How did I get into painting? Well, my mother was an exceptional painter. She could’ve been made it big if it wasn’t for me and my sister. She gave up her dream to take care of her family. She used to teach me to paint everyday just before the sun set. I would sit on her lap and her hands helped me brush the canvas. I used to adore her so much. I looked up to her on my paintings. She was my muse… and then, she’s not.

I stopped for several years because life happened. I was so busy and went through a lot of things to even think about painting. It never goes away entirely though. I still drew—but it never got serious. It’d just be scrabbles or something abstract. I missed painting so much. That was why when I saw Jongin dancing in the rain, I felt inspired. The way his body moved along the notes—how he broke all the stereotypes of jocks and councils. He stood out the most. I think that he was born to stand out.

He became my muse.

Before today, it would still possible for me establishing connection with Jongin—considering how awkward I am at socializing. But as for now, I hate Jongin. I didn’t want to smell his perfume, or his odor after he finished PE. I didn’t want to see him socializing with Sojung, and I definitely didn’t want him to visit my class every damn break.

Hi, he told me a few seconds ago. I didn’t reply. I didn’t even avert my eyes from the sociology book. I kept my gaze straight, like I was too absorbed to the book. I tried to read the book, but I found myself reading the same sentence all over again.

“Yura, the principal is looking for you.” A student yelled into my class.

I stood up so fast that I almost tripped on my own step. Jongin and Sojung was still there. I could see the two of them staring at me. I hurried into the halls, turning left and right to eventually reach the office. The principal was talking to a teacher in front of the office. I took a few steps to announce myself to the principal. He noticed me and signed me to wait a few minutes.

Then, the principal excused himself and pointed at me. The teacher seemed to understand and left us. I took another steps forward to him. He looked at me expectantly.

“I have something for you,” He said. “Let’s go.”

He held the door for me. I stepped into the office and sat on the same chair that I sat on a few hours ago. The chair still felt warm. I guessed I was the guest of honor to sit on the throne twice in a row.

 “I’m getting you to compete to Kyurin all-girls high school.”

“For art?”

“For art.” He assured.

He fiddled with his drawer for a few seconds before he shoved a few papers to my direction. It was a brochure and a form. He prepared a pen for me. I took it in for a few seconds before I wrote my personal informations on the form.

I sighed, “When’s the deadline?”

“One week,” He said.

“That’s… pretty short…”

“It is,” He said slowly. “I just got this news yesterday. Apparently, they opened their competition months ago but I knew later because I’ve never foresaw our school join these kind of competitions aside from soccer. But now that I have a black gem in the school…”

“Okay, but I need a canvas and its tools. I don’t really have a lot of them.”

“Sure, sure!” He sounded a bit excited. “I’ll give you all the facility in the art room. Just head to the administration center to get the key.”

“Thanks.” Then, I stood and left.

Being a nice student and incredibly in debt with him, I immediately went to the administration center, which was not far from the principal office. It was actually a few rooms away and I didn’t want to go home—yet. Actually, the administration center wasn’t the nicest place I’ve ever been to. The employee who worked there didn’t even seem to bother that students were having a hard time. She just ate tooth gums all day. I wonder how much she ate a day.

I saunter up to the counter. Here she was; looking at me boringly and chewing the gum in . It made this irritating sound everytime she unattached the gum on her teeth. I gave the most polite smile I could gather, “I’m sorry. The principal told me to borrow the art room’s key.”

She didn’t even bother to stand up to search. She just said, “Sorry, the key is still borrowed.”

“So, it’s not here?” I wanted to make sure.

“No, girl.” She told me sharply.

“O—Okay, thanks.” I walked back from the center and stood, uncertain of what I will do in the next hours without painting. I certainly—strongly—didn’t want to go home. It would be a warzone down there.

I pursed my lips before deciding to walk to the art room, just to make sure (again) and procrastinating on going home. I walked without thinking much. I counted my steps just because. I turned and passed the empty halls. I could see a making out session in the empty class (which is not-so-empty anymore because they are having a hot session against the wall). It was pretty gross to see. He really dug his hands into her skirt and the girl… well, she enjoyed it—very much.

I stripped my eyes away from them, only to find a well-known figure standing in front of the Art room. He was folding his arms in front of his chest as he leaned into the door. My legs felt weak. Series of pictures came flooding down my brain. The locked door, the drawings, the judging looks from everybody. I forgot to breath.

If I happened to be in one room with him a week ago, I’d be quite happy but this wasn’t a good time to make that fantasy come true. My heart was filled with guilt. I hate that the feelings just stuck there, unbothered to go away. It pressured me a lot that sometimes I couldn’t breathe properly.

“Hey,” He greeted as he spotted me.

I stayed quiet, unsure if I should keep the conversation or run away.

“I was waiting for you,” He said.

Is this some kind of joke?

I could see Jongin’s body shifted awkwardly after he said the words. It was like he forced himself to talk those words, and I wasn’t amused at all.

“I manage every championships in this school,” He said again. Maybe he noticed that I looked lost by his statement that he added, “That’s my job in the student council.”

I nodded.

Then he pushed the door open easily, letting me to go first as he put his body aside. I took a moment to absorb the situation before I stepped inside the room. He followed me behind.

When the door closed, the atmosphere went thick and cold.

I couldn’t say anything. My feet even seemed to thicken and heavier than it usually was. I just want to fall onto the ground and fall deeper like Alice in Alice in Wonderland. Maybe Wonderland would be a very good choice to go right now.

We didn’t exchange any words, or any uhms. It was just us and the oxygen that tighten our breath. I literally can’t think of anything except standing on the door. I could see the atmosphere slowly kill him too. He tapped his legs against the floor—he looked so miserable.

“So,” I asked him.

“What?” He asked back.

I pointed him, “What should I do?”

“Paint?”

“Okay.”

He pointed fast at the canvas that had been set up alongside with painting utilities and a chair to sit on. It was actually pretty organized despite the fact that the room has been empty for so long. It was a bit dusty, but everyone could cope with it and it would actually be a very nice place if it was neat. Maybe, tomorrow I could tidy the place. I was more than glad to have control of this room. I could paint everyday not just sketches, but real paintings.

I sat on the chair, playing the brush and mixing some colors before I stuck my brush against the canvas. He dragged another chair and sat beside me. Then nothing popped out in my mind, nothing except for how Jongin actually leaned and watched me do my work. It was nerve wrecking.

“You are in the same class as Sojung, right?”

“Yeah, and so is the other 30 students in my class.”

“Sorry.” Again.

Then my tongue suddenly slipped out, “I should be the one who owes you an apology.”

“For what exactly?” He laughed it off. “Drawing my face?”

I closed my eyes tightly in cringe when I remembered the earlier events. It was embarrassing.

“So it’s all about that.” He seemed to answer it himself after seeing my face turned into a total tomato. In addition, he cracked a small smile but he quickly hid it with tucking his head down.

“And being sarcastic,” I finally said. “I’m sorry.”

I made myself busy by mixing another color to the palette and dipped the brushes into a cup of water. A part of me was trying to block all the noises around me, so I couldn’t hear the answer. But, another sane part of me told me to just give him a chance—give myself a chance to socialize. I looked down to the water cup, pulling the brush from the water. As I watched the brush to dry by itself, I could smell the odor: mixed vanilla and sweats. My brain immediately remember the smell. So, this is how Jongin smell.

 “I’m fine with it.” He eventually replied.

My fingers went numb and my spine was aching, “It… was weird.”

Jongin grew out a crisp laugh, “Yeah. Yeah, it does. But it also looks incredibly good.”

“Sorry.”

“You already said sorry three time. It’s too overdone.”

“Okay.” Because I couldn’t make myself a lot stupid in front of Jongin by saying another sorry.

He agreed, “Okay.”

My heart was lighter when he accepted my apology. I found myself smiling over the achievement. It’s too long to feel this victory. I longed for this kind of feeling, and now it’s here. I felt more than light. My body felt like I was floating. The last time I felt like this was when I and my sister decided to play in the rain. It was a long time ago.

I glanced at Jongin, who looked at the canvas expectantly. Before I could I say anything, he said, “What are going to paint?”

“Um,” I started to draw lines with different colors. “I came across a painting in the internet—um—it looks like—um—a man in the rain, with umbrella.”

He nodded as if he understood the concept, “Oh, okay. Cool.”

Not long, I became so immersed with the painting. I kept going, going, and going. I kept mixing colors and brushing them onto the canvas with different directions of lines. My eyes coincidentally moved to Jongin. He didn’t look bored, but he looked tired. He played a game in his phone, but his fingers became lazy. His eyes were tired and red. I could see he was fighting back the sleepy tears in his eyes.

I tried to look like I has always been immersed in the painting, “You could always go back.”

He looked up in surprise, “What about you?”

“Huh?” I was lost. Did he really just ask about me?

“How do you go back?”

“Bus… There are a lot of ways.”

He checked the time in his phone, “It’s almost sunset. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“My house is near. Every bus passed my station.” I lied—not every bus passed my station because my house is rather far. I bet it was farther than Jongin’s but I felt bad making Jongin looked like my prisoner. It was rather odd to see a student council to be this attentive on a competition, but this was Jongin. He done the most job in student council and almost had the same job as the leader. He was the most responsible member in this school.

Jongin began to pack his bag, “I’m sorry. I had errands to do.”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay,” He sighed in satisfaction as he done packing. He stood and offered a handshake. “Good luck.”

I looked at his hand and back at his face. He was expecting my handshake. I slowly tangled my hand on his. He shook them up and down, and let it go. He smiled at me and left. I was still struck at his smile. I never imagined that someone’s smile could make me feel breathless. The last time I feel that it wasn’t for a good cause, but now it was.

As I continued the painting, I found myself smiling from the new friend I had made.

Time passed by so quickly. The sky was already dark and the school began to empty out except for the janitors and a few teachers. But I kept doing what I was doing for the past hours. The painting slowly began to become a unison of art. It looked messy, but that was the beauty that I try to picture. I drew a few other lines with different colors before I could stop.

There it was. The first painting after a long few years. I was amazed by myself that I could actually do that in just one day. There was this surge of feelings that made me want to go to amusement park and enjoy the rest of the day. I forgot everything ahead of me. There was just me and my painting. But that was just for a moment. The bad feelings started to crept again; the guilt, pain, and sense of suffer. I felt bad for being happy for one second. My palms began to sweat and I had to wipe them on my skirt.

It felt like a bad thing is going to appear.

My phone rang.

DAD

It really is a bad thing.

I picked up, “Hello?”

“Wheredo-ya-think you were?” He slurred. I could smell his bad breath of alcohol from here. He can’t even make one good sentence.

“I’ll be home soon.” I hurriedly pack my belongings.

“Go home right now!” Then, I heard a loud thump before the line went out.

I put my phone in my pocket and ran out from the school. I was actually pretty late for any bus to my station. So, as soon as I got into the bus stop, I took the first bus I meet and stopped at the nearest bus station to my place. After that I ran two blocks. Why did I run? Well, the thing is Dad needed me. He needed me to clean up the mess he made in the house. He needed special attention at night because if I left him alone for one night, he would go berserk and ruin the damn house by himself. I, as a child, had the job to keep our house intact.

A long, hard, and breathless minutes later, I got into my house. As I open the door, I was greeted with a flying bottle against the wall. I stopped at the track and realized that the house was a disaster—wrecked ship. Dad was there, though, watching nothing in the TV as he drank.

“I’m home.” I announced. I took a broom from the kitchen and wiped out the shattered bottle outside the house. I took out a few bottles from the couch and threw it away. There were a few small miniatures from several states in USA as a gift that were knocked down to the ground—I picked them up too.

“I ing know. You don’t need to announce yourself.” He took another gulp.

“I’m sorry I announce—” I was still cleaning up his mess.

“Whatdyathink that bottle for?!” He raised his tone.

I was too lazy to answer. I kept washing the dishes and putting it in the dryer machine. I didn’t pay attention to him anymore because I thought that his business was done. I already tidied up his cozy place (the couch) and cleaned up his fortress (the living room), so he shouldn’t bother me again. But as I looked up, somebody pulled my hair and threw me across the room.

It was Dad. Obviously.

“Dad, please. What else do you want me to do?” I coincidentally raised my voice. He seemed to be taken aback, but he came back moments later to pull my hair again. He was angry and drunk.

His face was inches away from mine. I could smell the strong alcohol every time he breathe. I hated the smell, but I was shivering from his red gaze. He was so angry that he started to shake too. We both were shaking but in a very opposite way. He told, “Don’t. Use. That. Tone. To. Me.”

“Y-yes.”

“Do you ing understand?” He tightened his grip around my hair.

“Y-yes, Dad.” At then, his grip loosened and patted my head a few times before he could go back to the couch and drank some more.

My body was rigid. He had done so many things to me, but every time it happened, I was still scared and cold. I was still sad despite the fact that I know this thing will happen every time I got home. During mornings, I was always sure that I could not freeze when he did things—but that was just bull, obviously. Moments later, I pulled myself together and went to my room. I didn’t really want to change my outfit. I was too tired. So, I plopped down my med with my school outfit and picked up a framed photo in the bedside table. It was me, my sister, and my mom. We all looked so happy in a beach in the countryside. Dad took the picture—the sane Dad. He was okay with not getting in the frame to take a picture with us. I hugged it close and it warmed my chest—like there was a chimney in my chest. It felt amazing to have these feelings.

But, obviously, like usual… it went away fast and replaced by the lingering guilt.