Page 55 of The Loathing

One of the candles goes out and I inwardly groan.

“Shit,” I huff, standing up when Titus stands next to me.

“I’ve got it,” he ushers me to sit back down. I watch as he takes one of the still burning candles and lights the burnt out one and something in my chest warms, maybe my own glow?

Was Titus the candle to re light my soul? The one to bring me out of this darkness?

A small glimmer of hope ripples through me, but it was soon dampened by my subconscious.

Of course he isn’t you silly, naïve, little girl.

He strolls back over and I shut my intrusive thoughts down in an instant. I stand for a moment, lifting the canvas off the easel and placing it softly down the side of where I am sitting, giving it a chance to actually dry. Reaching across, I stretch to get a new canvas and place it back on the easel then I sit for a moment and lose myself as I stare at the blank white surface.

“Feeling inspired?” Titus asks and I could honestly listen to his voice all day.

“I think so…” I lift one of my shoulders up as I reach for my palette.

“Does this mean I have inspired you?”

I scoff a laugh as I rummage through my many paint colours.

“Why do you think it’s you that has inspired me?” I ask him but I don’t turn to look at him as I collect golds, browns and nude colours. When he doesn’t answer, I look at him over my shoulder and he raises his brows at my colour choices. “You’ve not inspired me,” I snap a little too harshly and I didn’t mean for my tone to come out as bitter as it did.

“Sorry,” I rub my lips together before wiping my palette clean then adding the fresh paint.

“No need to apologise, it’s okay if you don’t want to admit that it was I that inspired you,” he winks, “but in all seriousness…” he pauses for a moment and shuffles on the stool, “do you mind if I stay and watch?”

“Not at all, I might not get much done, but we will see.”

“Do you have some sort of idea what you want to paint before you start working? Or does it come to you when you paint?”

I hum, reaching for some new brushes. “A bit of both really, if inspiration strikes,” and I widen my eyes, “which it hasn’t, I am just speaking hypothetically.”

“Yes, of course,” Titus closes his eyes, pouting his lips as he agrees with me but I know he is being sarcastic.

“So, yeah hypothetically speaking, if I am inspired there and then I can just paint and that’s what I focus on. I see the image in my head and try to work as close to what I see as possible, but then sometimes I just paint.” A small smile slips onto my lips, “That’s my favourite kind, to just paint.”

“Interesting…” he trails off for a moment, “but tonight you’re inspired… so how are you going to paint me?”

“Oh, piss off,” I snigger a laugh, swatting him with my hand and shaking my head from side to side, “you’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” he sits a little taller, a smug as fuck smile on his face.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Sure, sounded like one, baby.”

He called me baby.

My heart skips and I swallow hard, ignoring the sudden pounding in my chest.

“Quiet, I’m working,” I rush out and refuse to look at him. He is too distracting. Too beautifully handsome for his own good. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to paint something as devastatingly perfect as him.

“Okay,” he whispers, pressing his finger to his lips and I giggle.

“Idiot.”

Silence fills the large space when I hear his phone ringing. He looks at the caller ID and stands up slowly.

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