Wait A Minute

Chapter One: Skimming Pages

a/n: This fic is inspired by the song, Wait a Minute!

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The nauseating scent of paint thinner was prominent in the air as Larry prepped the blank canvas in front of him. For the past few nights, he had always woken up in a cold sweat, fleeting images of snapping teeth and the gut wrenching sound of skin ripping following him into his abrupt consciousness. Over the course of his time living in Addison Apartments, Larry had become all too familiar with not having an organized sleeping schedule. However, he had discovered a few years ago that painting his hellish nightmares quelled the visions to a dull roar.

The slick sliding of the oily paintbrush on the canvas was the only sound in the room, aside from Larry's own tired breathing. His eyelids fluttered, begging to close and plunge him back into sleep, as he dropped his hand from the canvas. He threw his brush onto his desk, too exhausted to realize that also effectively flung paint thinner all over his desk, and bent over to pick up his box of oil paints from the ground. His calloused fingers tugged the lid off before discarding it in similar fashion to his brush. His teeth subconsciously worried at his bottom lip as he glanced down at all of the tubes.

He didn't know where to start.

Artist's block wasn't something that Larry was unfamiliar with, but he didn't experience it frequently. His dark eyebrows knitted themselves together in frustration as he glanced back up at his canvas. The stretched-out fabric stared back, belittling him.

"God damn it." His voice was gruff and obnoxiously loud in the quiet house. He inwardly cringed, almost wishing it had been a night where Sal came over, so he didn't feel so awkward in the silence. Larry instantly felt bad as the thought crossed his mind, knowing the other only came over during the night when he was wracked with nightmares that were even worse than Larry's.

With a sigh, he grabbed a paper plate and a couple of paintbrushes and sat on the edge of his bed with the oil paints. He forced himself to pick a color and started mixing it into different shades on the plate. His force on his deemed mixing brush was a little too rough from a toxic mixture of sleep deprivation and annoyance though, so the tip of the brush plunged through the plate, sending paint onto Larry's lap, bed, and floor.

"Fuck," he whispered out loud. He folded the plate over to keep the rest of the paint in it and set it to the side. His boxers were utterly ruined since they took most of the impact, but his bed sheets would probably survive as long as he got them into the wash soon.

The carpeted floor creaked beneath his bare feet as he stood back up. His arms crept up over his head as he arched his back into a long stretch. Once his joints popped enough to satisfy him, he turned to face his bed. He leaned over and tossed his pillow to the ground as well as a Sanity Falls blanket that hadn't been scoured with paint. He lumped the rest of his covers into the middle of his bed and lifted the mattress slightly, so he could undo his fitted sheet. However, when he slid his hand under the cushion, the tips of his fingers were met with something firm and smooth. Confused as to why something was stuck under his bed, he grabbed the object and tugged it out.

One of his eyebrows raised of its own accord as he realized he was holding a book that he was sure he had never seen. The covers were composed of worn brown leather and crude stitching ran up the spine. It was obvious the item saw heavy use as fingertip marks were eroded into the leather. Larry cracked open the cover. The pages were yellowed and some were curled, most likely from water damage. However, what caught Larry's eye were the two lone words scrawled on the front page in black marker.

Sal Fisher.

The penmanship of the name was the worst Larry had ever seen, even by Sal standards. Either his friend had been in a rush writing it, or he had been much younger when he wrote it. Shaking his head, Larry turned to the next page, expecting for the book to be some sort of paranormal textbook. He was greeted with the same atrocious handwriting though, nothing what he had been expecting. Confused, he began to read the page.