the girl named winter

| 69 |

s i x t y  -  n i n e
d a y s
b e f o r e

I twirl my paintbrush within my fingers as I stare at the blank canvas before me.

Behind it is the scenery my window is offering. The leaves are turning brown, some orange, others red, and the sky is a series of pink and light orange clouds. Its bright colors contradict the pessimistic colors I hold before me.

I dip my paintbrush in black.

I dip it in water to remove its color.

Then to gray.

Back to the water.

Then back to black.

I stare at the canvas harder.

I focus and try to think something paint-worthy aside from his face.

I look around my room.

I look outside.

I look at my canvas.

I look at the pink walls.

I look at the mirror.

When Rey came, self-portraits were my thing. He used to compliment me, saying I was one of the most exquisite woman living in this planet. He told me I should see how breathtaking I looked.

I lead him to my room and open the brown door that reveals my comfort space. Beside my bed are cans of paint and a bunch of blank canvas. There are cups that held a variety of paintbrushes.

Rey approaches a canvas and with his index finger, feels its surface.

I study him.

He studies me.

We're silent and no one bothers to break it.

Finally, he speaks. "You paint?"

"No, I play billiard."

He vibrates as he gives me a deep laugh.

I sit down on the edge of my bed as I pretend that my knees weren't shaking with his effect on me. I take a shuddering breath as I study how perfect he looks like, standing there, touching the blank paper. I lick my lips. "I just... don't have a motivation to paint."

"But you have me," he says, turning to face me. He stalks towards me, sitting at a dangerous distance. "I'm not a motivation for you?"

I roll my eyes and fall down on my soft mattress.

Rey hovers over me.

The sight of his dilated black eyes makes my breathing faster. "You're an inspiration to me. There's a difference."

His eyebrows scrunch against each other. "Why don't you paint anymore?"

I gulp. "I still paint. I just..." I shrug my shoulders. "Don't have anything to paint at the moment." I stare at the wall on my side to distract me from his drowning stare.

He inches down lower. "What do you usually paint?" His breathing fans my cheek.

I close my eyes. "The sky."