SOTUS : MY MUSE

PAINT IT Part 7

It was raining again.

Kongpob tried to force his eyes to open. His sketch pad and a charcoal pencil lay beside him on the bed. Somehow he had been drawing in his sleep. He chuckled. It was unusual, but it had happened before. He looked down at the drawing, crudely drawn, but amazingly still one of his best. He blinked some more in an attempt to identify the subject, and even though it shot a cold arrow into his chest he was somehow not surprised

He had drawn P'Arthit taking a shower, hands tangling in his hair, steam rising around his body, a small half-smile on his lips at the thought of being watched. Kongpob loved that smile, so innocent yet able to turn him on. He always got so lost in that smile.

He got lost in it now; so lost that he barely remembered the rain...suddenly Kongpob's mind started to wake but it's not due to drizzling sound of the rain. It's not the rain...the shower. And above the thread of the sound of falling water he heard another clear and glorious sound. The sound of someone humming.

Kongpob bolted from his bed. It had to be real this time. There couldn't be any doubt. The bathroom was only a few feet away from the bed where he lay. He could hear the water – and the humming – as clear as day. Kongpob raced toward and into the bathroom, the air thick with steam, the mirrors covered in a layer of condensation. His heart leapt as the sound of humming became louder, and then a telltale giggle.

"Kong! I..."

Kongpob threw the curtains open and everything stopped. No water. The steam was gone. The mirror was clear and dry. He stood stock still, staring, mouth agape at an empty shower of cream-colored tile. Kongpob was caught between multiple emotions, a desire to howl in anger welling up in his chest, and the beginning of a complete nervous breakdown. With a trembling hands, Kongpob tore down the shower curtain, resorting to yelling, feeling it best if he stayed sane a little longer.

He stormed through the bathroom, pulling the mirrors off the wall, tossing bottles left and right, at one point he even punched the tile, cracking the porcelain and cutting his hand.The sharp stab of pain drew his attention and he stopped. He stared down at his bleeding hand, his chest burning as he fought to slow his breathing. He stood among the wreckage of the master bath and sighed. So much anger. So much destruction. And yet, none of it will bring his 'sun' back

Kongpob walked weakly like a dead person out to the kitchen , past the wasted pallet on the floor, past the painting that still dripped acrylic, and made his way to the sink. He turned on the cold water and stuck his hand beneath, head bowed over the silver basin, watching the remains of blood drip away. He felt his eyes drift closed as the stinging water somehow managed to soothe him, and for a moment he could imagine his P'Arthit would draping an arm around him, fussing over him, kissing his temples, massaging his neck, telling him everything would be alright. His typical P'Arthit

Kongpob fumbled for the faucet handle with his eyes still closed and as the water shut off, in the silence. Kongpob feels it, he was been hugged. He heard a sigh that was not his own. He didn't want this to end, he didn't want to open his eyes. He wanted his 'sun' back, he was done seeing ghost. He wants his 'sun' to stay by his side.

"Paint it," he heard a quiet and yet smooth voice say.

When Kongpob opened his eyes, the flash of blue he knew had been there was gone.