Command (Storm MC 6)

Where do I even start to find myself again?

I shoved the chair back and stood. God, I was seriously annoying myself with the back and forth of emotions. This couldn’t be healthy for anyone. Could it? Raking my fingers through my hair, I blew out a long, pissed off breath.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to kick something.

I wanted the madness in my mind to stop!

Stalking back to the bookshelf housing the paints, I grabbed as many tubes as I could hold and carried them back to the desk. I then opened my art journal again, picked up a paintbrush, and painted.

I had no idea what I’d paint – I simply let the art take over and allowed my soul to spill onto the page.

Hours passed.

I didn’t stop to eat.

I kept on painting.

Vibrant colour filled my pages and at some point, I moved to canvas.

More hours passed.

I moved to the floor of my art room.

When I finally looked up after a noise splintered my attention, the sky outside was dark, and paint covered not only my journal and three canvases, but also my skin.

Scott stood in the doorway to my art room with his arms folded across his chest and his feet planted wide. “Have you been in here all day?”

I blinked, disoriented. Frowning, I asked, “What time is it?”

“It’s just after seven.” His gaze shifted to take in the room; to take in the mess I’d created. My art supplies were strewn across the floor and over my desk.

I hardly remember making this mess.

Standing, I stepped over my supplies and walked to where he stood. Placing my hand on his chest, I apologised, “Sorry, I haven’t even thought about dinner yet.”

His hand caught mine as I shifted it off his chest. Not moving his gaze from mine, he said, “Sweetheart, I could give a fuck about dinner.”

Guilt filtered through me. Even though he didn’t care, I did. I wanted to be the woman he needed, and I wanted to look after him as well as he looked after me.

Before I could say anything, he placed a finger under my chin and tilted my face to his. “What are you thinking?” His voice was firm but gentle as he guided me to give him what he wanted.

I blinked again. “I know you don’t care about dinner, but I do. I should have cooked us something.”

A look crossed his face. If I had to take a guess, I would have said it was frustration. His jaw ticked and I waited for him to let his frustration loose, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “I’ll cook dinner while you get cleaned up.”

His tone held no room for argument so I nodded. “Okay.”

He let me go and stepped aside to let me through. As I exited the room, he added, “And Harlow?” I turned back to see what he had to say. “When you’re finished cleaning up, I want you in the kitchen with me while I cook. I don’t know what the fuck is going on in your head tonight, but what I do know is that it needs to stop. I’ve gone easy on you over the past few months and I’m done with easy.” And there was the Scott Cole I knew well.

My bossy man.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I joined Scott in the kitchen. I’d had so much paint on my skin and in my hair that I’d decided to shower. He looked up from the vegetables he was slicing to give me his attention.