I rolled my eyes playfully and cocked my head to the side in thought. “Yellow?”
Nathaniel pulled a face that resembled horror, disgust and offence all at once. “Yellow?! Yellow?! Why yellow?”
“Whynotyellow? What have you got against yellow?”
“Do you promise not to laugh?”
I shook my head. “No.”
An elbow to the ribs was his response before he opened his mouth to speak, “When I was about eight or nine, I was painting outside with my brothers and the yellow paint I needed wouldn’t come out of the tube. It was stuck. I really needed it, though. So, being the clever problem solver I am, I bit down on the bottom of the tube in the hopes that it would send the paint up. Just like toothpaste.”
“Oh no,” I whispered.
“Oh yes,” Nathaniel sighed. “I bit down too hard and yellow paint splattered into my mouth. It was awful.”
I laughed. It was an unfamiliar sound, almost unnatural coming from my lips, but I couldn’t stop. “Let me get this straight…you hate the colour yellow, because you got yellow paint in your mouth?”
“Precisely.”
I laughed again, unable to help myself. “That is ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, I’m book smart, not street smart.”
“That’s just a lack of common sense.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“Alright, alright, whatisyour favourite colour then?”
“Brown.”
“Brown?” I repeated, surprised. “Why brown?”
“It reminds me of autumn,” he said, “of cosy days reading under a tree, fallen leaves all around me.”
“And you look good in brown too,” I added, gaze falling to his brown trousers and brown coat. I had said it without thinking, and when Nathaniel whirled to look at me, I immediately looked away.
“Thank you,” he smiled.
“Is it…” I cleared my throat. “Is it almost time for your class?”
Nathaniel pulled out his phone and groaned. “Yes. Unfortunately.”
Relief and disappointment washed over me all at once. “I’ll walk you to class, then.”
“You’re not still worried about that guy, are you?” he mused as he slowly stood up.
Yes.“No.”
Nathaniel chuckled as if he sensed my lie. I rolled my eyes, swung my bag over my shoulder, and led him to his class. It was strange, but at that moment, the Devil had no influence on me at all. He remained in his cage. Nathaniel, it seemed, was the lock that kept him imprisoned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sleep evaded me, even with the medication the doctor had prescribed. Dr. Rosewood was right. I needed something stronger, which meant I needed to see a psychiatrist.
But you’re insane. They’ll lock you up and throw away the key.
I splashed water on my face to drown out the Devil’s words. He was right. I couldn’t risk seeing a psychiatrist. What I needed to do was focus on my studies and eventually, things would settle down. I was just stressed.
