Page 48 of Her Every Fantasy

I glanced over. She was standing six feet away from the wall, her eyes riveted to what she’d painted, her head slightly tilted as she exhaled roughly. Catching my stare, she glanced at me and I caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

‘Are you all right?’

She gave a half-hearted shrug, then nodded. ‘Yeah.’

Although it was a public space, I felt I was encroaching on a private moment.

‘Am I allowed to see?’

She swallowed, then nodded.

Setting my can of black paint down, I joined her. Unable to resist, I kissed her temple, then I looked over at her section of the wall.

The scene was set on a beach, a solitary female figure sitting on a windblown dune, watching the sun rise through black clouds, frothy waves and a turbulent sea.

Despite the chaos, a beam of sun illuminated her face, its path unbrokenby the darker elemental forces around it. The connection between the figure and the sun was almost sacred, a codependency so heartbreakingly beautiful, the grip on my sternum intensified.

On a stunned breath I realised the source of my turmoil.

I’d wanted to be that connection for her. I’d wanted that codependency even before I spoke to her for the first time outside the school library all those years ago. But other forces had intervened, not least of all something inside me holding me back.

That force was still there. Unexplored but throbbing, fedby unresolved issues.

But yes, alsoby forces she’d let happen. Forces she’d let control our personal painting. We needed to talk about that but for the first time I hesitated. If we managed to get past that, then what? What would our new landscape look like? Would that beam of light illuminate my own failings?

The strong likelihood of that churned hard in my gut.

‘You like it?’ she asked huskily, dragging my attention from the mural and my own dark thoughts. That small but mighty ray of hope on the figure’s face was reflected on Savvie’s and it brought a weird lump to my throat.

‘It’s breathtaking,’ I replied simply. ‘Everything you do is breathtaking.’

A teary smile broke on her face and I wanted to kiss every drop away.

‘Shame we have to leave it behind. But the rules are the rules, I guess,’ she murmured.

I vaguely remembered that most of the paintings lasted anywhere from a few hours to a week before another artist painted over them. The thought of her work disappearing under a fresh coat of spray paint made my teeth ache.

I took out my phone, took a few more steps back and took a picture. Even through a second-hand medium it was stunning.

‘At least you’ll have this.’

She nodded. ‘Can I see yours?’

Feeling half defiant, half stalker, I led her to my section.

She gave a soft gasp. ‘That...that’s me... And that looks like...’

‘Your favourite place at the top of the rugby stand, noise-cancelling headphones on, scowling into a book and at anyone who so much as glanced your way. That’s how you looked the first time I saw you.’

Her mouth dropped softly open. ‘You saw me?’

My head jerked in a nod. ‘Every time.’

Her gaze returned to the painting, drifted over the school-issue dark green hoodie and darker clothes she used to favour, probably because she thought it made her unobtrusive.

‘How?’

‘You weren’t as inconspicuous as you thought.’ I trailed my fingers through the dark brown-and-gold hair. ‘This, for starters. There’s just so much of it, no matter how hard you tried to hide it under a hoodie.’

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