Never Seen Anything Quite Like You Too (A The Script Fan-fiction)

8) What Do You Think You're Doing?

Siena's POV.

After having a breakfast of tea and oatmeal I pulled on my coat and took a jog over to my studio. Absolutely drenched, I wiped my wet hands on my coat and put the kettle on. I held my hands against the kettle to warm them through. That tingly sensation ripples through your body like a shot of coffee.

When I had finished making my coffee, I sat down in front of the painting that I had painted yesterday. I was particularly proud of this painting. The cold and the warmth shown pretty well. I like to think it represents my personality in some respects. I come across as mainly quite cold. I know I do. I've been told that I would make an ice cube look boiling hot compared to how cold I am. I also like to think that there is a bit of warmth in my soul. A little bit of fire that melts away the ice.

I finished my cup of heaven otherwise known as coffee. I had no inspiration today so motivated by the success of yesterday I decided to transfer from the studio to the market hut that I use to sell my paintings.

I made myself a travel mug, like yesterday, picked up the hot and cold painting that I was admiring a few minutes ago and a painting of a red squirrel in a tree. Those poor red squirrels. They are struggling to survive due to a plague that is fighting the red squirrels and not the greys. The grey squirrels take everything from the reds. Habitat. Food. Everything you need to survive. The other paintings that I took yesterday still lay hidden underneath the counter in my locked hut.

Once inside my little hut full of art I set up shop once more. A small gust of wind entered my market and I wrapped my coat more tightly around myself, protecting my body from that harsh gale.

The squirrel painting sold within the first hour of opening my stall. As always I feel mixed feelings when a painting sells. I feel resentment and pride every single time.

The sky became overcast like it was unsure whether to remain cloudy or whether it just wanted bash it out and create one heck of a storm.

"Hello sweetheart. Don't suppose you can give me the price of that one could you?" One lady who was standing in front of the stall asked.

"Oh. Sure. Of course," I said.

I had a look at the painting she was pointing at and saw it was my painting of the lighthouse with the waves crashing against it. Those waves at night were stronger than the bridge it had torn down but it was having trouble tearing down this lighthouse.

"Thirty five pounds, love. Are you buying?" I asked.

"Aye," The lady said.

Whilst the buyer was fishing in her purse to draw out the correct amount of money, I saw a guy walk up to the stall and look at the paintings.

My eyes diverted from the guy and back to the lady.

"Oh I am so sorry sweetheart. I am going to have to take a trip to the cash machine," the lady apologised.

I smiled warmly against the cold breeze.

"Go ahead and take your time," I said.

The lady took to leave and my eyes went back to the guy. He was taking massive interest in the ice and heat painting. I smiled at him and I realised it was the guy that I saw yesterday. The one with hazel eyes and the quiff.

"Still browsing pal?" I asked.

"What? Oh. No. Not exactly," He said.

He looked down the street for a few seconds and I craned my neck to see what he was looking at. The bugger must have done it on purpose because he grabbed the painting that he had been staring at so intently and ran off into the mist.

"OI! What the fuck do you think you're playing at!?" I yelled.

I ran out of my stall and pelted after him. Many people stared at me as I ran towards the guy who I was losing distance on by the second. He skidded around a corner an it took me a good ten seconds to get to the corner only to find three possible routes the bastard could have gone down.

It was no use. I had to admit defeat. The painting that I was most proud of. Stolen.