Bad Boy Summer

t h i r t y s e v e n

A/N: I would highly suggest reading over the last couple chapters before this just so you can remember. If you don't want to, that's completely fine!

IT HAD BEEN weeks since I last painted. I knew this because I got the worst fucking cramp of my life in my wrist when I held the paintbrush for only five seconds. But after a few stretches and half of a mental breakdown, I was ready. 

I had woken up early, dragged my sorry ass out of bed and set myself up on the back porch of the house. I had my easel, my paints and brushes and a warm cup of coffee by my side as I settled myself into the outdoor wicker arm chair with a knitted quilt strewn across my folded legs. 

There was no sun to capture on the canvas, but there was an abundance of light and color that made up for it. The teal blues and the dusty pinks and soft whites mended so beautifully in the sky and on the canvas as well. 

I have no clue how I manage to, but paint always seems to find it's way onto my legs. After a huge painting, usually on a canvas the size of a fucking whale, I'm covered head-to-toe in paint. My hair, nose, eyebrows—now that's a fucking bitch to wash paint off. 

I'm honestly surprised I still have eyebrows. 

Painting had always been my escape—or even just drawing. Anything to distract me from this shithole of a world and make it slightly less of a shithole I guess. But I've noticed I tend to paint less and less when I'm with Chase. 

He's become my new escape. He's rearranged my headspace without me even noticing—the absolute asshole. I liked my old headspace, thank you very much. 

However, if I'm being honest, I love this one. He's become a habit of mine. I always search for his face in a crowd, he's the first person I send a meme to that I had found and he is always my next thought. Fuck, if that doesn't boost he's already bursting ego then I don't know what will. 

I miss him. I miss him so damn much. But that doesn't mean I'm going to act like some damsel in distress, waiting for her husband to come back from the war. I have my own shit to deal with and if I have to deal with it on my own, then so be it. 

It's different from when we broke up six months ago. I feel different with out him. My mind is clearer and I can focus on myself more. Last time, I was constantly thinking about him, wondering what he was doing, wondering if he was happier without me. 

This time, I don't want to know. Because whatever he's doing, he's doing it because he wants to. And I'm the same. If it's meant to be, he'll come back to me. 

And if not....then okay. 

Fuck, am I stupid? I mean, probably. Why do I have to love him so damn much? When—no if—he comes back, I'm definetly going to punch the shit out of him. 

When my painting was officially finished, I put down my paints and sit back in my chair. The sunlight had changed but I had managed to capture it on the canvas. I sigh heavily and glance out towards the ocean.