The Smell Of Spray Paint

Seventeen.

There's some smut later in this chapter so if you don't want to read then here's the warning!

A little over a week passed and things got... Better, I guess is what you'd call it.

I was gaining weight again, now that I was getting a regular food supply and more than enough sleep with my constant napping. It was better. Anything would have been better than what I went though when I was alone.

Another constant in my life then was Gil', he always got back at the same time, always had something new to talk about and say.

He had almost stopped with the weed, now that I had jumped right back to being on his back about it and the place smelled of tobacco again instead of marijuana.

He was lying back one night, taking long drags of his cigarette before blowing clouds of smoke out with a sigh as I lay in a space near him, I was admiring a painting he did, holding it above my face and tracing my fingers over the lines. He told me he had stopped painting for a while but you could never tell. This was perfect.

Gilbert blew out another trail of smoke before looking over to where I lay, "I painted it, and when I was down I thought a lot of you, so I did not sell it. It is yours now." He explained to me why he had just handed it to me when he came through the doorway.

My fingertips were just connecting the white splatters of paint on what was the most serene blue-indigo that made the stars and the night sky, "It's beautiful..." I said quietly.

He took another drag, "You always say that." I heard shuffling as he moved onto his side.

I smiled, "I know." I moved my head to catch his eye before going back to looking at his gift to me, "You should stop smoking those things, they're bad for you."I placed the painting delicately over my chest.

He looked at the cigarette that dangled between his fingers, "I do not smoke." He insisted. He did that a lot.

I looked back up to the ceiling. I was pretty relaxed, outside it poured with rain and that was the only sound that could be heard aside from our talking. I had plenty time to be relaxed during the day but it wasn't the same as this.

He stubbed out the smoke he had and sat up rubbing his eyes before sitting back and looking over to me.

I felt his gaze, "Yes?" I asked, feeling a little uneasy being watched.

He looked away, "It is nothing."

I sat up slowly, picking up his painting for me with care, "Can I put this somewhere safe?" I would never forgive myself for damaging it

He took it from me, "Ja, I will put it upstairs."

I looked up through the hole in the ceiling, "Is it dry enough?" I watched anxiously as water dripped down between us, there were leaks all over the roof of that place.

He made it up there and called down, "There are plenty dry places!" He assured me and I could only wait listening to the noises he made.

He jumped down after a few moments, "There! It is safe, you are welcome!" He bowed.

I laughed, "Thanks Gilbert," I patted his head, "And thank you for painting it for me."

I was listening out for his attempts to cast it off and tell me he didn't paint it for me in particular and all that other stuff to make him look too cool to paint me stuff, but as I turned away to get a snack that I had saved from dinner I heard a bloodcurdling shriek.

I turned back to him quickly, if he could be any paler he would be and he was gazing at his finger, "What's wrong?!" I was startled and flustered.

He looked positively spooked, "I... Lost another eyelash..." He bit on his knuckle, "I was just rubbing my eye and...!" He looked straight at me, "It is the third one today!" He took a step closer and held his index finger out to me.