Ginger Snaps

Watercolour

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This story was written for the #sexstoryexchange3, please take a minute to go check out the other stories written for the exchange and show the other authors some love.

Every day is starting to feel the same. Wake up, take a shower, dress in something 'cute' for work, serve ungrateful Millenials for 8 hours and then going home to stare at a room of blank canvases. I'd stare at the paint-splattered floor remembering each painting I'd made that caused that particular pattern and in those exact shades. I was so full of ideas fresh out of college, so many ideas that I could now give life to and it lasted for a good five years. 

But here I was, Twenty-six years old and fresh out of ideas. Well, maybe not fresh out of ideas considering I hadn't painted anything in a good nine months. I'd done so well for myself, working at Starbucks while I was going to art school kept me socializing and I'd kept the job so I didn't become one of those typical angsty artists. No, instead I was becoming one of those jaded, sarcastic, angry artists and I was beginning to hate myself for it.

My alarm started beeping, the sound echoing off the bare walls of my loft. I rolled over and just let myself sink into the sheets and pillows surrounding me, trying to draw some kind of comfort from them. I rolled out of my bed and flexed my feet against the cold concrete, the shock of cold on my warm flesh helping to wake me up. 

Another day, another routine... for joy. I look at the calendar on the back of my bathroom door, it's a full wash day and I don't know if I have the gumption to deal with that. I pull my hair out of the french braid I wrangled it into three days ago and I jump in the shower. It takes long minutes for my hair to be soaked but if I don't do it first, I won't do it at all today. Forty-five minutes later I'm rinsing the last of the conditioner from my hair and switching off the water. Another hour of dealing with my mass of Afro-European hair looms in front of me, I gusty sigh slips from between my lips as I begin laying out all the products I need to put into this mass of auburn curls.

I'm reminded as I pick up a twenty dollar bottle of black castor oil why I really need to get my artist mojo back. It's almost empty and while being a barista was fine for getting me some extra cash and getting out to mingle with people on a daily, it's not up to financing this hot mess on my head. The time ticks by in mostly silence, hisses and groans punctuate my struggle but it's finally done and I trudge out of the bathroom.

I stare at my clothing, it all just looks that same and I don't even care as I pull out tights, skirt, and a tee shirt. On go my Docs and I grab my messenger bag, cardigan, and hoodie from by the door. My phone chimes with a text and I realize it was still on my kitchen counter charging. It's a text from my co-worker asking when I'd be there, I ignore her like always and slip out the door, sliding it closed behind me. 

It's overcast and far too bright. The air is chilly and the humidity causes it to sink into my fingers so fast they're painfully cold after only a few steps. I begin the short trek to work, it's in a busier area of the city but not so busy that Monroe will be as busy as her bitching makes it seems. I'm waiting at the crosswalk and begin my daily pep talk. I will not spit in Derek's double shot with skim milk when he calls me 'woman', I will not stab Willhelm with the coffee stirrer he tries to stick in my hair every - single - fucking - day, I will not tell Franco that he has Halitosis and needs to shut the fuck up.

The crossing signal flashes and I am on my way, mantra running through my head. Today is going to be so, so great! I can feel the levels of sarcasm rising in my brain, today is not going to be great and I just have this feeling that I'm going to make someone cry. Pfft, I'm probably gonna make myself cry, tears of frustration. 

Oh, yippy. I see Monroe waiting by the door, please shoot me now. I'm already starting to peal my arms from my hoody as I come up to the open door or my Starbucks, not wanting to deal with the brunette bitch I with. And that's when it happened, wham, right into the corner of the door when some giant ass ogre barrels into me. 

"Jesus fucking Christ!" It fell from my lips like water flows down a river, and at a level of volume that had half a block turning to look at what happened. I hear a stuttered apology and feel a large pair of hands gently moving me off the door. 

"I'm so sorry. I tripped on the edge of the tree grate out there." I looked up at the speaker and just stared into an intriguing pair of the lightest but the brightest pair of cyan blue eyes. He waved his hand in front of my face and I followed the long, fingers with my eyes for a moment before coming back to myself. I blinked at him and cocked my head to the side, auburn curls obscured my vision but I ignored it for the moment. 

Taking a breath to speak I promptly regretted it and clutched at my side where the long door handle had tried to become one with me and also realized that I was in the middle of taking off my hoodie. I lifted my arms to bring my hoodie over my head and groaned at the pull of tender skin and muscle.

Strong, gentle hands help me again, pulling the hoodie from me and untangling the cords from my mass of hair. "You have really nice hair. It's so soft, I want to bury my hands in it and snuggle with it." The man in front of me stills as my body goes rigid. "Sorry, sorry, that was inappropriate. Are you okay?" I nod at him not sure what I should say. Normally I'd have a sarcastic comment spewing from my mouth in mere seconds but nothing, my mind is empty.

I watched as he glanced at his watch and grimaced. This caused a small smirk to pull at my lips, today was such a great day. "I'm not trying to be a douche but I really have to go. I really am sorry for bumping into you like that." I waved him off and gave him the first genuine smile that had stretched my lips in months when I saw how sad his eyes looked.

"It's fine. I get it." I waved him off, "Bye."