The Mess I Made | Malum

♡ the paintbrush in the cup ♡

Mae stayed silent. Her hair blew in the wind like the trees, her fingertips were stiff like the bark on the ground, and her eyes were dull like an unsharpened pencil. The shadow of her silhouette was darker than the car seats, and her lips were cracked and chapped like eraser shavings. Calum still found her beautiful.

She kept her arms crossed and her chin high. She stayed as close to the door as possible with her elbow resting near the button for the window. "That guy, the one at the café, what did you think of him?"

Calum licked his lips. He could see a portrait of the boy inside of his head already – bright hair emerging from the corner of the paper, shamrock eyes glistening with the poor, café lights reflecting off of them, soft pink lips coming into view, shoulders scraping against the canvas like sneakers on grass. He smiled at the thought of it, the change of colors, the rainbow that he could create and design on his own. "Oh Mae, why are you asking this? You know I love you."

Mae bit down on her lip, and Calum sighed as she looked away and blinked her eyes a couple of times. He knew that she was about to cry, and he knew that she wanted him to hold him, but he couldn't because he was driving. And all that was on his mind was Michael, the new inspiration for his painting. "You're lying to me. You know how I know? Your nose crinkles when you lie."

"Mae, he's just going to be my next project. You're acting like I'm getting married to the guy." Calum laughed slightly, but Mae didn't think of this conversation as amusing. It was anything but that, and Calum knew that. He had changed, a lot. He wasn't the same guy who took her out on a date week one of their relationship.

They were at an art exhibit, and it seemed like the perfect place to go since Calum was an artist, and Mae was a photographer. Mae wore her fingerless red and green striped gloves, and her curls stayed concealed under a brown beanie that was a lot nicer than the ugly yellow one she wore the first day they met. Calum held her hand the entire time. He told her facts about the paintings — told her about his dreams, how he wanted to see one of his paintings on display one day. Mae promised she'd help him get there if he helped her build her portfolio.

"My portfolio isn't that good. I think if we collaborate, we can create something beautiful."

Calum remembers her voice being soft and delicate. Her eyes were sweet and brown and honey colored. They had a lot of life left in them. "We already have."

Mae shifted in the passenger seat. She was tearing herself apart piece by piece, and Calum didn't have any thread he could use to sew her back together. He didn't think he could do that anymore.

"You've changed, Calum."

Calum pulled into her driveway and leaned in for a kiss, but Mae pushed him away from her and hopped out of the car. Calum sighed when she left. He had to fix things with her, but he couldn't do it now. He had to get back there and start that painting. If he wanted a shot at being a real artist, this would be his beginning.

-

Calum scattered his materials all across the dining table. A few customers looked at him as if they were disgusted, but he didn't care much for it. He kept a pencil tucked behind his ear, and a spare brush hung out of his mouth as he started tracing the outline of Michael's silhouette.

"You know, if you're going to draw me, you should ask."

Calum jumped at the words, his materials falling into the floor. "Oh, oh great, I forgot my brown paint."

Michael smiled softly, noticing how Calum didn't care that he was caught. If anything, Michael was flattered that Calum wanted to draw him. "Can I suggest something?"