"Where's Nevaeh?" I ask Ian as soon as I arrive in the dining room.

Ian steps out of the kitchen. He looks surprised to see me, raising his eyebrows at me. "She's looking for you in the painting room. I thought you were there."

I sigh. It's silly because I went to her room so that we could have dinner together. We're apparently looking for each other in the wrong places.

While I'm heading to my art room, my heart suddenly becomes restless.

I was in the middle of painting something she shouldn't see. I'd lost track of time while painting. I abruptly stopped as soon as I noticed that it had reached dinner time. Although I'd covered the painting with a cloak, I didn't even bother to move it to another spot to make it unnoticed.

When I reach my art room, I take a deep breath. To my horror, Nevaeh is standing right in front of the painting she's not supposed to see.

My heart feels like dropping into an endless pit.

How am I supposed to explain it to her?

How am I supposed to tell her about what I was doing?

Nevaeh freezes. Her eyes are glued to the painting of herself without any clothes on, not even a piece.

It's a painting of herself with over the shoulder pose and her bare back facing whoever it is seeing the painting.

I've painted her beautiful face, her perfect wavy long blonde hair, and her sky blue eyes -- those broken eyes, exactly how I see them when I spot her in the shower.

I've painted her body that stops at the curve of her ass.

In the painting, she's covering one of her breasts with her palm while looking over the shoulder at me with such a vulnerable gaze. Some parts of her body are kept hidden because I couldn't continue painting them.

I still remember that day when I tore my gaze away from her naked form, when I walked out of her bathroom.

I was afraid that I couldn't control myself, so I stopped looking.

Now that Nevaeh has found this painting, she must be thinking that I'm crazy.

A psychopath.

A freak.

My fear builds up. I feel like the world around me turns into darkness.

Nevaeh feels my presence, and slowly, she turns around. Our eyes meet.

My heart seems to stop as she looks at me with disbelief skating all over her face. The way she looks at me makes me feel like I'm the worst person ever to exist in this world.

"Nevaeh." My voice is shaking as I whisper her name.

I want to step closer to her and fix everything, but I don't know what to say. I can't even move.

Nevaeh swallows, and before I can comprehend what's happening, she runs out of the room. My heart thumps hard against my ribcage, it's painful.

"Nevaeh," I shout, running after her.

Please, don't go.

I don't want to lose her. I think I'll die if I do.

Panic consumes me. We end up entering the outdoor area near the pool, and by the time she reaches the balcony, she turns around.

Her legs are shaking as she grips the railing behind her. The wind blows through her hair, making it messy. Her eyes are wide, still filled with shock.

The reality crashes me like a trainwreck. I can't believe what I've done to her. I'm supposed to protect her and make her feel safe in this house. What have I done?

The sight of her looking hurt because of me pierces my heart. Is she afraid of me now because of what she saw?

Goddammit.

"I'm sorry." My voice breaks.

My breath is short and fast. It's not because of running here. It's because of the fear eating me inside.

Seeing her like this sucks all the air in my lungs. I can't breathe.

"I'm sorry, Nevaeh."

Her chest is moving up and down rapidly too. After a while, she stutters, "The painting--"

"Forget about it," I say firmly, clenching my fist. "I'm sorry that you saw that. Just--" My breath is shaky as I inhale. "Just forget about it."

Nevaeh is silent, but her lips are trembling when she touches them with her fingers.

She averts her eyes from me. "What was that all about? Is it..." Her voice is barely a whisper, filled with disbelief. "Is it me?"

I want to break something.

Nevaeh is here because she needed my help to feel secure, to not worry about the man who tried to assault her. And here I am, breaking her trust.

She has every right to doubt me, to not trust me.

My chest tightens with great pain. I don't want her to think wrongly of the way I see her. I'll never hurt her like those criminals.

If only she could understand the way I see her.

I take one step closer carefully, but it only makes her shoot me a cautious look.

It feels like our first kiss is long gone. Maybe she'll never ever let herself fall into my arms anymore. I've disgusted her.

Nevaeh scrutinizes me. She's trying to read me.

"Why did you do that?" she asks, and I can hear how nervous she is. "Why did you paint me like that?"

"Because you make me feel." My voice is hoarse. "You've turned my world upside down."

Nevaeh frowns, and my heart screams, begging for her to understand my feelings.

"But there's this one thing I want you to know," I say, dead serious. "I will never try to hurt you in that way."

Silence falls between us again. The wind blows again, softly this time, as if it wants to calm our racing hearts.

I look into her eyes. Will she ever understand my feelings for her?

I'm just a man who needs her. She's wrong if she thinks that it's purely physical because my need for her isn't like that.

She makes me feel a lot of emotions, but deep down inside my heart, she makes me feel at ease. She calms my worst nightmare. She makes me feel alive again, whole, happy.

It had been a long time since I was happy.

Because of that, in my eyes, Nevaeh is beautiful. My painting of her doesn't do any justice. I wish she could see how I see her beauty.

Nevaeh's breathing eases after she hears my statement, as though hearing that I won't ever hurt her is the only thing she needs to hear.

I walk closer to her and stand next to her. My gaze falls on the city below us. I rest my arms on the railing and sigh.

"When I paint, I pour my feelings into the canvas. Anything I feel." I turn my head toward her.

Maybe the way I stare at her is too intense, because she then looks away.

"What were you thinking in your mind when you painted me?" she asks in a small voice.

"That you're a beautiful woman," I say, causing her to look at me again.

Her cheeks blush crimson, and I look up at the night sky. Nevaeh is too kind. She should have slapped me for calling her beautiful after what she saw in the painting room.

"Don't worry," I whisper. "I told you that I wouldn't hurt you."

Nevaeh doesn't respond, and I continue letting out what's inside my chest, "I can't paint without involving my emotions."

She stays silent. When I shift my gaze to her again, she's listening intently. It means so much to me, and again, right now, in my eyes, she looks beautiful. She's so beautiful that it hurts.

"When I was really young, I painted my parents with all my heart. It has always been a way for me to express my feelings. That's why I didn't want to paint for years. I didn't want to feel." The truth comes out of my mouth.

Nevaeh's eyes are now filled with sadness, as though she can understand my pain.

I've always been afraid to be vulnerable, especially in front of her, but that's exactly what she makes me. She's shattering all these walls around me. She's ripping my heart to see what's inside it, as if it's worth it. As if I am worth it.

"When I paint you, I want to make sure about what I feel," I say.

Nevaeh's eyes soften as she hears every word I say. The look she gives me makes me want to pour out my heart even more.

"You make me go crazy," I say. "I wanted to know what you're doing to me, why you're making me feel this way."

Nevaeh looks like she's about to cry. Hope crosses her expression. I don't know what kind of hope she expects to find in me. For me, she's the only hope herself. She doesn't have any idea about how much she's affecting me.

"What are you feeling?" she whispers.

"A lot of things."

Enough to make my heart burst.

I don't know what will happen to us, but I don't think that I can stop this feeling anymore. Maybe I'll really die when this is over. I've almost died once.

Nevaeh's brows furrow. She must be confused. Seeing the painting and hearing my confession must be too much for her to take at once.

I, however, have to warn her. She hasn't known all of me.

"Some things I feel are bad for you," I say.

*