes carefully studying the painting. I felt somewhat scared on what he'd think of it. I could feel my hands getting clammy. 

"Are these really my eyes?" Awe was painted on his face.

I bit the corner of my lips. "Not half as good as them but yah,"

"Wow," He smiled, breathlessly. "Amazing,"

I let go of the piece of breath, I didn't know I was holding. "You like it?"

"Of-course, it's bloody brilliant," He grinned, flashing his two rows of perfectly aligned teeth.

I could hide my smile. "Thank you," It felt so good to hear him say that. I felt my smile waver as I recalled something. "Why did you lie?"

He titled his head to one side. "About what?"

"You didn't tell me that you had a lecture to attend."

"You didn't ask," He shrugged, picking up his coat and bag from the front-desk. "Are you keeping that painting? If you don't want it then I'll have it,"

"Don't change the topic," I snapped. "Yes, I'm keeping the painting since I painted it,"

"But they're my eyes," he protested.

"I'll give you photocopy," I sighed. "Now tell me why did you miss your class for me?" since you barely know me.

He smiled-why? I don't know. "I was trying to save you,"  

 "From what?"  

He slung his leather bag over one shoulder. His gaze met mine, fiercely. "From yourself,"

Not waiting for a reply, he brusquely strode out the room, leaving a meddling confusion behind.

....It's scary to think -he had understood something about me that skimmed above everyone's vision.

In just three meeting, he had caught a glimpse of the war raging inside me -the guilt of my mother's death sinking me, pulling me into an ocean of black. I was drowning, sinking deeper and deeper, failing to swim above, I was falling down instead. There was no-one to save me here. There is no-one that can save me. I won't let anyone save me because I deserve this. I deserve this suffocation. I deserve this silence. I deserve all the cold stares. I deserve all the hatred. I certainly don't want a savior to keep me from all that I deserve.

~*~*~

I reached the doorstep of my house, feeling worn-out and tired. The sun had set behind the horizon, suspending this part of the world in darkness. It's a tiresome thirty minute walk from high-school to my neighborhood, Winterville.

The warm air from the heaters greeted me when I stepped inside. I walked into the small, cramped living room. It smelled like moldy popcorn in here.

I was surprised (shocked) to find my dad sitting on the toffee colored couch, the remote in his hand, he flipped through the channels. He never came back from office this early.  Liza sat on the leather armchair, her knees curled up to her chest; she munched away on a bowl filled with butter popcorn. Her blonde hair had been scrunched up in a messy bun.

 How does that girl manage to keep up with her weight when she eats like a freaking pig? It probably has to do with the amount of gymnastics she has to do in her middle-school cheer team. Yah, she's a cheerleader, in-fact she's the cheer team's captain. She's loves gymnastics as much as I love paint (and let me tell you I love my colors more than life).

"You're late," My dad spoke, readjusting himself on the couch; he turned to face me so his gray eyes would be directly staring at me. Ever since mom left us, he has become so strict and cold. It wasn't like this. He used to be the one who used to save me from my mother's scolding's, he used to take Liza and I for shopping and he would never yell at me for getting bad grades at school instead he'd just laugh it off but now....

"Um I missed the bus," I scratched the back of head. Liza was giving me pleading look, it was like her green eyes were trying to warn me about something.  

"Again? What happened this time?"  His gray eyes were beginning to stir with anger.

"Art class-"

"You and stupid art," He ran a hand through his blonde hair before abruptly getting up from the sofa. "Art ain't getting you anywhere. I rather have you focus on your studies," He didn't understand. He never did.

There's no point in explaining anything to him. We'll only get into an unwanted fight.

I started walking towards the staircase, not wanting to start another fight. I didn't have the strength to go on.

"I'm not done talking to you," He thundered.

A sigh escaped my lips. He won't let me rest in peace.

"What?" I groaned, turning to face him.

"I got a letter from your school," This isn't good. God, please no.

I dreaded the next few words. "What did it say?"

"If you keep up this darn thing with your art and paint, you're going have to repeat senior year," It should have made a difference. Those words should have scared me but they didn't. It didn't matter. Nothing did now. I just couldn't force myself to care.

"You better clear your final exams or else-"

"Or else what?" I barked.

The coldness of his face didn't waver for a minute. "Look just focus on your studies and forgot about all the other useless crap,"

"I'm not letting go of art, not now, not ever," My voice was firm.

He raised his hand high above in the air, I shut my eyes tightly, waiting for the impact of his hand to hit my cheek but it never did.

I opened my eyes to find Liza holding onto dad's arm.  Her face looked so fear-stricken. She trembled ever so slightly, standing in-between us.

The expression on his face softened, he averted his eyes to the floor. "Please, Alice please I beg of you- just stop ruining your life," Broke sobs shook his body as he crumbled onto the floor. I have never seen him break down in-front of me. Liza tried calming him down while he cried.

I couldn't take it anymore. I rushed towards the stairs. Tears choking my throat, they burned a trail down my cheeks. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. The weight on my chest was increasing by the minute.

I don't how much more I can take.