You were currently Helen’s muse. Sat upon a chair in his room while he sat on a stool, a canvas propped before him as he sketched and painted you. You occasionally tapped your fingers or swayed back and forth, just not being able to sit still. You would occasionally look out the window or just at the wall, but Helen now needed to sketch your eyes, and it was hard to when you weren’t looking in the right direction. So for the first time in like an hour, he spoke.

“Keep your eyes on mine.”