Western Waves (Compass 3)

“Hi there,” I softly spoke.

“Hello,” he replied.

“How was your outing with Denise?”

He grimaced.

Seemed about right.

“I’m sorry you had to grow up with these people. I get how they could mess up someone’s head. There was a lot of gaslighting going on with her toward the server.”

“Denise is good at making people think they are crazy,” I joked. “It probably explains some of my issues.”

“I hate her.”

“Don’t. Besides…she might be your mother.”

“Don’t care. Still hate her.” He glanced around, almost uncertain what to do or say next. He cleared his throat and scratched at his neck. “Are you all right? After your talk last night?”

“No.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

I shook my head. Tears burned at the back of my eyes. “No.”

“Don’t cry.”

“Okay.”

I cried.

He stepped closer. “You’re crying.”

“Sorry.”

“No apologies.”

“Okay.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tissue. “Figured you might cry, so I shoved these into my pocket.”

“Thanks.” I took it and wiped my eyes.

“Do you only have mostly one-word replies today?”

I nodded. “Yes.” Any more words, and I was on the path of falling completely apart. I didn’t want to talk about what happened because it hurt too much. I didn’t want to face the fact that my friend and boyfriend had been sneaking around behind my back for God knows how long. If I spoke the words, I’d shatter.

“I… I mean… They…” The words faltered off. My brain was too exhausted and overwhelmed to even try to form a full sentence.

“Words are overrated,” he said, looking down at the floor. When he looked up, his lips sat in a heavy frown. “It makes me upset, though.”

“What does?”

“When assholes make you cry. So, I made you something.”

I raised a curious eyebrow.

He slid his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants. “Whenever I’m enraged or filled to the brim with hurt, I find a rage room. It’s a place you can go and break a bunch of shit to get the energy out of your body. I figured you wouldn’t love that as much as me, so I made you something else.”

“What is it?”

“Follow me.”

I did as he said. He led us outside toward the pool house, and when he opened the doors, I was shocked to see the floor in plastic. All the furniture had been removed, and the walls looked as if they’d been freshly painted canvas white. The kitchen area of the pool house was covered with tapestry, and in the opened space were buckets of paint. Twenty-four buckets, to be exact, with a range of colors. Beside them sat a pair of goggles.

I looked back at Damian. “What is this?”

“A rage room—Stella style. Use the whole space. The walls, the ceiling, it’s your canvas. Unlike my rage rooms when things just break… I figured you could take your rage and make something beautiful.”

A slight laugh left my lips. “I don’t think what I’m feeling would come out beautiful.”

“I’ve seen your artwork. Trust me. It will be beautiful.”

“Why would you do this for me?”

“You’re hurting. So, I figured I’d help you out because that’s what friends do.”

My heart skipped a few beats. “Friends?”

“Friends,” he echoed.

My hands landed against my chest. “You want to be my friend?”

He released a weighted sigh. “Don’t make it a big deal, Cinderstella,” he said, being gentle as he used my nickname. “Please don’t cry.”

“You just said you want to be my friend, Beast. That’s a reason for tears.”

“It actually isn’t. It’s a far, far reason to relinquish emotions.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have emotions.”

“Maybe.”

I smiled.

Maybe.

He walked over to the goggles, picked them up, and then placed them over my eyes. “Make a mess. The biggest mess you can make. Yell. Scream. Fall apart. Get it all out, and I’ll clean it up later.”

He walked out of the space, leaving me alone with the buckets of paint, and I did as he said. I went to war with my emotions, diving my hands into the buckets of paint and throwing it toward the blank walls. I screamed as I spread my hands across the walls. I cried as I felt all the rage that’d been building up inside me. I covered the walls and myself with reds, blues, purples, greens. Paint dripped down my fingertips, down my elbows, against my clothing. My toes were covered in paint, and my heart cried out as I slapped paint against the walls.

The energy of using art to break through the pain of Jeff’s betrayal felt powerful. As if even though I was hurting, something beautiful could’ve been created from the destruction.

When I finished hours later, the walls were covered in life. I’d never created something packed with so much feeling using only my hands. I stood back in awe of what I’d created, and then I fell to my knees and cried. I cried for the girl I used to be. The one who felt as if I had to be a certain way to keep my family together. I cried for the betrayal that I faced. I cried because a big part of me was thankful for finding out about Jeff and Kelsey.