A Pirate's Crush

8. Detox, Business, & Jealousy

Nothing like a good nap to ease my mind. Even better in my hideaway.

At least, that's what should've happened.

I laid motionless in my hammock. My headache was gone, and my hangover with it, but my mind was anything but eased. Even amidst the rustling trees, rolling waves, and crisp sea air, I couldn't stop thinking about the commander... and wondering...

...was I too hard on him?

Now that I'm not in such a sour mood, it dawned on me how bitchy I was this morning. Being so flustered around him probably didn't help.

Mind you, I don't regret being honest. But did I have to be so mean? It's not like he was up late goofing off. He was being productive... and apparently all to give me time off. It was stupid... but sweet.

Ugh... why do I feel this way? If ya got something to say, just say it. Sugarcoating doesn't help anyone.

...maybe I should apologize when I go see him tonight. If nothing else, to let him know that I wasn't being a bitch on purpose.

I wonder what he's doing right now. Is he thinking about me?

Ergh... I'm beating myself up again. I need a distraction.

I grabbed some oxy-cola from the cooler, took a swig, and pondered what to do.

I don't feel like swimming or surfing. I'm feeling mellow. Maybe...

...wait.

My eyes landed on my surfboard leaning against the wooden wall of the wreckage, and suddenly I knew exactly what to do. Not with the surfboard itself, but rather what was on the other side of the wall it was leaning on.

I set my oxy-cola down and walked over to the wall. Just to be sure, I did a security check around me.

...all clear. Can't be too careful. This is a secret as closely guarded as the hideaway itself.

I eagerly walked behind the wall and slid out a couple stacked large plastic bins. I opened the topmost one, smiling at the contents.

My painting supplies.

The distinct aroma of paint filled my nostrils—something that's grown on me after doing this for a while. My arsenal ain't that impressive. My brushes and paint tubes came from a starter kit I bought a while ago. But I quickly discovered that I needed more tools, so I bought a cheap plastic paint palette as well as a sketching kit, which gave me a sketch pad and a wide array of pencils and erasers. Combining that with a cup, a bottle of fresh water, and a small towel, I had myself a decent stash. Finally, in the second bin, were all my blank canvases. My finished or abandoned works were in yet another bin behind the wall.

It ain't much, but it's enough to support my weird hobby. Honestly, I'm surprised I was able to sneak this much stuff here without my friends finding out.

I fetched my current work-in-progress: a single tree branch in the rain. Its final several leaves hung by frail stems, weakened and yellowed by the gentle breath of autumn. The background was a misty haze, and the foreground was trickling raindrops, like gazing out a window when it rains...

...at least that what it'll be when I'm done. I just need to add the rain, which is the tricky part. I wanna hear the pitter-patter of rain when I look at it, so I gotta get it right.

Tch... listen to me, acting like my work's any good. I've improved a lot since my first painting, but I'm no savant. That's alright, though. I don't do this to be a show-off. I do it because of the catharsis and freedom. Nobody around to judge me for... being me. Painting something— creating something—feels really good, even if I ain't that talented.