Page 9 of My End
It had been taunting me for the last hour. Just sat there quietly defiant while I curled my legs under me on the paint-splattered couch and pretended like I wasn’t avoiding it.
I’d tried to sleep. Really, I had.
But after tossing, turning, fluffing my pillow three separate times, and yelling “just shut off already” into the darkness of my bedroom, I gave up and wandered back down to the studio barefoot and sleep-starved.
Adam had asked earlier if I’d started a new painting. I’d lied.
Well… not entirely. I had started one. Three days ago. A layered blend of emotion and color, inspired by a dream I no longer remembered. But sometime this morning, I stood in front of it, brush in hand, and felt… nothing.
So I’d turned it to face the wall.
And now I was here, staring at the big white nothing across the room, haunted by something I couldn’t shake.
A face.
Not one from memory. Not one from my dreams.
A new one.
Rugged. Harsh.
Beautiful in a way that wasn’t conventionally beautiful. Like a mountain or a thunderstorm, dangerous but captivating.
Jake.
I didn’t even know his full name, but his face, God, his face, I couldn’t forget it. That short dark hair. The thick, well-kept beard. The sharp cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. The full lips. The unreadable eyes.
He hadn’t even smiled.
But something about him had been carved into my mind like paint onto canvas.
I stood up and padded to the window, pushing the curtain aside.
The yard was mostly dark. The lights on the far end of the lawn buzzed faintly as they cast long shadows over the manicured grass. The trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, and everything else was still.
And then I saw movement.
A figure walked the perimeter. Steady. Deliberate.
It wasn’t Jim. Too tall. Too broad through the shoulders.
It was Jake.
My heart skipped just like it had earlier when he looked at me in the driveway.
He was wearing all black again and blended in with the night except for his silhouette outlined in the yard light glow. His movements were calm but alert like he wasn’t just walking and scanning. He was watching.
I leaned closer to the glass, and my fingertips brushed it.
Then, like he felt me watching, he stopped.
And looked up.
Right at me.
My breath caught in my throat.
His expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker. But I felt the weight of that gaze like heat soaking into my skin.
