The Blue-Eyed Devil

A Short Story

She was fifteen when she dreamed of those deep blue eyes and raven hair. It was a vague flash along with lightly tanned skin and sweet deep dimples on both the cheeks. The smile was what she remembered. It was so full and toothy, even his eyes shone brightly. He looked so happy and she wondered why.

Petunia was fifteen years old when she got those strange dreams of the same man. She had never seen someone like that. The picture of the man had always been engraved in her mind and oh-so-vividly that it eventually (and unconsciously) became the measuring standard for men she dated. To put it simply, the man of her dreams ruined her for any other. In those dreams, the scenes and setups were always different, never the same, but the man was in all of them. The same blue-eyed man with raven hairs and a dimpled smile, who had unconsciously influenced her life even when he wasn't real. She, being the artist she was, had made many paintings of the man. In the middle of the night. When her sleep would be broken because of him.

Don't get her wrong, she did try to remove him from her mind, his rightful place. However, eventually, she accepted it. With time, the man ruled over her mind as well as her heart. She couldn't even look at any male without comparing him with the blue-eyed Devil. She became withdrawn and a tad depressed because of the mystery. So, one day, when she was around seventeen, she bought the paints and canvases and started to paint. She painted his lightly broad forehead, his chiselled jaw, his dimpled and his thin yet plump lips. She drew everything she remembered.

However, the only thing that she couldn't make was his eyes. The same beautiful blue eyes that had haunted her with their beauty and a burning depth. She tried and tried to copy its depth but she just couldn't. She practised and perfected herself in the form and yet when she brought her brush to the two hollows she left for her eyes, she still couldn't.

While she was frustrated, she was also ignorant of the fact that her art pieces had become popular. She made many paintings, some of them of the blue-eyed sorcerer, which she kept hidden in her art room, but most of them were exposed to the public eye. Her exhibitions always became more crowded and thus more successful than the previous one.

The only person to know about her personal paintings was her manager, an old retired artist in his mid-sixties whose name was Albert Hudson. He was an old friend as well and thus, his hard exterior would soften for the sweet girl who was then 23 years old. He would always urge her to at least put those paintings on display but she never agreed. Her eyeless paintings were very close to her and for her eyes alone.

One day, during mid-October, Mr Hudson got a call from a business tycoon that he wanted to make a personal request of the artist. That was another thing that was singular about Petunia. Everyone knew about her art and had seen her sign as P.W. (Petunia Walters) but not one knew who she was. They did not even know that the artist was a woman. To the world, she was just a very tasteful and talented artist who just one day came into being. To the world, she was a mystery and she intended to keep it that way until her day of retirement. Oh yes, the woman had thought of everything.

So, that business tycoon, by the name of Leander Coleman, had demanded on the phone to have a personal meeting with Petunia, not knowing who he or she was. Albert was very hesitant but agreed to let the artist know and let them decide if they wanted to accept. Of course, money was not an issue and Mr Coleman had baited it as an influence to make the artist take a greedy decision. However, Petunia was not a very materialistic lady, even the only reason she agreed to sell her paintings for hundreds of thousands of dollars or put them into even better auctions with the minimum price of ten thousand dollars was that Hudson insisted on it and he was an old family friend so she couldn't say no.

When Hudson told her of the man and the money that he was ready to throw, she bristled. She was so offended that she wrote him an email herself but from her manager's account. Being the straightforward woman she always was, she made him aware of the fact that she did not appreciate how he was bribing her with money and that his first impression wasn't very good. She asked him to email whatever request he had because she most definitely doesn't want to meet him. She signed her initials at the bottom of the mail.

Hudson paled at the contents he read in the mail but she did not care. She was livid and had not forgotten to make the recipient notice it by the way she wrote her message. Hudson had chided her but he was just as angry as she was and his scoldings were empty.

The next time she heard from Coleman was after two weeks. He wrote that he had given enough time to cool down and also the purpose he had. He was very civil with words when he wrote that he wanted her to paint his late mother's picture as a memory for him. He also apologized, which was well appreciated. He also requested, not demanded, he reminded her to visit his adobe to paint the picture. He wanted to examine the process himself and also was curious about the artist.

Petunia had half the mind to refuse but did not have the heart to. She had been close to her parents too and the sentiment behind the painting was heart-breaking. She couldn't refuse and thus, she told him that at the end of the month, she would be there, in America, to paint his mother. She also did not forget to praise his sentimental thinking and that she was only doing that because of the emotion.

As the month passed, her dreams of the blue-eyed Devil did appear but only on a few occasions. She was always too tired to notice the change and when she did, it did not relieve her. Rather, she felt agitated, for somehow she had filled a large cavity of her heart with the man's thoughts.

The start of November took her to Coleman's family mansion, which was located conveniently in the city of Evanston, Illinois. The touches of cream and mahogany in the architecture of the house made a mesmerizing impression on the artist. They were received by Mr Coleman's assistant and driver, who were surprised to see that the artist was a woman. The assistant informed them that the boss would be with them in an hour, as a meeting was being addressed. Neither Petunia nor Albert minded, for they knew work was important and they were not so much self-centred to think that someone would leave everything to pay them attention.

In the mansion, Petunia met Mr Coleman Sr. as well as the sisters of Leander. They all claimed to be her fans and with an uneasy smile, she accepted their praises. Isolation does that to people as it did to her. She became socially awkward over time. A few maids helped her settle in one of the guest rooms which were easily more than the size of her art room and soon, a butler came to inform her that Mr Coleman Jr. was in the house.

As she was free, she asked the butler to direct her to him, Albert was with her too. The butler knocked and entered the office, asking them to wait. The door opened for them soon. A man was standing there with his back to them.

"Mr Coleman," Albert greeted. She did not say anything, still sour with the man. Leander turned to look at them and her breath hitched.

"You got to be jesting," Albert muttered behind her, however, she did not hear him. Her brain was already too occupied, looking at the same blue eyes that had haunted her for eight years.

They both looked at each other with recognition yet the other did not seem to notice. They were too busy believing it to notice anything, like how the butler and her manager were gawking at them. Albert faked a cough and that did it. Petunia looked at her manager and then blushed at the Cheshire cat grin he had. She knew he had recognized him too.

She took a deep breath and looked back at the blue-eyed Devil with a stoic face, "Hello, Mr Coleman, I am Petunia Walters, the artist you mailed."

He gulped and then assessed her once more before blurting out, "I did not know that P.W. was a woman."

She bristled and huffed through her nose, ignoring his prominent American accent, which was just too compelling.

'There is nothing good about him, except his looks,' she thought.

"Well, I truly believe that you would only want your mother's picture done. I was not like you were to marry me that you should know my gender."

Her sharp tongue betrayed her but she regretted nothing, well, except she got second thoughts when a pin-drop silence succumbed to the room. She waited for something to happen and happen it did. He smirked.

"Well, I see you are feisty," he replied. "I was starting to think it was only during indirect conversations."

"Well, I see you are arrogant," she retorted, "I was starting to think it was only during indirect conversations."

He laughed. She raised her eyebrows as he gave a full belly guffaw. "I am not surprised, not after those bordering mean e-mails," he commented. He opened the drawer of his desk and took out a picture. He glanced at it briefly before passing it to her.

She assessed it. The woman was middle-aged, had salt and pepper hair and those blue eyes.

"You have her eyes," she commented, without realizing. He just nodded when she glanced at him. "When can I start?"

"How about you rest today and I will show you the room you could use tomorrow?"

She nodded and turned to face Albert, who nodded as well, but hesitantly. She left the room without saying anything else. People would think that she was just too mean but the truth was that she felt uncomfortable while interacting with others. Albert soon followed and they entered her room.

"Oh my goodness," Albert exclaimed, "he was the same eyeless man, wasn't he?"

She just nodded, too stunned herself before she faced him.

"Petunia, how will you paint the eyes, if they are the same as his."

"I-I don't know," she replied. He sighed but left the topic there. He left the room, leaving her to her thoughts. The next day, a butler came to her room about mid-morning to take her to Leander's office. As she entered the office, she noticed that she was alone with him, Albert was not there.

"Mr Coleman," she greeted coldly.

"Ms Walters," he smiled teasingly, "Chipper as always I see."

She rolled her eyes while he chuckled. He told her to follow him and took her to one of the many mahogany doors in the same wing that she stayed in. He opened it for her to enter first, she did so and gasped. The room was huge and completely blank except for a four feet shelf that sat at a corner and french windows that covered a whole wall. Everything was pure white and she suddenly stuck out like a sore thumb.

"I figured that it would be a nice enough room," Leander interrupted her thoughts, "And it is usually quiet in this wing so it would be a good working space."

She nodded at him, "yes, it is perfect thank you."

"I also wanted to ask how much time would it take?"

"Depends on the size of the painting. How big do you want?"

"My assistant is buying the canvas and art supplies and would be here any minute, then you can tell me."

She nodded and they fell into an awkward silence.

"Can I ask you something?" She nodded.

"Why do you resent me so much?" he asked.

She shrugged, "I do not resent you, per se, I just did not like your air. I mean, your first impression was not very good."

"And you did not forget to tell me so in the mail."

She chuckled, "yes and I do not appreciate people flaunting their money as you did to my manager."

He frowned in confusion, "aren't you quite rich yourself?"

"I do get good money," she smiled, "but I bought myself a small convertible and a two-bedroom flat in a quiet place, in which one of the rooms became my art room. Thirty per cent of the profit I make goes to different NGOs all over the world and another thirty to Albert. I do not like money and I do not need it too."

"Then why are you even in the profession?"

"Albert is an old friend and he insisted once he saw my paintings that I take it as a profession. I liked to paint," she shrugged, "so why not?"

He nodded and smiled at her, "you are not as insufferable and mean as I thought."

She raised her eyebrow and blinked, "I wish I could say the say."

He chuckled at her and right at the moment, his assistant came in with a large canvas and the butler carrying the rest of the supplies. Petunia was not shocked at the size of the canvas but disappointed as she would have to stay for more days. She tends to get homesick easily and thus, Albert was with her.

"With this canvas," she calculated, "I think in three weeks."

Leander understood. With that size, he had estimated much later but she was efficient and he hoped she would do it fast. The artist set back to work immediately for she had not painted in a while and was excited about painting another human, for she does not do it often.

Two weeks passed quite swiftly, only three days were left. Petunia, as always, maintained as little human contact as possible. Meaning, the family only saw her during the meals, mainly dinner and breakfast, for she tended to skip luncheons. Some days, when he was free, Leander would go to the room and watch her work in her natural habitat, her words not his, in comfortable silence. It was a routine, one that Petunia did not mind.

Leander was more than taken by the petite woman with auburn tresses and hazel green eyes, with paint spurred on her rosy cheeks and pink lips so thinly pressed. He loved to just watch her as she would concentrate with that button nose a little scrunched and elegant brows pinched together. She looked like a little kitten, he decided, one, whose claws are always out. However, he had started to fall for the socially awkward yet highly straightforward artist that was residing in his home.

"Leander," she called over her shoulder, one of the Sundays when Leander was home. They had an agreement that she would call him by his first name and he would use hers. They both had compromised enough and were at least civil.

He stood up from his usual chair at one of the corners of the room. "Yes?"

"Your mother's eyes and yours are the same, yes?"

He nodded.

"Would you model for the eyes?"

He agreed and stood near her, silently asking her to adjust him however she wants. She did so, pulling his face a little towards herself and tilted to expose it to the light. His breath hitched at the distance, rather the lack of it, between them but the artist was too engrossed to realize. Her eyes danced between the painting and his eyes. She was trying to imitate the depths that she had always dreamed of. Her face was inches from his and that made him highly aware of himself and her.

"You know, if anyone came from the door, they would think something else is happening here," he said when he finally found his voice. However, the next moment, he wished he hadn't as the artist jumped away from him, suddenly hyper-aware of the closeness. Her cheeks became rosier and he resisted a chuckle that would have made the situation even worse.

"I am sorry, I wasn't thinking," she mumbled. He just nodded and waved her off. "But I still need to copy your eyes."

"Can't you just imitate the picture?"

She shook her head, "not enough."

He nodded his consent with a sigh and she again angled his head, just a little farther than before. As she painted them, he took his sweet time gawking at her. He could see the little dots of amber in her eyes from where he stood and he felt as if he had discovered a great secret.

"Your eyes have amber in them," he blurted out.

"Shut up," she retorted, feeling irritated a little. He chuckled but said no more. The eyes were the last part of the painting. She took two days for it, as it was as intricate as it could be and she was not going to make those simply orbs of blue. She wanted to capture the grey in it and a light warmth the iciness gave out, she wanted it all. However, at the end of the two days, the painting was complete and she always discovered that even though she was already in love with the blue eyes, she had fallen for the Devil's soul as well. She felt saddened because she wouldn't be seeing him anymore. However, she made it up with all the time she had left. They celebrated with a grand dinner party on the last day as the painting was framed in the main parlour wall.

Leander spent the whole dinner, as much as socially possible, with her and it did not go unnoticed by her. All the same, she was scared to keep her hopes up, she did not want to be disappointed or hurt. The next morning, Albert and she were to go back to England in the family's private jet. The family was gathered at the door to bid adieus to the artist that had so beautifully captured the late lady of the family in a single painting. The ladies hugged her tightly, to which she stiffly responded and Mr Coleman Sr. also embraced her with the warmth of a father. The goodbyes with Leander were the saddest part and she had to will herself to not burst into tears. As they both walked to the car, Leander called her name and jogged up to them. She smiled at him lightly.

"Petunia," he said nervously, "I- um, I wanted to...." he took a deep breath, "I just wanted to bid you a happy journey."

She felt a strange disappointment but smiled and thanked him. The next few days went by with her drowning in her broken heart. She would just silently sit on the floor of her art room and glance at the pictures of the man who captured her heart and soul, the eyeless paintings of the blue-eyed Devil. The ones she did not finish because she could and then when she could, she was too afraid too. It was as if she completed the painting, she would give a part of her to the man, bigger than she already had.

One of those days, a doorbell echoed through the house and she lethargically went to open the door, only to find the least expected person standing there.

"Leander," she breathed out.

"Just hear me out," he said hastily in his cute American accent.

"But," she tried to say.

"Hear me out first, I finally got the courage and wanted it out," he replied and took a deep breath before saying, "When I was seventeen, I got this weird dream of a woman with hazel eyes and auburn hair. She was in all sense, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I saw it every day since and found myself in love with just the thought of her, but it rarely came since the mid of this October. I did not know why and I was not as relieved as I would have liked. I was very frustrated and then, a very mean artist send me two emails, so straightforward and rude that even my assistant paled. I was curious to see that artist who had been a mystery to the whole world. The first of September was the day, I truly met her, the bearer of the hazel eyes I had dreamed of for so long, and her sass got to me.

"Soon, I found myself falling more for her than I already have as I watched her paint with complete and companionable silence. It felt so domestic and I loved that I shared it with her. However, I was too much of a coward to tell her but now, I wanted to say, I am really and completely in love with you with my heart and soul."

She gasped but did say anything. She just grabbed his hand and took her to her sanctuary, to her art room. The man gasped as he was so many eyeless paintings, which were, with no doubt, his. "I was fifteen when the dreams started," she told him. "I love you too."

There was nothing else that Leander needed and thus, she found herself in a lovers' embrace and thought how it all started with a strange dream.