After you agree to that, I’ll give

After you agree to that, I’ll give you the rundown of what’s about to happen.”
I should feel bad, but he seems amused. “Deal.”
“First of all,” he says, leaning forward across the bar, “how old are you?”
“Not old enough for wine.” I take another sip.
“Oops,” he says dryly. “What do you do? Are you in college?” He rests his chin in his hand and waits for my response to his questions.
“How are these questions preparing me for work tonight?”
He smiles. His smile is exceptionally nice when accompanied by a few sips of wine. He nods once and stands straight. He takes the wineglass from my hand and sets it back down on the bar. “Follow me, Auburn Mason Reed.”
I do what he asks, because for $100 an hour, I’ll do almost anything.
Almost.
When we reach the main floor again, he walks into the center of the room and lifts his arms, making a full circle. I follow his gaze around the room, taking in the vastness of it. The track lighting is what catches my eye first. Each light is focused on a painting adorning the stark-white walls of the studio, pulling the focus to the art and nothing else. Well, there really isn’t anything else. Just floor-to-ceiling white walls, a polished concrete floor, and art. It’s both simple and overwhelming.
“This is my studio.” He pauses and points to a painting. “That’s the art.” He points to a counter on the other side of the room. “That’s where you’ll be most of the time. I’ll work the room and you ring up the purchases. That’s pretty much it.” He explains it all so casually, as if anyone is perfectly capable of creating something of this magnitude. He rests his hands on his hips and waits for me to absorb it all.
“How old are you?” I ask him.
His eyes narrow and he dips his head slightly before looking away. “Twenty-one.” He says it like his age embarrasses him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t like that he’s so young and already has what appears to be a successful career.
I would have guessed much older. His eyes don’t seem like the eyes of a twenty-one-year-old. They’re dark and deep, and I have the sudden urge to plunge into their depths so I can see everything he’s seen.
I glance away and place my attention on the art. I walk toward the painting closest to me, growing more and more aware of the talent behind the brush with each step. When I reach it, I suck in a breath.


It’s somehow sad and breathtaking and beautiful all at once. The painting is of a woman who seems to encompass both love and shame and every single emotion in between.
“What do you use besides acrylics?” I ask, taking a step closer. I run my finger across the canvas and hear his footsteps close in on me. He pauses next to me, but I can’t take my eyes off the painting long enough to look at him.
“I use a lot of different mediums, from acrylic to spray paint. It just depends on the piece.”
My eyes are drawn to a slip of paper next to the painting, adhered to the wall. I read the words sprawled across it.

Sometimes I wonder if being dead would be easier than being his mother.

I touch the paper and then look back at the painting. “A confession?” When I turn and face him, his playful smile is gone. His arms are folded tightly across his chest and his chin is tucked in. He looks at me as if he’s nervous about my reaction.
“Yep,” he says simply.
I glance toward the window—at all the pieces of paper lining the glass. My eyes move around the room to all the paintings and I notice strips of paper adhered to the walls next to every one.
“They’re all confessions,” I say in awe. “Are these from actual people? People you know?”
He shakes his head and motions toward the front door. “They’re all anonymous. People leave their confessions in the slot over there, and I use some of them as inspiration for my art.”

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Setelah Anda setuju untuk itu, aku akan memberi Anda ikhtisar dari apa yang akan terjadi. "Aku harus merasa buruk, tapi ia tampaknya geli. "Deal.""Pertama-tama," katanya, bersandar ke depan di bar, "berapa umurmu?""Tidak cukup tua untuk anggur." Aku mengambil lain sip."UPS," Dia mengatakan dryly. "Apa yang Anda lakukan? Apakah Anda di perguruan tinggi?" Ia bersandar dagu di tangan-Nya dan menunggu tanggapan saya untuk pertanyaan."Bagaimana adalah pertanyaan-pertanyaan ini mempersiapkan saya untuk pekerjaan malam ini?"Dia tersenyum. Senyumnya sangat baik jika ditemani beberapa teguk anggur. Dia mengangguk sekali dan berdiri lurus. Dia mengambil gelas anggur dari tanganku dan set itu turun di bar. "Ikutlah Aku, Auburn Mason Reed."Saya melakukan apa yang dia bertanya, karena untuk $100 per jam, aku akan melakukan hampir apa pun.Hampir.Ketika kita mencapai lantai utama lagi, ia berjalan ke pusat ruang dan mengangkat tangannya, membuat sebuah lingkaran penuh. Saya mengikuti dengan tatapan sekeliling Ruangan, mengambil dalam luasnya itu. Melacak pencahayaan adalah apa yang menarik perhatian saya pertama. Setiap cahaya difokuskan pada sebuah lukisan yang menghiasi dinding putih mencolok studio, menarik fokus untuk seni dan tidak ada yang lain. Yah, sebenarnya tidak ada apa pun. Hanya lantai-ke-langit dinding putih, lantai beton dipoles, dan seni. Ini sederhana dan luar biasa."Ini adalah studio saya." Dia berhenti sejenak dan menunjuk sebuah lukisan. "Itu adalah seni." Dia menunjuk ke counter di sisi lain ruangan. "Itu adalah di mana Anda akan sebagian besar waktu. Aku akan bekerja kamar dan Anda menelepon pembelian. Itu adalah cukup banyak itu." Dia menjelaskan hal itu semua begitu saja, seolah-olah ada mampu menciptakan sesuatu yang besar ini. Ia bersandar tangannya pada pinggul dan menunggu untuk saya untuk menyerap semua itu."Berapa umurmu?" Aku bertanya kepadanya.Matanya mempersempit dan ia dips kepalanya sedikit sebelum melihat kaki. "Dua puluh satu." Dia mengatakan seperti usia embarrasses nya. Hal ini hampir seolah-olah dia tidak menyukai bahwa dia sangat muda dan sudah memiliki apa yang tampaknya menjadi karir yang sukses.Saya akan menduga jauh lebih tua. Matanya tidak tampak seperti mata twenty-satu tahun. Mereka gelap dan mendalam, dan aku punya tiba-tiba dorongan untuk terjun ke kedalaman mereka jadi saya bisa melihat segala sesuatu yang dia terlihat.Aku melirik jauhnya dan menempatkan perhatian pada seni. Aku berjalan ke arah lukisan terdekat saya, tumbuh lebih banyak dan lebih sadar akan bakat di belakang kuas dengan setiap langkah. Ketika aku mencapai itu, saya mengisap dalam napas.Hal ini entah bagaimana sedih dan menakjubkan dan indah sekaligus. Lukisan adalah seorang wanita yang tampaknya mencakup cinta dan rasa malu dan setiap emosi yang satu di antara."Apa yang Anda gunakan selain akrilik?" Saya bertanya, mengambil langkah lebih dekat. Saya menjalankan jari saya di kanvas dan mendengar jejak tutup pada saya. Ia berhenti di sebelah saya, tapi aku tidak bisa mengambil mata dari lukisan cukup lama untuk melihatnya.“I use a lot of different mediums, from acrylic to spray paint. It just depends on the piece.”My eyes are drawn to a slip of paper next to the painting, adhered to the wall. I read the words sprawled across it.Sometimes I wonder if being dead would be easier than being his mother.I touch the paper and then look back at the painting. “A confession?” When I turn and face him, his playful smile is gone. His arms are folded tightly across his chest and his chin is tucked in. He looks at me as if he’s nervous about my reaction.“Yep,” he says simply.I glance toward the window—at all the pieces of paper lining the glass. My eyes move around the room to all the paintings and I notice strips of paper adhered to the walls next to every one.“They’re all confessions,” I say in awe. “Are these from actual people? People you know?”He shakes his head and motions toward the front door. “They’re all anonymous. People leave their confessions in the slot over there, and I use some of them as inspiration for my art.”