What if taking the paintings was a mistake?
He could hear his mother’s voice in the back of his mind, scolding him for thinking he could ever make something of himself as an artist, and he was nauseated. He sat up with a grunt, dragging his fingers through his hair.
Shit, shit, shit.
Maybe he could call Brandon. Text him. Something.
There might still be time to stop him from hanging any of them up.
“So, I know you’re going to be mad at me, but I read the little warning labels on the side of the bottle,” Cass announced as he walked back in with a small plate and a glass of what appeared to be chocolate milk. “But it definitely says you should not have alcohol while taking this medication, so—”
“Have you seen my phone?” LA patted down his pockets.
“What?”
“My phone.” LA stood up, wincing. “I need to call Brandon.”
Cass set the plate and glass down on the coffee table so he could reach for LA. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter?”
“I want the paintings back,” LA snapped. “Okay? Taking them up there was a stupid fucking idea. I should have never let you talk me into it! Fuck!”
Cass recoiled. “What’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”
“Because my paintings are fucking stupid!” LA barked. “All of this is fucking stupid! I’m not going to make a million fucking dollars selling my bullshit at a coffee shop! That’s not going to pay the bills, okay?”
Cass blinked, his wings fluttering anxiously. “Did I do something to upset you?”
“No!” LA flinched. “It’s not you. It’s…”
“It’s what?” Cass prompted.
LA sat back down and cradled his face in his hands. “I don’t know. I, I looked around and saw the missing paintings and I just…” His eyes were hot. “Fuck.”
He had no idea what the hell was wrong with him.
He was about to burst into tears and he didn’t even know why.
Cass slowly sat beside LA, though he made no effort to touch him. “Hey. I’m right here. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever it is going on, I’m here.” He offered a kind smile and then his paw.
LA stared at it, gasped in a deep breath, and almost exhaled a sob. He grabbed Cass’s paw and clung to it, leaning in close. He was afraid to speak, certain that he would start crying on the spot if he did.
“It’s all right,” Cass soothed. “Everything is all right. Whenever you’re ready, you can talk to me.”
LA scoffed bitterly. “Is this Cass the imp who wants me to regain my strength talking? Or Cass the imp who wants to get in my fucking pants?”
Cass just kept smiling. “It’s Cass the imp who cares about you. Even when you’re a meanie head.”
“Shit.” LA deflated instantly. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m such a dick.”
“I know.” Cass beamed. “I like you anyway.”
LA hung his head. “I… I don’t know what happened. I looked around, saw the blank spots where my paintings were, and…”
“And?”
“And all I could hear was my fucking mother’s voice blabbing away in my brain about how stupid they are and what a waste and all this bullshit.” LA rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “I hate it. I fucking hate it. I hate how she gets to me, and I can’t stop it.”
“Brandon said it was a toxic relationship,” Cass said softly. “Is that true?”
