Aquarelle [h.s]

three

I'd arrived at the exhibition early. I'd taken a look around, listening as Mr Carter ranted about everything single one of the artworks, wondering if he'd ever done the same with one of mine - or if he was planning to, at least. I didn't know why that man liked me so much. Maybe it was because I worked at the same museum he'd used to work at when he was younger, doing the same exact job that he had. Or maybe he just liked to talk about art, and he liked the fact that I was able to hold a conversation about it with him. I didn't mind, it was nice to talk about it with someone that wasn't myself or people I worked with. It was refreshing.

After a while he'd left me alone and said he had to take care of other matters, and I'd nodded and walked away, finally discovering the corner where my three paintings were hanging.

I'd stood in front of one of them, it represented a girl cuddled up in the corner of a bathtub, her blonde hair wet and darkened and sticking to her back, the water in front of her pink, dead flowers floating on top. It was directly inspired by a drawing I'd made more than five years before, and I couldn't help but be glad that the people that had known about it weren't around anymore to find out.

I'd stared at it, and for some reason it hadn't felt mine. There, hanging on the wall, it hadn't felt like it belonged to me anymore, as if it was just the painting of a stranger that I'd happened to stumble upon, like the many I organised whenever I was at work.

When the first people started to arrive, I was still there, looking at it with a confused look on my face. What had even changed? Why did it feel so different? Was it simply because I'd never expected to see it in such a position, or was there more to it? Maybe it was because painting was still relatively new to me. I'd been painting for years at that point, but I'd been drawing for many more, so maybe it was just weird to me that the first artwork of mine to land in an art exhibition wasn't a drawing, but a painting.

I liked it, though, even though I couldn't help but feel as if I'd missed the mark with that one. After all, it didn't have a meaning itself, and art is supposed to always have one, isn't it? It only held meaning to me as it was another take on a past drawing, one that I would've felt guilty even looking at. It was one I could stare at and show everyone else, because I knew they would've never known what it truly meant to me.

At that point people were walking around me, so I decided to move out of their way and take a look around as I waited for Louis to arrive, as he was the only one that would've been able to come that night. Liam was out of the city with his girlfriend for some reason - a last minute decision I wasn't going to question - and Nicholas had to finish working on something, and my parents weren't able to drive all the way to London because their car had broken down. I didn't really mind, as they'd all already seen the paintings that had been chosen, but I still thought it would've been nice to have some familiar faces around in that moment. After all, it was a quite important evening for me, something I'd looked forward to for so many years, and I was absolutely terrified. I was scared my art would've fallen flat, but I was also scared of having my paintings bought, or something positive happening. I found it hard to handle change, I'd always had. I didn't know why, but the simple idea of not knowing what to expect had always terrified me more than I would've ever liked to admit.

I'd ended up staring at another one of my paintings from the side, observing how the dark colours were a strong contrast to the other one, when I suddenly heard a familiar voice behind me, that I immediately recognised as belonging to the one person I'd been waiting for for over an hour.

"This is Sierra."

I turned around as my name was mentioned, my breath stopping in my throat when I met a pair of green eyes, that were staring at me with a mildly shocked look that I was sure could've matched the one in mine.