The task was utterly exhausting and left me feeling like I was going to faint at any given moment. It also garnered a cacophony of confused looks from other students, though I found myself surprised at how easy it was now not to care about things like that anymore. A few assholes recorded me, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t dealt with before.
“Morning.” Isaac’s far too chipper voice sounded from behind me.
I grunted at him in response, and he went on filling the air with whatever it was he talked about while he strolled alongside me to class everyday now.
I really needed to use some of the paint because I was going to wither up and die if I didn’t get rid of some of the weight. That or Isaac was going to talk my ear offfirst.
How hard could it be? I was overcomplicating this, I knew that.
I’d just dump the bucket out on a canvas and be done with the damn thing—I’d just do it.
Easy.
Open the lid, and pour it out, bada bing, bada boom, didn’t even have to pick up a paintbrush.
Only when I got there that afternoon… I couldn’t do it.
Instead, I sat on top of the bucket and just stared at my paintings from last year.
The more I stared at them, the more I hated them. They made me feel like an impostor. I knew I could never recreate a series like the one in front of me again, and it made me feel panicked. I was breathing, but it felt like I was suffocating. Everything was so different now.Iwas different now. I had no idea how to move through the world anymore. Maybe I wasn’t even a painter at all. Maybe I never had been.
And yet, knowing there was literally no point, I pushed the paint bucket out into the hall, and went through the effort to haul the damn thing home with me.
By the end of the following week, I was, of course, exhausted, because that stupid bucket wasstillfull to the brim. I hadn’t been able to use a single drop. Which meant I’d been hauling around a full paint bucket for nearly two weeks now.
This morning to keep my strength up, I’d eatentwocheese sticks for breakfast, which I supposed was Professor Alden’s plan all along—trick me into eating more, out of sheer survival, but even with the extra cheese stick for breakfast, I was still running on fumes.
Professor Alden periodically checked in on me throughout the week, but she never pushed for an explanation as I hauled that paint bucket in and out of her class. I think she appreciated that Iwas taking her assignment seriously. Though, for the life of me, I didn’t know why I even bothered.
Oddly, I found myself growing attached to that stupid bucket. The weight was… comforting in a strange way.
Every day was the same. Cheese sticks, paint bucket, collapse into bed without dinner because I was so exhausted. The bucket was becoming so ingrained in my daily routine, I almost forgot I had an assignment to complete.Almost.
Isaac was a thorn in my side, since he’d figured out my schedule, and while I’d grown less and less suspicious of him, he was still talking my ear off every day—all while I nodded and grunted at him. Clearly, he wasn’t smart enough to be a journalist, and the paparazzi would have taken their damn photo already. What he wanted exactly, I wasn’t sure, but everyday he asked if he could carry the bucket for me, and every day, I told him the same thing.No.And then he’d respond back, “Right, because you’re doing a process.” Only today, that’snotwhat he said.
“Aren’t you supposed to beusingthat paint or something?” He scratched his head as we passed under the rustling trees.
I sighed. “Don’t judge me. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m not judging. I’m just curious.”
I looked over at him and decided it was too much work to keep being aloof. “I give up.”
He laughed. “On what, exactly?”
“On trying to avoid you.” I set the bucket down. “You can carry it.”
“Really?”
I gave him a small smile. “No.”
He made a face at me. “Are you serious?”
“That was called a joke.” I flexed my hand to get the circulation going. The thin handle was a nightmare. My hands had blistered last week, and now they were peeling.
He grinned. “You’re telling jokes now?”
“I suppose I am.”
