warrior ( RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE. )

xv. YES/NO

WARRIOR!
( chapter fifteen )

A FEW DAYS later, Ingrid and Rachel are in the craft center again with another painting session. These secret sessions had begun to be Ingrid's favorite parts of her day. Though they weren't often, they made Ingrid feel like she was good at something other than being an angry Ares kid.

   Thought today, she was feeling a bit too much like one.

   With each dip of paint, each stroke on the canvas, Ingrid felt like she wasn't doing it right. Rachel always says that there is no right or wrong way of painting, but Ingrid just felt wrong.

   Each time she picked a color it would be the wrong shade, either too dark or too light. Each stroke would be in the wrong place, either too high or too low. It infuriated her. The one thing that made her feel like she was good at something was making her feel like complete utter shit.

   Ingrid let out a long and heavy sigh, gaining a curious look from Rachel. "How's your painting coming along?"

   "It's fine. I just keep messing up." Ingrid said, laying another stroke onto her canvas.

   "There's no messing up in painting. We've been over this." Rachel said calmly.

   "Yeah yeah, I know. But it just feels wrong." The girl says.

   "Maybe you just need to look at it from a different perspective." Rachel says, demonstrating by stepping back. She stares at her canvas, and then rotates it to the side before beginning to paint once more.

   Ingrid nods to herself, running a hand through her hair. She takes a step back from her canvas, staring at it intently.

   She hated it.

   Each stroke was too thick. The colors were muddied together, practically dripping down the sides of the canvas. It was blending into a brown, almost nagging her on, knowing that she can't fix it. Ingrid took a deep breath. She knew her life was a mess, and apparently her canvas did too.

   It was almost as if the canvas was masking what she wanted to see. Like it was a direct depiction of her current situation. She was happy with Rachel, happy with painting in the art center with her. Yet for some unknown reason, she hid it all.
With each day and each lie she made up, her life got muddier by the second.

So instead of telling Rachel this, she punched the canvas.

It began with just one punch, but it felt so good that Ingrid kept going. She felt tears behind her eyes but she blinked them away, focusing more on the tattered canvas. Her knuckles were painted red, both with the acrylics and blood.

When she stops, she's breathing heavily, gasping for air. Rachel doesn't say anything, but just sets her brush down, and pulls Ingrid into her arms.

Ingrid is taken aback, for she stiffens upon Rachel's embrace, but soon relaxes, feeling comfort that she has never felt before. She buries her head into Rachel's shoulder, wrapping her strong arms around the girl. She takes in Rachel's scent - a warm lavender with hints of toxic paint fumes.

The two girls stood there for a while, Rachel rubbing her hand in a circular motion on Ingrid's back and Ingrid tightening and loosing her arms around Rachel's torso. While Ingrid didn't ever want to let go, she knew that Rachel wouldn't be the first to do so, she did for her.