“I’d approach with caution.” Daisy stole back my attention. “Wouldn’t want to spook her.”
I listened to every word she wasn’t saying. Then nodded. “Thank you, Daisy.”
She dished me a sweet smile before wandering off to join Tristan, a mess of song sheets clutched in her arms as she sat beside him.
I wandered to the bottom of the stairs.
“Since when are we being nice to him?” I heard Tristan whisper, but I didn’t let him know I’d heard. Instead, I crept up the stairs as I carefully heard Daisy ask him if he’d heard. What that was, I wasn’t sure, because I was halfway up the stairs and had only one person I wanted to pay attention to right now.
I made it to the landing, muscle memory taking me to her room, and through the crack in the open door, there she was.
It was just like Daisy had described. She was cross-legged on the floor, a long wooden brush in her hand, the end dipped in what could have been any dark colour. Her headphones sat over her unbrushed waves, stopping just before the base of her neck. The faint hum from her music filled the hallway.
And before I realised it, I was smiling.
It was rare these days, I’ll admit. Something really had to cheer me up for me to forget the voices, forget the noise and the stress and just enjoy what was in front of me. And right now, seeing her forget her noise and simply try to find a piece of herself again, it made me happy.
I watched her, tentatively, and when she finally lifted the brush to the bare canvas, I held my breath, not wantinganything to ruin this moment for her. And then she did it. The tip of the brush marked the canvas in a dark blue stroke, creating nothing and everything all at once.
It was moving, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the last time pride buzzed through me like it was doing now.
But as her brush swooped off the canvas, the mood changed. Something shifted, and before I could take a step back, she launched her brush at the canvas, marking it beautifully again, but it wasn’t long before she set her sights on that, too. Both hands gripped either side of it as she threw it across her room. Flashes of light disturbed the darkness, before shadows settled through the room again.
Her headphones were next, crunching against the floor as she stood, her hands raking through her hair as a soft groan escaped her, like she was crying without really crying at all.
I took that as my cue to wait for her downstairs, but, because the universe seemed to have it out for me today, my foot fell on a creaky floorboard.
My head whipped up as she spun around, our eyes locking in a silent conversation.
You saw that?Her eyes asked.
I did.Mine answered.
With my tail between my legs, I stepped forward, pushing the door open and walking into her room.
Her cheeks were red, her eyes swollen, but still no less fierce. Her breaths were quick. They always were. But this time I couldn’t tell whether my being there was making them better or worse.
I cleared my throat. “Hi.”
She blew a breath from her nose, a humourless tug of her lips lifting her mouth. “Hi.”
I kept my eyes trained on her, my body still. “Did you—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her words were laced with panic.
Like she didn't know which direction to turn, she stumbled, her hands raking through her shiny hair and falling by her side, before wandering over to her bed and perching on the end, her elbows on her knees, head hanging low as her heavy breaths filled the silence.
The very portrait of frustration.
“That’s okay.” I spun idly in a circle, my mouth pulling to the side as the silence took the lead. Before it became unbearable. So, I wandered to the spot next to her and sat down, expecting her to shift. But she didn’t. “Did you still want me to take you to your shift?”
Her head barely lifted. “I’m not really in the mood to be smiley with the general public right now.”
“Do you want me to make a call and let Florence know?”
She shook her head, lifting it finally, keeping her eyes on her twiddling thumbs. “No, it’s fine. Flo said if I’m ever not feeling up to a shift to just not come in. She gets it.”
It was nice to know Cora had another adult in her life who cared about her.
