Page 104 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

His chest rumbles as a giant metal shed on a small hill comes into view behind the main house.

“Seriously, what is this place?” I ask.

With our hands still laced together, he tugs me closer to the large shed sporting a heavy-duty metal padlock on the front of it and rises onto his tiptoes, reaching for a little ledge of metal sticking out above the door. His dark T-shirt rides up a few inches, showcasing his tan skin before disappearing as he produces a silver key.

“I assume you’ve been here once or twice,” I note.

Without commenting, he slides the key into the lock. The door creaks open a few seconds later, revealing a large open space with concrete floors. There’s a big utility sink tucked along the back wall, framed with cabinets and counter space on each side, and a few large windows great for natural light during the day, though the setting sun casts shadows around the open room, preventing me from analyzing the shed any further.

Milo flicks on the lights but stays quiet near the entrance. I look back at him, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking nervous. Shy almost. This place means something to him. With new eyes, I turn around and take it in a second time.

There’s also a large table in the center of the room splattered with different colors, and a few canvases covered in cream cloth rest by the windows.

My lips part as I take it all in. The slight scent of acetone. The thin layer of dust layering everything. It’s obvious no one has been here for a while.

“What is this place?” I ask one more time.

“It’s a shed.”

“Is it a shed you’re familiar with?” I quip.

“Maybe.”

“Is it anartshed, by chance?”

“Maybe,” he repeats.

“Is it an art shed you like to use on occasion?”

He chuckles and inches closer to me, the slight scruff of his tennis shoes against the concrete echoing throughout the ample space. “Used to. Not so much after you left.”

My chest twinges, but the constant ache of guilt eases for a minute, allowing me to breathe. To be present. To live in the moment instead of my shitty past or my dark, depressing future. And I grab onto it with both hands.

Like a game of cat and mouse, I step further into the shed, leaving plenty of space between us as I drag my finger along the back table, pinching a bit of dust between my thumb and forefinger. “It’s dusty.”

“Told you I haven’t been here in a while.”

“So, why are we here now?” I question him, peeking over my shoulder. His eyes are hooded as he watches me. Like a lion would its prey. Probably because I’ve stumbled into his territory. His space. The place where he used to peel away every protective layer he’s kept around himself so he could bleed onto his canvases, showcasing his talent and his unique perspective on life, love, pain, and every other emotion. Or at least, I’m assuming.

Until he didn’t feel safe anymore.

After I left, he stopped coming here is what Jos meant during my fake job interview. What he was trying to tell me. After we broke up, Milo felt safer keeping those layers in place.

And it’s why Jos needed my help.

Yet, here we are.

“Why are we here now, Milo?” I repeat, my curiosity getting the best of me.

“I gotta create a new piece for the art show if I want Jos to hold up his end of the deal. Figured bringing you with me might help spark a few ideas.”

“Did ya, now?” I tease.

“Mm-hmm.”

“And how would I do that?”

“By getting naked for me.”

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