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eight.

੭୧ 𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫 ੭୧

The next week flew by, mainly being spent hunched over a canvas working tirelessly to create something that would please Mr. Beaurigard. Every muscle in my body ached from the long hours and the stiff positions, but it didn't matter. I couldn't let it matter.

Every time I closed my eyes, visions of Mr. Beaurigard's disappointed expression haunted me—the sneer etched vividly in my mind. Losing my mentorship, my spot at Columbia, and shattering my dreams loomed over me—and I had less than twenty–four hours to impress a man who seemed to be the embodiment of perfection.

Which meant, the week was spent bent over a canvas, the paintbrushes in my hands never stilling, and my mind never slowing. I couldn't remember the last time I had gone this long without a decent amount of sleep. I had never been the kind of girl to pull all-nighters, preferring instead to be well rested, and to use the early hours of the morning to wake up and paint.

But, as the week slipped away, and the days melted into one, I began to realize that it would have been impossible for me to complete the amount of work that needed to be done if I had spent the night sleeping. So, I forced myself to ignore the exhaustion that had taken residence in every muscle, and powered through.

Eventually, the week came to an end, though I stayed rooted in my spot, only leaving for food and water, and to use the washroom. The boys came and checked on me every once in a while, and though they had given up on trying to convince me to eat a proper meal, or get a few hours of sleep, the concern never left their eyes.

"Piper, are you sure you don't want to take a break?"

I had barely registered Ethan's question, and simply shrugged, my brush dipping into a bright blue, the paint coating the bristles.

"Piper, seriously. You've barely slept in a week."

"It's fine, Ethan. I'll take a break once it's done."

"You've been saying that for three days."

"Well, it's not done yet."

"Piper," Ethan's voice was stern as he crossed the garage, snatching the paintbrush from my hand. "School starts tomorrow, and knowing you, you probably don't want to miss the first day. So, you are going to come inside, you are going to sit with us and eat, and then you are going to go to sleep."

I glared at him, a rare sight, and Ethan's eyes widened slightly.

"Ethan, give me the brush."

"Nope." He shook his head. "Inside."

Watching him for a long moment, I accepted my defeat, rubbing a hand down my face—which also smeared a line of paint down my cheek—and pushed myself off the stool, shoulders sagging as I stepped into the house.

"She's alive!" Kai cheered, a huge grin splitting his face, "we were starting to wonder."

"Hi guys," I mumbled, the exhaustion hitting me full force as I stepped toward the couch, stopping as I realized I was covered in paint. "I'll be back." I turned on my heel and slowly made my way down the hallway, into my bedroom.

I wasted no time as I stepped into the bathroom, stripping my paint–stained shirt from my body and grimacing at the somehow stained bra I wore beneath. I bent over, scrubbing my face in the sink in an attempt to remove the flecks of colour that covered my cheeks and forehead. The warm water was soothing against my skin, and I stood there for a long moment, eyes closed, breathing deeply, my mind drifting.

"What are you doing?"

My eyes flew open, breath catching in my throat as my gaze met Grey's. He leaned against the door to his room, head cocked to the side as he studied me, his eyes travelling from the paint on my face, down my torso. My stomach tightened and my cheeks warmed at his blatant stare, but I couldn't bring myself to move.