Page 62 of Burning Embers

If it’s as big as the rest of him…

No. Not going there.

I shake myself out of my man-meat trance, my cock stupor, my penis daydream.

Fuck him.

No…no fucking him.

Gah.

I’m fuming with anger as I refill the water, reclaim my seat, and continue my work.

I know Ethan begged me to give Reid a chance, but come the fuck on. Does Ethan not know that Reid is a bag of STD dildos?

I’m not vain. I wouldn’t just dismiss him because he’s not the most…erm…attractive man in the world.

But I also refuse to allow him to talk to me like that either.

Why did he even sit beside me if he was going to act like such a jerk?

Why did Ashton demand he return to school?

By the time the bell rings, signaling the end of class, I’m so lost in my thoughts that all I managed to paint was a few stripes of orange, red, and yellow on the canvas. I suppose you could call it a sunset…

Maybe.

Probably.

Okay, perhaps it’s more of a school bus getting railed by a tomato, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Please place your paintings on the drying rack before you leave!” Mrs. Appleton calls to us as the class begins to hurry out of the room.

Reid ignores our teacher and all but stomps away. The rest of the students give him a wide berth as he exits the classroom, his shoulders hunching in on themselves. The stench of his body odor trails after him like a damn wedding train. More than a few students turn away, their faces tinged green and disgust gripping their features.

It’s only then that I see what he’s been working on for the last forty minutes.

It appears to be a cornfield, the stalks so realistic I half expect to be able to lean forward and touch them. A tiny, desolate cabin sits at the very edge of the painting, with a twining road leadingup to it. The sky is dark and riven with storm clouds, though Reid didn’t draw any rain. The threat of a storm looms over the entire painting, though, and I can just imagine the sky opening up and releasing a heavy torrent of rainfall.

There’s something so…despondent about the picture before me. I can’t put my finger on why that is.

The seemingly abandoned building with cracked windows, broken doors, and fading wood? The empty field with not a soul—human or animal alike—in sight? The incoming storm that offers a darkness to the painting that wouldn’t be there otherwise?

My heart feels like lead in my chest.

For the rest of the day, all I can think about is that damn painting.

And the reason why Reid drew it in the first place.

Twenty-One

REID

Iwant to slam my fist into someone’s face and punch them until they fall unconscious. I want to tear out someone’s organs and then force them to wear their small intestine as a noose. I want to claw out someone’s eyes and then pour acid into the empty eye sockets.

I’ve never really considered myself a violent person before, but everything changed after the…incident.

The incident that irrevocably altered my life, and not for the better.

---