Page 7 of All We Need

MaybeIshould have given him a chance?

I’m quick to tamp that thefuckdown.

While attending the fair wasn’t great for keeping a low profile, it gave me the opportunity to scope out the town and get an idea of what the people are like.

The last thingIneed is an overeager playboy thinking he can woo me into bed.Boothlooks like the type to ask questions.OnesIwill not be answering.Forgettinghis dimples and sky-blue eyes will be easy.

But how long canIavoid him?

The simplest thing for me to do would be to keep my head down.

Too late for that.

I needed a genuine reason to be here.Noone would question a starving artist wandering into town, but pulling that off will be difficult.I’msmart, persuasive, but a shit actress.Plus,Ipride myself on my work.Loveit, in fact.

I appreciate my mother reassuring meIcan take my time here, do whatIneed to do, butI’dmuch rather rip off theBand-Aidand see this town in my rearview mirror beforeNewYear.

I’ll treat it like any normal business transaction.Inand out.Straightto the point.OnceIhave my answers and this trip goes as expected,Ican forget aboutSuttonBayand its people.

My hand hovers above the canvas, creativity fading.

As quickly as it struck me, the inspiration quickly dwindles into the nothingness.

With my walls down,I’mbombarded by questions.

Why me?

Whynotme?

Is this pointless?

What will they say?

Will they turn me away?

The paintbrush clatters to my palette andItake in the halfhearted streaks of paint.

I forget my food, forget the wonderland beyond the window, and forget all the reasons this is a good idea.

I’m joltedout of my deep sleep when a screech cuts through my dream.

Sitting upright,Igrip the bed sheets and scan my surroundings in a panic.

WhenIreassure myselfI’malone, the same high-pitched noise sounds.It’scoming from outside.

Tiptoeing to the window,Islowly pull back the drapes and peer out onto the street below.

A woman paces back and forth, hands flailing in frustration as she shouts the same thing over and over.

Quinn.

I don’t know who that is, but the longerIwatch, the more irate she becomes.

She gets louder, banging her fists on the window of the coffee shop and bakery my apartment sits above.

Is no one else hearing this racket?Thereisn’t a single soul outside, which makes sense, butIdon’t want to be the person to handle this.

I stomp over to my bedside table, unplug my phone, and open up my contact list untilIfind the numberIneed.

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