Our Numbered Days ∥ fillie

picasso.

chapter twelve.

"hello?"

"i'm bored."

"wha.. millie?! how the hell did you get my number?!"

"caller id smart one."

"but how? you use a company phone."

"yeah but you've called so many times that i've kinda memorized your number."

"okay, but why are you calling me at three in the morning?"

"why are you awake at three in the morning?"

"i'm uh.. i'm working on something."

"working on what? homework or something?"

"no, it's not school related."

"then what is it?"

"it's nothing."

"finnie, it's obviously something. if not school work then what?"

"it's.. alright fine it's a painting."

"a paining? for what, art class? i thought it wasn't school related."

"it's not for art class.. it's for myself. i'm doing this because i want to do this."

"really? oh well that's cool."

"...it is?"

"why sound so skeptical? were you expecting me to make fun of you or something?"

"sorta, yeah."

"why?"

"i don't know."

"well you have nothing to be ashamed of, i paint too! in fact, i just finished a piece yesterday."

"oh yeah? of what? shanking your boss or slashing the tires of his car?"

"no... but those are very good ideas."

"god, it's my mistake for encouraging you."

"it really is. but anyways, what're you painting?"

"eh, nothing special.. just a girl."

"a girl?"

"yeah."

"..okay, let's try to be a little more specific here, finnie. do you know this girl? is she your mum or aunt? friend or girlfriend?"

"no well, i don't really know how she looks like. i've never seen her before, i-i've only heard her voice."

"what, like a voice in your head or something?"

"...i guess you can call it that, yeah."

"don't be going all psycho on me now."

"sometimes i think becoming a psycho would be easier than dealing with reality's boredom."

"hey, no slipping into that monotone! what do i always say? you can make reality un-boring by yourself."

"millie, un-boring isn't a word."

"now it is, because i say it is."