Beauty in the Ashes

“Who’s a bigger pain?” He repeated. “Me or the cat.”

“You. Definitely you,” I replied, spinning through his apartment.

It was a lot cleaner now than the first time I saw it. Either he was drinking less or he was picking up the bottles. I wished he was drinking less, but I knew in my heart that he wasn’t. There was no changing someone like Caelan. They had to make the decision to save themselves.

It did appear that he wasn’t relying on drugs as much. At least not the heavy stuff. The other day when I’d been in his apartment, I’d discovered a needle in the trashcan, but I didn’t mention it. Some things were better left unsaid. And there were still small tiny pin sized pricks in his veins, but not as many. That was a start, right? Or was I trying to delude myself into believing something that wasn’t true?

“So…what am I painting?” I asked as he set up a blank canvas on the easel.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s up to you to figure out.”

“What if I want to paint a giant blob?” I tilted my head as he grabbed a stool and pulled it up the easel, then another.

“Then you paint a giant blob,” he smiled, waving me over. “Art is subjective. Eye of the beholder and all that jazz. Paint what’s in here,” he pointed to my heart.

“What if it’s not pretty?”

“The painting?” His brows rose as he looked at me quizzically.

“No,” I shook my head. “What’s in my heart.”

His face softened. “There’s no one here to judge you. I have no right and I wouldn’t anyway. This,” he waved his hand to encompass the apartment, “is our safe place.”

He held his hand out, waiting for me to place mine on top. When I did, he pulled me forward into his arms.

I was surprised when a giggle passed through my lips. The sound of it was so carefree and happy. Genuine.

He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of my lips and directed me to sit down.

He grabbed a wooden board and started squirting different colors of paint on it. When he was done he handed it to me, along with a brush.

“And now you paint.”

I let out a laugh. “Really, Caelan, I’m no artist.”

His eyes darkened and his voice grew husky. “Then let me show you.”

Grasping one of my arms, he reached around with his free hand and wrapped it around my wrist. His breath tickled my ear as he slowly guided my hand to dip the brush into orange paint. He then brought my hand up so the brush touched the canvas. He directed the brush down and then released my hand. “See, you’re painting.”

“It’s just a line,” I stated.

“Ah, but it’s your line.”

“Technically, I think it’s your line, since you helped,” I remarked.

He chuckled and sat back on the stool, his hands resting on his knees. “You’re over thinking it.”

“I thought you said you were going to give me an art lesson as in teach me. So far, I’m not getting a lot of teaching.”

“That’s because I know you’re too stubborn to ever listen to a word I say,” he countered, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Then why offer?”

He chuckled, scratching at his stubbled jaw. “You’re like a little kid. You know that, right? You always answer everything with a question.”

“It’s a gift,” I winked.

“Come on,” he rested his chin on my shoulder. “Paint something.”