Page 10 of My End

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I should’ve looked away. Should’ve moved. But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

He stood there for a second too long before shifting his eyes back to the yard and continuing his patrol.

I watched until he disappeared into the trees again, swallowed by the shadows.

What was his story?

He was new, clearly. And quiet. He hadn’t said much, but that didn’t matter. He had a presence. Like he could take over a room without opening his mouth.

He wasn’t like the other guards.

And he sure as hell wasn’t like Boone’s politician friends.

There was something different about Jake. Something sharp around the edges. He wasn’t smooth. Wasn’t fake.

He felt… real.

And I didn’t know a single thing about him.

But I wanted to.

Badly.

I turned from the window with my heart pounding in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since the first time I saw my art hanging in a gallery and people stood in front of it with their mouths open and eyes wide.

That feeling.

That rush.

Jake wasn’t just in my head now; he was under my skin.

And now…

He was on my canvas.

Or he would be.

I crossed the room and stood in front of the blank square of white stretched tight across the wood frame.

This was why I’d been restless. Why I couldn’t sleep.

This was what was calling me.

Jake.

Not his name. Not his words.

His essence.

The way he stood. The way he watched. The tension in his shoulders. The heat in his silence.

I bit my bottom lip, reached for my brush, and dipped it into the deep plum acrylic that had been waiting for days.

I didn’t sketch first. I never did. I went with what I saw in my head. What I felt.

Brush to canvas, and I began.

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