Page 23 of His Big Bad Stick

I almost burst out laughing.

“You know, I’m in the mood,” I say with a forced smile. “I think I’ll paint right now.”

Mom walks right by me and leaves the bedroom.

The easel is really nice.

Way too expensive.

I’m going to take advantage of it as much as I can. Without emotion. I used to let emotion get to me with Mom’s love life. Now I just go with the flow. Eat the good food. Enjoy a full fridge. Swim. Enjoy a nice sized room. And now, enjoy this easel.

When I start painting, time doesn’t exist.

It truly is my escape.

Today I’m just painting… anything.

It’s more abstract than anything else. Seems fitting for my life at the moment.

Maybe it’s a horizon. A jagged one. Above the horizon, below the horizon. A tale of two pieces of the painting. Of life. Of my head. My heart.

It’s peaceful yet depressing.

But in some ways, that’s just art.

My happiness is insanely halted the second I see Colver appear at the glass door.

He grabs the handle and shakes it.

He just stands there. This monstrous figure. Jeans. Black t-shirt.

He’s fucking evil.

I stand from the bed, walk to the door and unlock it.

Colver walks into my bedroom.

“Sure,” I say. “Come right on in.”

“This is my fucking room, kitten,” he says.

“Oh, it is?”

“You’ve been here for ten minutes, Abrielle. This is not your room. It never will be.”

“So sorry you have to go to the next bedroom to screw your girlfriends,” I say.

“I don’t have girlfriends. Never have. Never will. I see something I want and I have it. That’s it.”

“How romantic,” I say.

Colver stops and looks at my painting. “What is this supposed to be? It looks like someone threw up.”

“That’s exactly what I was going for,” I say.

Colver curls his lip. “You need to be careful near Archer.”

I laugh so hard I think I scare Colver.

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