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* * *
I stare at the paint can, it’s white with no label, drawing all attention to it. I look away, back at my painting, no clear direction as to where I’m going with it. Lines begin at one end, stopping at the other. Thick and thin, long and short. I sigh, looking back over to the paint can, my curiosity getting the better of me. My legs shake a bit as I bend down. Grabbing my flat head screwdriver, I pry the lid off, carefully setting it on the ground.
Peering into it, I take in the thick texture of bright red blood sloshing in the can. Rising, I move my canvas off the easel, setting up the extra one I brought. I take my favorite brush, dipping it in. The color doesn’t explode on the canvas like you’d think. It’s bright but not the same consistency as real paint. Almost as if it’s a watercolor. But I love it.
Inspiration hits me as I spend the rest of the night constructing a piece made from my tormentor’s blood. Adding water to lighten the color and give it more dimensions. When I finish, blood staining my fingers and brushes, light sprinkles like freckles on my face, I sit back and stare.
And then, I grin.
* * *
Ezra and I are laid on leather chairs. The buzz of a tattoo gun filters through the air as the needles rip through the flesh on my ribs.
Show no mercy. Give no weakness.
Ezra is getting the same. She is only sixteen, but she has her family's consent, so here we are, getting tatted.
Ezra is bobbing her head to whatever music that’s playing in her headphones. I’m sorting through pictures on my phone, stopping on one of Easton and me. I was laughing at the sky, my eyes closed. He was biting my ear, grinning around it while he looked at the camera. His eyes were so alive and filled with happiness. My smile is sad as I hover my finger over the Delete button.
Easton and I still haven’t talked. He is still pissed. I chose to leave him alone and I stuck by my decision. I talk to Mark every day at school. He walks with me while Easton flirts with girls like it’s an Olympic sport. He is hurting, but he is also being childish.
Sighing, I lock my phone without deleting the picture. Easton and I may not have made it, but he would still always mean something to me. He was my second love. Most people never find love, but I have, twice. I know one day, I’ll find love again. I’m not going to rush into anything, though. Shawn cherished me, whereas Easton couldn’t breathe without me. His love was raw and passionate and all-encompassing. I knew I would never find that again. He loves fiercely which is why I think we moved so fast. Bet or not, he did love me. He can deny it until the day he dies, but I know. I should approach him. I’m not even mad about the bet, I’m mad about how he went about me making a decision that would have saved us all a lot of blood loss. Without Mark, we would have lost a lot of people. I wasn’t willing to do that.
The buzzing stops and when I look up, the man is rubbing clear gel over the wound and wrapping it up. He tells me about the care process and to call him if I have any questions. It is sore, but I used to cut myself, so this is nothing I’m not used to. I welcome the pain. Because then at least I am feeling something.
Ezra and I climb into the car, starting our drive home. I’ve been home for about two months now and school is almost finished. We have a week left and I need to write a speech. Valedictorian. I’m graduating at the top of my class with the highest honors. I am headed to Columbia University. Monroe, Nixon, and Everett also go there. I can’t wait to reunite together. I miss them terribly. Especially Monroe.
Pulling up to my house, I kill the car engine. Ezra turns to look at me, a strange frown on her face. “I think I might love you,” she says. I open my mouth to speak, but she beats me to it. “I don’t really love people. You know? I’m kind of broken, but I do love you, Jazzy. You’re my best friend.” My eyes glaze over, and I reach over to her, bringing her in for a hug. “I’m actually going to miss you when you leave this year. I don’t miss people either, so this is all new. Promise not to make any best friends?” She sniffs. Is she crying? Now, I’m uncomfortable. “I mean normal friends are fine, but I want to be your only best friend.”
I wipe my tears. Pulling back, a laugh bubbles from my mouth. “I promise.”
She smiles as she wipes one tear from her cheek. “Okay, I’m going to go unplug my brother's Xbox cords until he realizes you’re the one.” She steps out and I try to call for her to tell her not to do that, but it’s too late. She is already gone.
* * *
I paint the last strike of brown hair. An all-consuming bliss warming my body as I stare at my work. It is finally done. I finally finished.
Easton’s face smirks back at me, a smirk he gives me right before he makes me do something. His eyes are light and happy. The green and honey swirling together. I painted in lively colors as a show of how full of life our love was, his face in bright oranges, reds, and yellows. Patchwork squares cover the whole painting. I don’t do regular paintings. They call it abstract. I simply call it art. All art is different. And mine were a rare form most people couldn’t master.
I add my signature at the bottom, then get up to grab it and walk over to his house. His car is gone. Good, I can do this without even being bothered. Without added turmoil of being so close, yet not being able to touch him. To ghost my lips across his, wrap my arms around his neck, feel the strength and warmth of his body cradling mine. Inhaling his scent and feeling like I’m home.
The house is quiet as I make my way upstairs. Opening his room, which is covered in rich grays and blacks, I set the painting on his bed. I do a spin around, taking it in one last time. I stare at the painting. The one I poured my heart and soul into.
My love.
My sorrow.
My regrets.
My everything.
And then, I leave, closing the door softly behind me.
CHAPTER 19
EASTON
My face stares back at me, patchwork of fire jumping off the canvas. It takes everything in me not to rip it to shreds. The name at the bottom clearly states who dropped it off. I don’t want it. I want nothing to do with her. She thinks I was upset? Yeah, no, I am furious. Not because she wanted to save our families, I respect that. I am mad because when I was vulnerable and admitted I loved her, she lied. She said she didn’t love me. Crushed my heart. Fucking stomped on the shattered pieces. I have never loved anyone before. Not like her. I loved my family but not with the all-consuming passion like I do Jasmine. Did. Do. She left me bleeding. She could have taken it back, but she didn’t. She never even said it back. I am Easton Jackson McKnight. I do not get hurt like this, I hurt people like this.
