Page 122 of The Plan

Ever since I told Lis she could be a stay-at-home artist and now mom to this turtle, she seems lighter. She still has bad days, sure, but not having to work clearly took a lot of stress off of her, and she says her depression isn’t as bad. I take a glance around her room, and she’s definitely been painting her feelings away.

The entire room is full of portraits. I know I told Lis she wouldn’t be the next Picasso, but I was lying out of my ass. Half of these look like she took pictures on her camera and printed them.

“Don’t touch my shit!” She calls out from the living room, and I think of biting my tongue and being the bigger person, but I choose against it.

I walk back into her living room and glare at her. “So you can touch and steal my shit, but I can’t stand in your messy ass room for more than five seconds?”

“My room is not messy, asshole. Sit your ass.” She points at the seat again, and I roll my eyes before sitting. She is in sweats and a hoodie, but both are covered in paint. You'd think she bought them like that.

“Do I pose or what?” I grumble, and she chuckles before tossing an apple at me. “You’re joking.” She clearly bites back a laugh and hides her smile behind her easel. I hold the stupid apple for her as she gets to painting.

“You plan on selling any of these?”

“Yeah, I just haven’t got to it, but I need to soon because it’s starting to feel super cluttered in here.” She looks around her apartment, and cluttered is an understatement. I wouldn’t be surprised if her hand fell off from how many paintings she’s made.

“Well, you can always make a Famoura account for your art and have Sage repost a few pieces of your work.” Sage just hitninety million followers, and her fan base is crazy supportive. I think August gained a million followers in one day after Sage tagged him in some post.

“I’d probably get more orders than the paintings I have.” Lis chuckles softly but says she’ll talk to Sage about it. After a few minutes, I ask to see her canvas, but she doesn’t let me.

“Are you going to say whatever it is you came for?” My eyes cut to hers, and she’s too focused on her artwork to look back over at me, but it’s clear she’s waiting for my response.

“How’d you know—”

“I know you, Sire.” She looks over at me before looking back at the canvas. “And I know you didn’t come to check on Piglet. Don’t use my son as an excuse to see me.” I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she sounds for calling the turtle her son.

I don’t say anything, but when she looks over at me again, she urges me to say it, so I do. “Two things,” I start. She nods and waves her paintbrush impatiently. When I tell her what today is, the only reaction I get is a smile.

“The twins were jumping with joy when I told them.” I cross my arms and act hurt. “This is why I favor them.”

“Oh, bullshit.” I bite back a laugh at how dramatically she rolls her eyes. “You know damn well you appreciate that I’m not as soft and gooey as them.” I break and give her a laugh because she’s right. I adore the twins, don’t get me wrong, but asshole Lis is a great change.

“Second thing?” She turns her head at her canvas and chews the end of her paintbrush before fixing whatever mistake she clearly made.

“You can tell me you're proud first,” I tease, and she lets out a dramatic sigh. When she looks over at me, she’s smiling, but I can tell she’s being serious now.

“You know I’m beyond proud, Sire. I never once doubted that you’d get that bronze chip.” I give her a smile but look awaybecause talking about my sobriety with Lis makes me shy. I think it’s because she, of all people, really gets it.

“You got that black NA chip, right?” I nod, and her smile only grows. Black NA chips mean two or more years sober, and while I’ve been struggling to get an AA chip, my NA one means just as much.

“I want to be like you when I grow up,” she says in a dream-like state, and we share a laugh. She forces me to say the second reason I came as she gets back to painting.

After I went over what happened with Vid, I thought about the things I said to Lis, and I know I fucked up with her the most. Once I was home from rehab, I didn’t move in with her like I said I would. She bugged me for months, but I kept drinking and pushing her away.

“I’m a dick.” I shake my head at myself. I’ve done a lot of self-reflection today, and that’s the only word I could come up with to describe myself.

“We already knew that. Would you like me to draw you a penis for a head?” I throw the apple I’m still holding at her, and she bursts into a laugh. When she looks over at me, she shakes her head at whatever look is on my face.

“Okay, we’re being serious. What dick move did you make this time?” I let out a sigh and shift in my seat.

“I shouldn’t have said that shit to you when you were trying to help me.” I shake my head but force myself to look at her because she deserves at least that.

“This again? You already apologized.” She’s right, I did, but after thinking about exactly what I said to her, she deserves another apology.

“I know, but I feel like you forgave me too easily since you wanted your brother back.” She doesn’t say anything and looks like she’s focused on her painting, but I go on because I know she’s listening.

“I think I’d actually kill someone if they spoke to you the way I did and threw your suicide attempt in your face like that.” I keep my eyes on her, and she quickly looks between me and the canvas.

“Well, don’t go and try killing yourself. That’s my hobby, find your own.” Her voice is so... bored andcasual.

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