Annabel placed her hands firmly on the table that was now between them, staring at Willem with a frown. “Look, I know that something is wrong. So please just tell me what's bothering you. I know that it has to have something to do with Mathias and Lukas.” Willem winced. “I'm not sure exactly what it is, but I could see it. Even now. Every time that somebody says Lukas's name, you end up looking like you want to throw up or hurl yourself out a window. It's something that I've been noticing for the past six months since I came here. I just wish that you had enough sense to actually open up to someone. To open up to me. I'm your sister. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

The look of open hurt in Annabel's eyes made Willem cringe internally, but all he could do was shake his head as his hands gripped the strap of his duffel bag until the tough canvas nearly cut into his hands. “There's nothing that you need to know. Lukas is just an asshole that shouldn't be trusted. He's no good and you need to stay away from him before you end up getting hurt by him too. So just drop the subject.”

Annabel raised one hand to twist her fingers into the green ribbon that was tied in her hair like a headband. At first he thought that he had successfully diverted the conversation. Her voice was quiet when she spoke, and it caused a lump to form in Willem's throat. “Lukas hurt Mathias, didn't he? That's why you're getting so upset, isn't it?”

He couldn't help the small surge of anger that nestled itself into the base of his throat, and it took several moments for him to be able to restrain the sudden emotion enough for it to not show in his voice. “Look, it's not my relationship and I have no right to interfere in it. It would be best if you just dropped it and moved on with your life. There are more important things for you to worry about.”

That was apparently the wrong thing for him to say, however, because Annabel puffed out her cheeks as her nose started to turn red. One of the tell-tale signs that she was on the verge of tears. “Well I wouldn't have to worry so much if you would just open up to me, to anyone. You always keep yourself so closed off from everybody, especially recently, and you keep all your emotions bottled up to yourself, and it's not healthy, Willem!” She pressed the tips of her fingers against her eyes and shook her head. “You always end up listening to everyone else's problems whether you actually want to or not, but you never open up to anyone in return even after dealing with the weight of everybody's situations, and I know that it has to be weighing down on you more than you'll ever admit.”

“Well it's not your problem to fix, Annabel,” he muttered dully. He loved his sister and he hated seeing her like this, but he just couldn't risk opening up the can of worms that was his emotional turmoil. He had to protect himself at all costs, even from those he loved.

Annabel crossed her arms over her chest, looking as if she'd just had the wind kicked out of her. Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to get out the words that she wanted, but after a few futile moments, her shoulders slumped and her eyes glistened with tears. Willem wanted to reach out and comfort his baby sister, but he couldn't. If he did, he knew that his carefully constructed control on his emotions would shatter, so he stood idly by.

The silence stretched on for several more moments until Willem could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat from the stress, his stomach twisting in knots. “Can you at least give me advice on my art pieces while we're here?” came the faint whisper. It eased the tension in Willem's shoulders for the time being. It hadn't been an admission to stop prying, because he was sure that Annabel would end up poking her nose back into the matter. However, it was enough for the moment to have the subject changed.

Releasing his grip on the strap of his bag, he slowly lowered himself onto one of the stools at the table. He kept his voice gentle when he spoke. “Yeah, I can do that…”

Annabel glanced over at him, biting her bottom lip as she nodded. Heading over to one of the cupboards, she withdrew several semi-finished canvas paintings, and Willem was patient as she discussed the assignment relating to each, what she was attempting to achieve, and what she had already done.

By the time that he was done giving her suggestions and critiquing the pieces with his artist's eye, Annabel's normally perky disposition had almost fully returned, though there was a slow reluctance to her movements that Willem knew was caused by her unwillingness to simply leave matters as they were. He knew that she wanted to say more on their previous discussion, but she simply thanked him and returned her works to their places, leaving soon after telling him that she didn't want to be late for her date with Antonio.

As the door clicked quietly behind her retreating form, Willem pillowed his head in his arms. He hated this feeling. He hated feeling as though his entire soul was shattering in his chest, over and over again. It didn't help that it felt like someone was constantly taking a sledgehammer to his chest. He wanted to cry. He could feel the tears welling up in the backs of his eyes. He knew that if he let himself though, he wouldn't be able to stop himself, and he wasn't up to the task of diverting every single person that he knew would end up asking him about what was wrong.

Forcing himself up off the table, Willem pushed himself into a standing position, shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world weighed down upon him. As he turned to leave, something inside him hesitated. It was an itch in the back of his mind, a tingle that made his fingers twitch with anticipation.

Resting against the wall nearby was a stack of blank canvases that students used for painting. One of the tables nearby was stacked with several cases of oil paint tubes, containers of paint brushes, palettes, and other miscellaneous artist's tools. Placing his duffel bag on the floor by his stool, Willem shuffled over to cases of paints, gently running his fingers along the tubes of colors.

Titanium white. Cadmium lemon. Hansa yellow light. Cerulean blue. Cobalt blue. Pthalo blue. Gold ochre. Chromatic black. Viridian. Sap green. Burnt umber. Burnt sienna. Portland grey medium.

He instinctively picked through the colors of paint that lay before him, a vision of a painting already forming in his head with each new color that he picked out and placed next to his palette. Willem only hesitated for a brief moment once the paints were chosen before he scooped them up in his arms and brought them over to his stool, dragging an easel along behind him. He went back for a canvas and the other tools and brushes before sitting down.

Willem's breath felt lodged in his throat for several moments as he stared at the almost intimidating expanse of vast empty whiteness. It was blinding in a way, like the feeling from staring at glistening snow for too long. Squeezing the colors onto his palette, he picked up a paintbrush and dipped it into a mixture of lighter and darker blues.

Raising the brush, he hesitated once more, stilling the nervous tremble in his hand. And then, he painted, and he could feel all of his emotions come crashing down around him, spreading down along his arm and out the brush and onto the canvas. Each stroke and color was a conduit of emotion.

Willem stayed in the art room that night.