Picasso's Promise

Episode 17| Under and Over

Song above: Overthinking IT by Willow

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The eerie stillness of the house nearly stole my breath, killing me in silence as the time ticked away. Uneasiness ate at my state of serenity, pondering if there was much of a point in giving Picasso a chance to explain himself.

Was it worth it?

I asked this more and more the longer he had me siting in the living room. I waited up for Picasso to reemerge from the bathroom, entertaining myself with the applications downloaded on to my phone so I didn't die from boredom.

Where was he?

Sounds from my cousin's room piqued my interest, soft spoken and hard to figure out. After some time, I could tell that it was Picasso speaking, partly due to how deep the tone was. I waited longer, not wanting to, but understanding that my curiosity would keep me up all night and make sleep slip away. Before I'd know it, it would be morning, and I'd be stuck in bed with red eyes and a scattered, tired mind that held only floating questions without answers.

"There's no need to be nervous."

I jumped at the words, sitting with my hands flat on my knees. My breathing settled when I saw it was only Martin, claiming the wall with his shoulder against it and his head tilted to the left. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I wasn't scared," I laughed it off, brushing invisible dust from my pajamas. "Where's Picasso?"

"He'll be out in a second. His sister just got home from work from the hospital and called him," he informed, "I wanted to tell you, though, that you should try to hear him out before you get defensive and shut him out."

"Shut him out? Why would I do that?"

"What he's going to say is going to make you mad, and I want you to refrain your reactions until the end."

"I'm not going to promise that. Why are you even the one telling me this and not him?" My voice heightened in volume, narrowing both my eyes at him. "I want to hear this from him. You're not the one who broke a promise, he was. Is that what you two were talking about in the room? He asked you to come out here to calm me—"

"No, no. He didn't ask me to talk to you." He raised hands, facing his palms to me as he waved them. "I want you to know that if there's someone to be angry with, it's me you should be infuriated with, not him."

My blinking slowed, taking in what he said with a grain of salt. This sounded like something Picasso would have him say so that I wouldn't be too hard on him once he got here. More than ever, I was beginning to doubt that he was on the phone with his sister in the other room.

"He's not even talking to his sister, is he?" I blurted out, "You're taking credit for him being late to save his ass."

"I'm not."

"You are. God, you guys are manipulative as fuck."

"You're really overthinking this, Sydney."

"What if—"

"Sydney." He sighed.

"What if this is all a lie and—"

"It's not. Your head is going to explode with how much you're overthinking this."

"What if you're only saying that so that I'd be underthinking this situation."

"Underthinking isn't a word." A new voice, one coming from down the hall, said. Martin turned his head to see who had spoken, but I had no interest. Picasso's shadow stretched down the floorboards, reaching the front door. I stared at his shadow before I cared to look up at him.