Picasso's Promise

Episode 35| Look Below

song above: 1998 truman by BROCKHAMPTON

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We didn't do it, if that was what you were wondering.

Of course, I initially agreed, but after I had said that I loved him, Picasso reached around behind me and turned off the shower. A towel was wrapped around me before I could say a word. Picasso smiled, rubbing the fluffy material across my body.

"Do you have another towel?" he asked, looping the one he used on me around my shoulders. "This one's already damp."

"There should be some under the sink," I motioned out the shower, and he followed the direction I pointed at.

I pushed my head through the towel, stopping myself. Towels with microfibers were the only suitable material on my wet, curly hair. Anything else, with the wrong amount of pressure, could transform my curls into a wild mane.

Stepping into my bathroom Nike slides, I wipe the remainder of my body with the towel and then wrap around my chest. "Hold on," I said when Picasso grabbed my wrist, leading me out the door. "I want to put lotion on first."

The way his head bobbed back into restroom, cocking a brow. "Do you need a hand?"

I chuckled, "If I say yes to that, it won't be only water that I have to clean off the bathroom floor." I handed him the bottle. He scoffed, visibly peeved that I'd insinuated that he'd bust from just rubbing lotion on me.

At that moment, one thing was certain about what would entail next. If we both kept up this behavior, we wouldn't get to the party till well after midnight.

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It wasn't that long ago since our last dispute. And because of that, I was hoping our next fight wouldn't be until much later into the week. Picasso wasn't on the same page as me, peeved at my response when he asked me to swing by Javier's house to pick him up.

"He's my closest friend."

"Hey," Martin said from the back.

"You're like my kid brother, Martin."

"We're only a year and a half apart."

"Which is young enough to be my kid brother," he said as a matter of fact, twisting in his seat. "It's not supposed to be mean. I do look out for you like an older brother."

"You do," he chimed, falling backwards to relax. "I don't see your problem with Javier, Sydney. You don't talk to him, from what I know."

"I don't have to talk to him in order to hear the pervy things that come out of his mouth."

From the corner of my eye, I took note at how fast Picasso's jaw clenched. "He said something to you? When?"

"Not to me."

"Ok, then, what's the big deal?" Martin asked.

I began to speak, but he interrupted me before an audible sound could even get out of my mouth.

"It's not directed to you, or your friends, so why do you care?" Martin pointed out. "If he was hitting on you, I'd get it, but most the time he's talking about girls who aren't even in the room. Constantly bragging about some girl who goes to another school that no one met. She could be imaginary for all we know." Martin scoffed. "The only girl at our school he's managed to get with, that we know of, is Yenifer. His whole player façade is just him blowing hot air—don't mind him."