Page 60 of Don't Make Me Beg
I don’t take his hand when he offers it. “I think I can manage.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Scout
I dip my paintbrush into the green paint, swirling and mixing until it blends to the perfect shade that matches the image in my mind. The Phantom’s eyes stare back at me from the canvas as I layer in the color, adding depth and dimension until I feel it come to life.
I suppose one of the benefits of Luka avoiding me is that I’ve had plenty of time alone to wrestle with my muse and plenty of time to overthink about every single thing that happened the other night.
What I’m saying is, it hasn’t exactly been a pleasant experience.
Am I really that naive that I don’t know the difference between Luka acting friendly toward me and thinking there was something between us? My God, I guess I’m worse off than I realized.
No wonder Luka’s avoiding me. I must reek of desperation. If I were him, I’d avoid me too.
I guess being cooped up in this room all day with Luka’s house as my only companion is starting to get to my head. I need to go outside and touch some grass.
The sound of something clanking in the kitchen brings me out of my anxiety spiral, and my ears perk up to listen.
“I can’t help but notice that you’re showing signs of distress. Is there something bothering you that I can assist you with? Or are you still feeling the same symptoms you were suffering from this morning?” I hear L.O.K.I. ask.
“While I appreciate your concern for my well-being, is there something else you should be working on right now?” Luka calls out.
“Of course. I’ll leave you to it then. Would you like me to start tracking your mood to see if I can detect a pattern for your distress? Other than the obvious, I mean?”
“No. I want you to mind your own business and do what I asked you to do,” Luka fires back.
“All right. I’ll adjust my curiosity and empathy to meet your needs. If you’d like to create a record of what you’re upset about, just say, ‘record journal entry.’ Would you like me to remind you this evening during your bedtime routine?”
“No! Jesus, L.O.K.I. can you just stop?”
The paintbrush slips from my hand, and I flinch at the sharp crack of a cabinet being slammed, quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of angrily stomping feet. I freeze, muscles seizing, as a cold sweat chills my skin.
I look down to find my feet covered in green paint, relieved that my feet blocked most of the paint from splattering on the rug. “Shit.”
I rush to the bathroom to wash the paint from my feet. I need to act quickly before the stain sets in.
“I’ve started the kettle for a cup of Stress Relief Tea. I apologize for upsetting you. I will remain silent until I’m next prompted.”
Luka’s heavy footsteps grow louder, and I feel myself go into full-on panic mode as I rush to the bathroom to clean up.
“Whoa. Nice work. What are you—?” He sees the giant splatter of paint and looks around, wearing a curious expression. “What happened here?”
I give him a little wave from the bathroom as I hop off the counter, my feet and legs still dripping from washing them in the sink. “Sorry about that. I accidentally dropped my paintbrush…” I start, but now Luka’s attention is on the painting.
“I’ll pay to have it cleaned…” I continue, but the side-eye he gives me tells me he won’t hear of it.
My stomach twists in knots as I watch him, studying his expression to try to make out his thoughts. He looks a little more tired than usual, with dark circles starting to form under his eyes, and I notice the shadow of the two-day-old beard on his jaw.
I think back to his argument with L.O.K.I., and I can’t help but wonder if thesymptomshe was referring to are anything like the sexual frustration I’ve been drowning in lately.
“This is really great, Scout,” he finally says, and I can hear the sincerity in his voice.
“Oh, really? Thanks. I think I finally got the right expression.” I finally manage, as I take a step, putting a couple of much-needed inches between us. Honestly, it’s like the man’s never heard of personal space.
He shakes his head; his eyes still locked on the canvas. “I knew you’d create something amazing, but this is so much better than I expected.” He turns to glance at me, and I try my best to act casual, like his praising words didn’t just heal something inside me.
“I wasn’t sure if it was too much…or if he looked too angry…”
