Dethklok- Intoxicate Me

Paintings

For three months I waited for him. Believe me, it was hard at first. It never really stopped being hard, but the beginning was the worst. There were so many times I wanted to call him, make sure everything was okay even though I knew it was. We kept in touch as much as possible, but he was busy most of the day. So at night I laid in my bed and clutched the guitar pick in my fist. I almost lost it one morning. That's what made me realize I needed learn that my life shouldn't revolve around him.

I had dug through my bed in a panic until I saw it on the floor beside me. It wasn't my proudest moment, being so attached to another person like that. I needed a hobby, something to keep my mind off of him enough to trust him around those other girls. The closet in my bedroom held past objects from years ago. In one of the boxes were a few pieces of artwork from my teen years. They weren't much, I've never been a great artist, but I had decided to pick it up again. It was only meant to be temporary, after all.

I started by painting a bush. A wilting one outside my house. The proportions were off, but I was proud once it was finished. For the rest of the three months my room gathered quite a few sketches and paintings.

And now I sit outside my house on the front stoop waiting for Skwisgaar, who promised he'd come to my house the second he got back. His car pulls up to the curb, but my face remains still until he steps out and around to face me. It's then a giant smile spreads across my face as I get up and walk towards him, which soon grows to a jog. He pulls me into his arms and holds me against his chest as I take in the feeling of his touch once again.

"I missed yous," he says.

"I missed you, too."

I could stay here all day, my face buried in his chest. Unfortunately, that's pretty unrealistic, so I lead him inside. My stomach turns as he opens the door to my room. I can only hope he'll be somewhat impressed by what I've worked on during his absence.

He makes his way over to a painting that was finished a while ago and picks it up to examine it. It's the strip club, the outside of it. The colored lights spill onto pavement in front of it. I hadn't learned how to do the shading right for the lights by then. Barely visible in the alley beside it is what I could make out of a passed out drunk. Not the prettiest piece of work I've done.

"You mades this?" he says after glancing down to my signature at the bottom. I nod. He turns to me with a smile, a sweet one that seems to have been missing for so long.

"I didn'ts know you coulds paint."

"I didn't either," I chuckle.

"I love it."

He insists on sitting down and examining each piece one by one. Sure, he does poke fun at a few of them. Like the one I had done of a dog, which I had tried my best to hide behind the others. It's torso is much too skinny for its head, and even that isn't looking too good. Its eyes are too big, and the pupils too small. When he picks up the paper it only takes a second before he starts laughing.

"I wants to knows what kind of dogs you ams lookings at!" he says between heaves of laughter. I myself start giggling too, getting more enjoyment out of his reaction than my artwork. Just when it seems like he's calming down he takes another glance and has to hold in his childish giggles. I don't mind, though, since I haven't seen him in so long. I have to admit, it's cute seeing him like this.

Later that day, when we sit on my bed and talk like we used to, he turns off his back and looks into my eyes.

"I wants you to comes home with me."

"To do what?" I ask.

"Sleep," he answers simply as if it's something I should already know. I roll my eyes before giving him a quick kiss and getting up.

"Let's go, then."