Year 6 (First Draft) #Wattys2016

-Chapter 34-

    "He called you?" Kane asks, letting the paint brush rest on the top of the paint can. He rolls his shirt sleeve up higher, exposing his shoulder. Kane has been working this evening on painting his office, having noticed the chipped paint. I reach for a roller, and begin to roll the new white paint against the bumpy cement wall. It's not the easiest surface to paint on, and so far we have only gotten part of one wall done.

  "Yeah, and he thinks that you're being very wise with the Year Movement's exposure," I admit. I reach for more paint, accidently hitting Kane's arm with my roller, splattering white paint against his tan skin. He flexes, moving the paint, looking it over.

  "So is this your contribution to my tattoo collection?" Kane asks, grinning. All of a sudden, I feel paint splatter across my shirt, and I gasp, grinning despite the initial shock. "Oh, that definitely improves that shirt," Kane says, laughing. I look down at my shirt, seeing the white paint covering the lavender colored shirt.

  "You picked it out!" I joke, reaching for more paint, this time with the express purpose of splattering Kane with the white paste. He tries to dodge the paint, but I still hit him. He grins, a flash of white teeth competing with the white paint.

  "And I made a huge mistake," He says, splattering some more paint, this time on my pants. I laugh, leaning over the chair that is the only thing standing between us, and I lose my balance. I teeter, splattering paint all over, and I fall, landing on Kane. We fall to the ground, laughing, keeping up our paint fight, splattering each other with paint.

  "Sorry," I say, embarrassed. Kane laughs, and I can feel his body move underneath me.

  "Hold still," He says, rubbing under my eye suddenly. I feel cool paint smear on my skin. "Well, that didn't help," He says, laughing again. His breath is warm on my cheek and I shift so that we aren't quite so close.

  I hear a knock on the door, and scramble, trying to stand up. But before I can even stand, I hear Charlie laughing in the doorway. I look up to see his expression, but he's looking at the wall, most likely judging our paint job.

  "You guys are definitely not artists," He says, picking up a brush of his own. And then, the strangest thing happens. Charlie joins in, splattering paint on Kane and I, laying between us. I run my hands over my face, only smearing the paint more.

  "Well, that was definitely not a productive painting session," Kane says, shoving Charlie's shoulder. I laugh, finally giving up with the paint smeared on my face.

  "Depends on how you look at it Mr. Negative," I say, noticing the partially painted wall opposite of where we are laying. It's splattered, and only half painted, but it's a start. Kane laughs, and I sigh. These past few weeks have been some of the most stressful in my life, but it's moments like these that make me happy that I've endured the stress. It gives me hope things really will be better soon.

  "I'd say you two could use a shower," Charlie says, taking in our painted skin, then he looks at his own arms. "And I'm no exception."

  I laugh, sitting up. "I think I'm going to go take a shower," I say, standing up.

  I wrap my hair in a towel, wrapping another around my body. I reach for my clean pair of clothes, happy to be back to wearing something that actually fits. I slip the clothes on, glad to be comfortable again. The shirt is one of Charlie's tees, and the pants are my old worn jeans. I look at my reflection in the small mirror hanging on the grimy wall, cringing at my reflection. I've never thought of myself as much, but right now I look terrible. I look like sleep has been a rare visitor, and that I haven't been able to keep up with life. As true as that may be, I really would like to think I could pull off a little bit better of a look.