Into The Night

Thirty-One

After our History day, Taylor and I headed first to our dorm where I took my bag of spray paints. Then after, we headed to that place in town, just a couple of blocks away from school wherein we're supposed to colour the walls in an alleyway.

"This is an odd day for me." I commented, leaning my head back against the car seat. We decided to take a taxi since we're both already tired but we couldn't just bail out on friends time.

"It's fine," she said, "The smell of forests really is calming."

"Hey, do you mean--"

"Don't think about it." Taylor cut me off.

"Alright." I said. "Earlier, what did you mean about me being roman--"

"Romantic effortlessly?" She raised an eyebrow, "Didn't I tell you to forget it? I don't want anything troubling you're pretty little mind."

"It would if you say what you meant about it."

She sighed, looking out the window. "We're here." She said and then opened the door. I paid the driver and went out after her.

Perfect timing. I know what she did, I know she's trying to avert the subject. I caught up to her but I didn't say a thing, I just walked beside her as we approach the guys near the end of the alley.

It's getting quite dark but the lights were enough for us to see through, and we're complete again. Of course, Ronnie shouldn't be here because as Berlyn said it, he's not much of a troublemaker.

I knelt near the ground and then opened my duffel bag full of spray paints of different colours. "Shall we play a game?" I smirked.

And then we got started. Almost the whole gang coloured up and randomly sprayed images apart from Taylor. She just stayed at the back, watching us.

I don't get this girl often, really. One time, she's this adventurous girl and then the next, she's just this innocent lady. It's almost like she's got two sides of her, one is the scary and one is the scared. . . always scared.

We kept on spraying and throwing around colours, sometimes using reflexes to pass paints all over. Again, we created such a complicated masterpiece, like a doodle or a collage of everything about the theatrical arts.

"Hey, Taylor, why aren't you spraying?" I asked, shaking the bottle of silver spray in my hand while my other hand is in my back, holding another spray bottle.

"Harry, forget about it." Niall said, and thanks to him, a few couple set of eyes are now on us.

Taylor looked at the wall first and then back at me, her arms crossed and her lips pursed, "I can't do it."

"Sure you can." I said, never once could I believe that she cannot do it.

"I can't." She said as though she's holding herself back.

"Alright." I replied, walking towards her. I stood beside her, silently watching the gang go back to their businesses. "Spray." I said, holding out a spray bottle and practically spraying at her back.

"Hey, what the--" Taylor yelled and sprinted away a few metres while I smiled cheekily at her. "Hey what was that for?!" She yelled, looking over her back, trying to see if I coloured her clothes well. She looked so irritated and I wonder if she really noticed what I did.

Of course, the gang had their eyes on her now while I was still smiling. I'm sure, I used the right hand for it. . .

"You're dead." Niall said as Taylor started breathing normally and calmed down.

How would I be dead? She's already calm. . . I wanted to say that, I really do until I realised she's glaring at me. It's the death glare. . . which means I'm really dead.