Alex really hated thinking. She usually left figuring things out to Justin. Not that she was ever confused, ever come across something she wanted to understand but couldn't. She lived by her gut and it always worked out pretty well...you know. Eventually.

Stevie was, for as devious as she seemed to be, strangely honest and sincere. Or at least, that's what Alex assumed. But then, she said things sometimes that led Alex to believe she was passionate about more than mischief.

And it's just, she'd really like to understand Stevie. She assumed she did. Saw her slouch against her locker, watched her pull a fast one over on a carnie just to get a laughably cliché toy and then pour it into Alex's arms like she wanted to steal it more than she wanted it (like she didn't just watch Alex eye it) and that made sense.

But then Stevie alluded to her estranged brother and Alex's gut churned in warning. Or she'd randomly state some fact about magical history that she was sure even Justin didn't know by heart and that was only vaguely relevant to whatever was happening. But the way she said it, the light she got behind her eyes, almost made it seem vital.

The stories that Stevie knew, were always wrong, always made Alex's fingers twitch in indignation. Itch for a way to fix it. And if her dad or her idiot brother could make history seem that relevant, she'd never fall asleep in class.

Alex stood in front of her easel staring at a canvas that had never stayed blank this long before. Because as much as Alex wished Stevie was intrinsically understandable, she wasn't. She was disinterested, caring, witty, charming and just…Alex started moving the red brush around.

With every stroke, an image worked its way out of her, an image that she only just now realized had been sitting inside of her, only just now realized had been suffocating her. Color by color she pushed it out.

Green for life. Darker. Make it darker. That red needs to be toned down, wrong. Hide it with blue. No. Isolate it. Show it. What is that noise?

"Alex. I tried knocking but I figured you were busy laying down so I just let…myself…in." Harper took notice of Alex midsentence. Eyes wide, brush in one hand, stained pallet in the other. Paint half hazardly staining her cheek and smock. But that was commonplace. It was what was behind her that caused Harper's pause.

"Alex. Wow." Harper moved closer to Alex, to the painting. "This is really good."

"Yeah?" Alex's mind was still too wrapped up in the images on the canvas to really be there with Harper.

They stood side-by-side, looking on at the piece that had taken a life of its own. Both morbidly fascinated with how much Alex had managed to uncover. Harper took a deep breath before choosing her next words, a sadness lacing her sentence.

"She looks so alone."

Alex reached out to touch the lone figure amongst the image of all the chaos around her. One soul standing against such a violent background. She hadn't meant it that way.

Harper reached for Alex's hand and gently tugged her out of her thoughts. "Let's get you cleaned up." And with a half mumbled, "alright", the artist let herself be lead away.