KILL SHOT

6. Five.

"Holy shit, Nicky, this is really amazing! I'm so impressed, this is..." I pause to find the more appropriate word, knowing nothing would fit.
"Brilliant!"

She waves at me, blushing from head to toes. I've been struggling with words since she started showing me her art, each painting more... brilliant than the previous.

Mostly flowers and waterfalls (with or without a sexbomb showering under it), some beautiful landscapes (the way she captures the colours of fall is incredible) and portraits.
Absolute breathtaking portraits.

This one in particular gives me goosebumps, I could burst into tears if I stop controlling myself.
Two halves of a visage making one, a woman and a teen, one side flourishing, showing a stunning smile and sparkling eyes, the other side darker, so sad. So sad I want to cry. Both sides subtly melting in each other, the lines, the shades, the light, so your feelings change completely, depends on where your eyes land.

I'm riding an emotional rollercoaster, she made me. It feels so weird, maybe too much, maybe I'll be sick but I don't want to get off that train.

I'm resting on my elbows, up behind the bar, but I need to study this painting more closely, let the details inspire me.

"Let me see this one a little longer."

I lean on the counter, my chin on the back of my hands and let my eyes wandering along the curves of that inscrutable face.
How a simple drawing could touch me so deeply?
I'm just experiencing new feelings, subtle and powerful, so far from the ones I know by killing people or hitting the bullseye.
Actually I'm just overwhelmed.

"Is that you?" I ask, tilting my head to the side.

"Charlie stop. Don't move."
Her features change and she frowns, like she wants to snap the moment.

"Stay still. Keep looking at the painting, don't mind me." She quickly rummages in a box stored under the coffee table and digs out a sketchbook and a grease pencil.

Her hand dances on the piece of paper, her eyes jumping back and forth from the sheet to my mug. In no time, the sketch is done, I can't wait to see me. How she sees me.

"You're handsome, sweetheart, it's a crime not to marry you..." She sighs.

She jogs to me and hands me the book, a satisfied grin taped on her face.
"I definitely have to paint your cute face! What do you think?"

The guy she sketches is not me. Not the old me. No trace of hate or boredom on my face. Nothing near the cold murderer I am. I've been, I'm not sure now. Sweet lines, sweet gaze, sweet version of me.
That woman just highlighted the best of myself, the side that didn't exist just a week ago.

"I'm honoured, Nicky. You're so talented. But, I see enough of that big stupid mug every morning in the mirror. I'd rather pin a pic of you To beautify my flat." In my bedroom. You, on the ceiling.

Her face lightened as she figures out a way to satisfy both of us.

"Let's take a pic of us! That damn selfie I wanted to snap yesterday. Don't worry, my battery is full, we take my phone! Come on!" She drags me behind her, excited like a little girl.

We flop on the couch, tangled in spite of us, making a series of funny faces in front of the camera. We take about 20 of them, then check to pick up the best. We laughed doing them, we laugh twice more looking at them.

Smirking, smiling, laughing, squinting eyes. Me kissing her on the cheek, she kissing me back. She patting my face, me tickling her.

"There it is!" Nicky screams in my ear. "This is the one. The perfect us!"