Favored by Indivia

05

Chapter Five

In which she tried to figure it out.

-

[Ross Pagette Monstine.]

“I think I am hearing things.”

I was looking at him, double guessing what I had said only made me laugh. He had always been someone who acts like a man of the house when we are in the dorms. Not exactly a tyrant, but different to the Ryder that we knew back home. To see him act like a kid who was being offered his number one toy did seem new. After all, it had been a while since I last saw that expression in his eyes.

I could understand why this break his character, though.

For years, Ryder had always asked me if I could paint him. After learning that I had enough skills to draw someone else, he would always pester me to use him as a model—or at the least, a reference. Whenever I would create a piece with another person as a model, he would be quiet to mope. My parents mentioned that he was acting like a child, but I do not think he actually cared that much.

It wasn’t enough to push some guilt on me, only to make me realize how badly he appreciates what I do.

Ryder did come with me through all the lessons, he would ask me what I had done and look through the sheet of paper. While my parents had done the same, my brother was there to always raise me higher whenever I feel down. Even right now, he made sure to look for a dorm that could make me have my art room. I am extremely picky in my rooms, so he looked everywhere for the perfect one.

And he did.

Slowly shaking my head, I repeat the words. “Can I please paint you?”

“You want me to model for you?” He muttered; those usually sharp eyes were now glimmering in joy. Ryder’s unconditional love for the family made it harder for me to hate anyone. The exhaustion from doing his assignments was long forgotten as if my words were magic for his ears.

His whole family is pure-hearted, as they are beautiful.

Natalie, my new mother—had managed to capture my father’s heart, despite his firm conviction that he would not marry after my mother's death. I had received a love that I never knew I would, which often made me feel conflicted about the family's whole situation. They never saw me as a threat or someone they shouldn’t show attention to.

Having an older brother made me feel secure and happy.

“Wait,” he paused, slowly backing away from me. That happiness radiating from him turned into a flow of suspicion. “Are you just pulling my leg because I’ve been busy lately? I’m fine.”

I doubt that he is. He’s been having a hard time because of the constant exams he’d been taking. I did stop painting portraits when I realized that Ryder wanted to be a model. I reckon that the thing with Matthias is nothing but a fluke. Maybe I was inspired to paint not just because he is the subject—but perhaps, portraits are my forte.

Starting from scratch would give me a handicap, which lessened the baggage I had been carrying. It would put me into a scope of trying new things, further diverting me from what Ryli’s doing. That is a forte that I had lost interest in, so maybe dabbling into unknown territory will help me with my craft.

Since I couldn’t use Ryli’s boyfriend, I could use the best one—my brother.

“No, it’s not because of that. I wanted to try venturing into portraits,” I answered, slowly gripping the canvas tighter. “So, can I please use you as a subject?”

His eyes shined bright, looking like a kid in a candy shop. Without even batting an eyelash, he stopped what he was doing before offering it to me. Sitting on the white couch, he let out a goofy grin. “It would be my pleasure, little one.”

I could see that he was doing his best to keep his posture enough that I was not struggling to remember what I wanted to paint. While I admit that my brother shares the same genes as his twin sister, I wasn’t sure why I didn’t have the sense of achievement as I did when I made Matthias’s. Looking at the sketch, I knew where everything would go and how I’ll handle it.

I know that I was slowly clawing back what I had lost.

Even still, I do not understand why I felt so unsatisfied. The feeling didn’t give me what I wanted, enough that I wanted to pick up all of the pieces and look for the man who made me feel like my art was something else. While I knew that it would capture the details I wanted to, I wasn’t sure why I struggled to find the same spark as I did last time.

Looking at it now sparks the same interest that I had in my previous work. It felt generic, like something that I had to do—not something that my soul wanted to.

Was it a fluke?

Am I doing something wrong?

“Do I look bad?” A rough voice called me, recalling me to what was happening. As my eyes followed my brother, he had already reached me, looking at my canvas with a pause. He took a second before tilting his head to the side with his lower lips slowly jutting as he did. I was already familiar with my brother enough to know that he gives such expressions when confused. “That’s just colors,” he says, tone careful as he could. Eyes slowly following mine, he asked again. “Did I not do well? Were you messing with me?”

Softly letting out a chuckle, I pointed to the canvas. “This is your eyes,” slowly pointing a few points down, “nose,” lower again, “lips,” as my eyes followed him, I added. “And so on. It’s just a rough draft for now, but I could see it forming. You’ve done well, Ryder. The best model that I could ask for.”

The uncertainty in his face vanished from my words. Despite being aware that he couldn’t see the plan well, I could see that he was proud of what he was hearing. “Well,” he mused, slowly pointing his nose forward. “I do not like to brag, but I have been practicing.”

“To be a model?” I asked.

“To be your model.” He clarified, eyes still focused on the loose draft. As I saw his eyes squint on it, as if making sure that he had done an excellent job, I knew that I was being an asshole. Here I am, not appreciating the time that my brother had done in his time to make sure that he’s good at what he is doing. “I can’t say if I did well.”

Hands slowly patting on his head, I assured him. “You were perfect, Ryder. Thank you for being my model.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he grinned, a look of the content expressed in his usually sharp eyes.

.

.

It would be easier to paint my brother.

Having Ryder as my subject wouldn’t pose many problems for me, and it wouldn’t be hard to deal with it. Knowing the man, he will offer me every free time to make sure that he could help me—so, why am I making things harder for me? Getting involved with Matthias would be hard for me. I do not want my sister to have the wrong impression, nor do I want to be the cause of any further argument. As much as I hated what Vivian was implicating, I know that Ryli would often give up on many things because of me.

I do not want her to get the wrong impression and hurt someone innocent.

“Matthias, right here!”

My eyes focused on a man playing on the field. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Spending extra hours in the art room just because it gives a full view of the court—was not who I am. My eyes moved to the canvas, and just like before—it was nothing but a rough scrap. I could fix it, morph it to something else.

Something that wouldn’t resemble Matthias. I could. But for some reason, I couldn’t.

“You’re good at that.”

I cringed, eyes moving to the now open doors. Standing before them is Clara Nueza. She’s one of Ryli’s friends and the Vice President of the Student Council. Her brown eyes had always been pretty, but there were times when they seemed darker than they should be. With her hands tied behind her, she offered me a soft smile.

“Are you still going to decline the competitive arts?” She asked, slowly reaching my spot. It urged me to fix my position, not wanting her to know what I was doing. While Ryli is close to my friends, I could not say the same for her’s. Her friends have a streak of being intimidating, enough that my social skills couldn’t even have the strength to talk back to them. “I hope you’re thinking hard about it.”

I sighed, pushing all the strength that I had to surface. While I do not have much confidence being her friend, I would always stand firm when it comes to this kind of conversation. “I apologize, but I still need to decline. Competing isn’t what I wanted to do with my art.”

“Hmm,” she mused, tilting her head to the side. I couldn’t really know what she was thinking. It was easy to see that she is hard to deal with, enough that I am aware that she is only friends with my sister because they are both popular. “That’s a shame,” Clara says thoughtfully. Eyes following my canvas, she lets out a shame. “Truly a shame. Your art should be shared with the world, don’t you agree?”

What is going on?

“When someone thinks about painting, all would be quick to point to you. However, I could understand if you needed more time.”

I don’t need time.

I need you to leave.

“Are you looking for a muse?” Her words caught me off guard, yet I wasn’t sure if she noticed. Clara’s attention is solely focused on the art piece, enough that she was leaning forward to see more of it. I could see how her eyes relaxed in seeing it as if she was really captured by it. “I feel like this is missing something.”

What is she up to?

Clara often approached me whenever she met me, and with her position—I feel like she was compelled to always talk to me about entering a contest. While I always made sure to reject such invitations, she never lost the strength to ask me about it continuously.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she chuckled, slowly standing straight. “I admit that I am simply using you for another problem that falls in my lap,” her hands raised to her face, with her finger tapping on her cheeks, as if informing me that she recalled an event. “A student came up to me, asking about some help since he could barely keep his schedules outside the campus.”

I wasn’t entirely sure why I was being made aware of this. There are many students who are struggling with their schedules. I am one of those people, even my brother had been requesting more free hours than he initially wanted to.

“He’s currently learning art, and if you could use him as your subject—it will also be possible for you to tutor him once in a while.” She finalized her thoughts, making me aware of why I was in the loop.

“I told you that I am not willing to teach anyone.”

“That’s a shame,” Clara sighed again, shaking her head. As her eyes caught the sight from the outside, her eyes grew wide. “Oh, there he is,” following the line of her sight, I wasn’t sure if she was pointing to anyone I knew. “Matthais is doing his best, but I could hardly offer him some aid.”

Matthias?

Slowly looking at her, I asked. “Matthias is the one asking for tutoring services?”

“Yes,” she nodded as if surprised that I knew the man. “He’s been taking lessons outside, but I doubt he could regularly attend due to his commitments.”

My eyes looked at his again, clearly thinking of the pros and cons of the situation. I feel like this is an opportunity that I could not reject—as it is what I needed. Matthias is the model I needed, and he requires some extra art advice.

“I’ll do it.”

I found myself saying the words without processing much of the situation. I would have turned back at my words, but I could see how relieved Clara was as if all of her problems had been answered.

“You’re an angel, Ross! I’ll inform you of the dates.”

Before I could say anything else, she had already left.

Why?

Why do I do this to myself?