Chapter 3
-Villanelle-
When she woke up, narrowly falling off the bed she was so far to the edge, her heart immediately thumped with exhilaration.
When she had got home last night, she fell into a state of awe, anger, excitement all rolled into one. The professor was arrogant, smug and self-centred it seemed, too; but totally captivating and, annoyingly interesting.
And she had amazing hair.
She got up, went to work, got back home just in time to change clothes, all the while thinking about her lesson.
She had left yesterday in such a state of disappointment and frustration, that when Eve came running after her she was only the more angry. But when she told her to continue attending, she took it as a compliment; she was glad. There was something about her she undeniably liked, even if she was an asshole. They seemed to connect somehow, in a way that Villanelle hadn't experienced before.
Once more springing up the steps and into Eve's office, she found the professor in the middle of drinking something that clearly made her slam her mug down onto her desk with haste.
'Jesus christ, Villanelle!' She said, in amongst her shock.
Villanelle crept further towards her, peering into the mug in question.
She raised her eyebrows in question, Eve only rolling her eyes.
'Maybe you are the way that you are because you drink in the daytime.' She said.
'That's coming on a bit strong, don't you think? How would you know, you've barely known me half an hour in total.'
'They say it takes four seconds of knowing someone to decide their character. I think thirty minutes has been long enough to make a judgement.'
'So what's your almighty verdict, then?'
She crossed her arms, 'that you're just like me.'
'Oh?' She moved closer to her, drinking the alcohol she had in her cup anyway, 'how so?'
'You're a woman dissatisfied with life who just wants someone to give them something to keep living for. You get angry because you're just so bored, every day. You wonder when it will stop. But you don't do anything about it because you can't stand change.'
'Well, I can tell that your critical art analysis will be well informed and intelligent, by any means.'
'Does that mean I hit the nail on the head?'
Eve shifted uncomfortably, looking disgruntled. 'Let me help you paint, not become a psychic.'
She walked past her, setting up a canvas and an easel. Villanelle smiled smugly.
'Okay, we're going to start small, as is always the way. Especially with painting.'
She dragged the easel into the centre of the room, rushing about all over the place whilst Villanelle stood and watched.
'Every artist's favourite starting place, still life. We'll just do a simple apple for now.'
She lead Villanelle straight up to the canvas, picking a pencil for her.
'First, you want to consider what style your going for. Most still lifes, traditionally, use realism. But it's become more common to paint objects in abstract ways too. I assume you would rather learn classically?'
Villanelle looked at the apple, then the blank canvas; she was conscious of Eve standing inches away over her right shoulder, and turned her head to look at her.
'No, actually. I think I'd like to do it your way.'
Eve was instantly surprised, 'really? The same method you said you didn't like yesterday?'
'It's grown on me.' She shrugged.
You've grown on me, she thought.
'Alright then. You want to start with an outline. I have an eraser if you need it, but this is just to get a feel for the way you draw. If you're going for modern, you don't need to worry so much about the details and the shape.'
Villanelle drew softly, her eyes flicking back to the apple every few seconds. She wanted to impress, make a first good impression with her drawing. She was actually dying for Eve to praise her.
For a few minutes she stood there, sketching what she thought was a decent looking apple. Eve hovered over her, not saying a word except watching studiously at her movements. Villanelle could feel the heat of her eyes.
At last, she drew back, her eyes shifting to Eve to catch a first impression.
'Okay, not bad. Good. So now you want to think about colour.'
When she leaned over to grab a palette and paint the wool fabric of her jumper brushed her arm. Villanelle was so focused that the contact felt way more intimate than it was.
'Have a good look,' she said, squeezing paint onto the surface, 'because you're painting with an impression, with abstraction, you want to focus more on the blending of colours and where they are placed. Here,' she said, handing Villanelle a palette with white, black, red, blue, yellow, 'almost squint your eyes, like you're looking at the sun.'
She did as she was told, her eyes glimpsing the colours of the apple hazily.
'And now,' Eve said, 'paint.'
Villanelle began by blending the colours, it looked like to Eve's approval.
She mixed them to a soft red, almost a pink, adding flecks of white.
'How do I create this colour, but in a darker shade? You know, for shadow and stuff.'
She didn't know why she was so embarrassed.
'Here, let me help you with that,' Eve said, taking the side of the palette and relinquishing the brush from her. Eve mixed the colours to just what she had envisioned.
'Thank you,' she said quietly.
Villanelle put the brush to canvas, stroking it downwards in the centre of the apple. She kept painting, adding the darker shade to the shadows, dripping white dots for highlights.
'It's a good start,' Eve admitted, and the corners of Villanelle's mouth flickered upward slightly, 'watch how you use your brushstrokes, though,' she said, pointing at certain areas of the painting, 'you want them all to be either smooth or jagged, in one direction or the other,' as she said this, she put her hand over her own, directing her hand. Villanelle could feel her over her shoulder, so close they were touching in areas that she couldn't believe were being touched.
She could feel Eve's hand dominantly guide hers, sweeping down the canvas painfully slowly, so that she could feel every breath and movement they both made.
Eve helped her like this for an agonisingly long time, until she suddenly drew away and Villanelle was left breathless at the sudden lack of contact.
Villanelle kept painting, Eve sometimes circling round her with eagle eyes. She felt conscious, her skin burning with the after effects of her touch.
When finally she felt her work was completed she stood back, allowing Eve to take a good look too.
She didn't say anything for a long while, and this made her extra impatient and nervous. Her arms were crossed, her lips holding a cigarette between them.
'It's okay,' she said, flashing her eyes onto hers, 'It can be improved,' she stepped closer to Villanelle, spinning her round to face her canvas, with her head directly hovering over her shoulder, 'by painting from the heart.' She brought Villanelle's own hand up to her chest, hers pressing over it with a force that took her breath away. She could feel Eve's hand on top of hers dramatically rise and fall with every embarassing deep breath she exhaled.
'When you paint, especially when it's done in the name of modern art, it's a connection you share with what you're painting. You may not have a connection to the apple itself, but you may have a connection to the way it makes you feel,' She let go of her, stepping away. Villanelle was glad she was behind her so she could not see the way her eyes fluttered closed in order to steady herself, 'if you bear that in mind next time, you will be able to paint like a pro before the term is over.'
-Eve-
Villanelle spun around unexpectedly, causing Eve much alarm, 'can I see the way you paint? Can I watch your method, how you start, so I can learn the best way for my own painting?'
She half laughed, half grimaced; she knew it would have to happen at some point. But she hadn't fully painted, not for anyone or anything or even herself, for many many months and years.
'No, not yet. I don't have anything worth painting.'
She stepped closer, almost in defiance.
Eve was astonished at her confidence.
'Paint me.'
Eve was immediately shocked at these words, having to blink a few times to adjust herself to the suggestion. She had never known a student so enthusiastic and forward. Not a student as captivating or determined as Villanelle.
'I dont have a significant connection to you yet. How am I supposed to create something without an emotion or a feeling tied to it? The art becomes impersonal and it should never be that way.'
Liar. She knew she was lying. She had felt some wave of connection wash over her as soon as she had touched her hand, or beheld the light in her eyes.
At these words Villanelle looked slightly disappointed, almost the look of rejection in her face.
'Maybe you'll persuade me some time.'
She knew she had inspired some hope with this redeeming statement, watching the way Villanelle's face instantly brightened.
'Well, you may take it home if you wish. You can keep it as a comparison for your improved later works.'
'No.' She said, her face changing quickly, 'I want you to have it. Keep it here, in this room.'
Eve picked up the canvas, eyeing her as she did so, 'if you wish.'
She placed it by all the other canvases and student works she had collected in the corner, turning back to see Villanelle fidgeting with her hands.
'Are you okay?'
'Yeah,' her eyes lit up, but this time with a dullened spark, 'show me more.'
The next two days carried on much the same, Eve teaching Villanelle to paint, how to blend colours, how to analyse artworks. And every time their bodies were even remotely within a metres distance of one another, her body froze up inside. Holding her hands tenderly to help her paint felt like both a blessing and a curse; every time she could feel the breath hitch in her throat and the tingling on her skin from her touch.
The afternoon was spent poring over books, Eve showing Villanelle as many artists as she could, the latter, much to her surprise, taking it all in with a childlike awe, a real and deep fascination. It hadn't been the reaction she was expecting from the woman who had walked through her door the day before. Eve had lost track of time from teaching Villanelle, getting lost in those inquisitive eyes, that she didn't realise it had lasted way beyond their allocated thirty minute slot; well over an hour of talking and painting. Eve had looked at the time with horror on her face, nearly spitting out her cognac.
'Oh shit, Villanelle, it's been over an hour! I shouldn't have kept you so long, why didn't you tell me?'
'I could have listened to you talk for ages. I didn't want you to stop.'
Eve half smiled, half frowned at the comment.
'It'a a good thing I have nowhere to be, in that case. But you, shouldn't you go back home? Your husband must be wondering where you are.'
'I would rather be here. He would barely have noticed anyway.'
'Are you sure? I should never have let myself run on.'
'No!' Villanelle bounded up to her, unexpectedly taking her hand, 'you're much more interesting than him.'
'He'll still be agitated if I don't let you go soon,' she said, then gazing into Villanelle's eyes, 'unless...he doesn't know your here, does he?'
Her face fell, and Eve knew she was right.
'Why?'
'Because I wanted to do it for myself, without his influence. He probably would have forbidden it anyway. And,' she seemed to look directly at her, staring beyond her face deep into her soul, 'I want to leave him. I want the courage and the talent and independent means to leave him, I want to mix in completely different circles entirely. I want to meet someone else who won't treat me like shit.'
Eve couldn't quite fathom an answer. All she knew was that the look in Villanelle's eyes, to her, perhaps held more meaning in them than she had intended.
'You want to escape, to break out,' she said quietly, 'how could you be so sure that art will give you a way out?'
'I wasn't,' she admitted, then seeming to lick her lips softly, 'I am now.'
Eve stood there, completely mesmerised and shocked. She was so close to her, she could hardly move. She mentally shook away her thoughts, referring back to being strictly impartial and professional.
Villanelle seemed to take this cold approach as disagreement.
'What, you've never lied about being happy and hidden things from your husband?'
'Oh no, I have. And I'm not judging you for it, not in any way. Still,' she said, glancing again to the clock on the wall, 'it is getting late, and even if you could stay here all night listening to me ramble on about art I highly doubt the Dean's would allow it.'
This made Villanelle laugh, and perhaps especially because she hadn't intimated it was wrong to stay so late behind from their lesson. It betrayed a mutual sense of want that Eve half hoped yet half feared she would pick up on.
She shifted away from her, collecting her things from her desk, putting a coat on and a bag over her shoulder in preparation to leave.
'We should both go, regardless.' Eve smiled softly.
Villanelle assented, and together they walked out of Eve's office, turning the lights off as they went.
They eventually got outside the front doors, walking up the pathway together, all alone in the eerie silence of the courtyard. Eve pulled her hood up as a light rain pattered down over them.
'I might have an umbrella in my bag if you want it?' Eve offered, noticing Villanelle had nothing but a light coat on.
'No, really, I'm okay.'
'Are you driving? Taking the bus?' She said, sliding another cigarette between her lips.
'No, walking.'
'Walking? Let me drive you back home instead you don't wanna be caught in this. It looks like it will storm up in a minute.'
'No, no, I'm fine, I couldn't do that. It's only a fifteen minute walk.'
Eve stopped in her tracks just before she reached her parked car, turning to Villanelle, 'if it's a fifteen minute walk it will only take me five minutes to drive you there. Come on, don't be stupid.'
Villanelle's eyebrows arched, and for a second Eve thought she had taken it too far. But her lips seemed to quiver a subtle smile in response.
'If you drive me, he'll find out. He'll question me most likely. I don't want him to know yet.'
'I'll drop you off a road beforehand is that okay?'
'Are you sure?'
'Of course I'm sure, Villanelle, I'm not letting you walk back home in the rain.'
She gave her a warm smile, such as she had not seen before. Eve opened the passenger door for Villanelle and she climbed in. Even after only a week of knowing her, she felt already a fierce protectiveness over her, a feeling of shared admiration. She would be damned if she ever showed these emotions directly, however.