Page 66 of Brutal Captivity

“You’re welcome,” I get out, clearing my throat to avoid choking on the lump that has taken up residence there.

“Anyway, I know this probably isn’t what you’re used to. I went to an art supply store at the ass crack of dawn. The lady was very nice. She said acrylic paint should work just fine, so I bought a bunch.” I gesture to the various colors of acrylic paints I set up on a small table. Beside it, stands two easels complete with blank canvases.

“It’s perfect! Have you ever painted before?” Callisto asks, and the excitement in his voice is clear as he slowly runs his fingers over everything I bought.

That’s something I’ve noticed about Callisto; he is a tactile person. He always feels things, sometimes holding an item up to his face to feel it against his cheek. It’s almost as if he needs to do it in order to understand it better, he’s even done it to me on more than one occasion. It’s probably why he likes expensive clothes so much, and I find it completely endearing.

“Nope. Well, I mean, I probably finger-painted when I was young, but I’ve never actually painted.” I remember how overwhelmed I felt when I told the lady at the store that I needed supplies for a paint project, and she launched into a list of different types of paint and what each one is used for. My head spun, but I explained I needed something that would dry fairly quickly.

“And you want me to teach you?” Callisto asks, sitting down in front of the canvas and picking up one of the brushes to swipe it across his palm, moving on to do the same with the others. I can’t stop myself from smiling at the act.

“Yeah. I’m gonna be shit at it, just so you know. I’m not a very creative person, and I have zero ideas on what to paint. Like I doubt it will be anything fit for a gallery, but I thought it could be fun.” I shrug, trying very hard not to feel insecure right now. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that Callisto stepped out of his comfort zone for me this morning, so I will do the same.

“You’re not gonna be shit. You’re new to this, so of course your painting won’t be a Georgia O’Keeffe.” Callisto watches me as I move to take the seat beside him.

Callisto seems to have other plans because he reaches his long arms out and wraps them around my waist, pulling me onto his lap. My stomach somersaults at the action, feeling fourteen again and ‘accidentally’ landing in a friend’s lap after he pushed me.

“Didn’t she paint vaginas? Eww. I don’t wanna paint those.” I scrunch my nose in mock disgust. Callisto bursts out laughing. It’s so loud, it fills up the room, briefly pushing the elephant away completely.

I close my eyes for a moment, deciding that I now own this laugh and will keep it forever. It will be in my memory though, well until I die. Maybe heaven isn’t a place. Maybe it’s reliving your favorite memories for eternity. If so, then this week will be my eternity, and I cannot think of a single better way to spend it. Callisto in my memories forever.

“Well, what would you like to paint?” Callisto asks, large hands finding my hips and squeezing them. I wiggle my ass, trying to get more comfortable, but also wanting to tease Callisto a bit. His breath puffs out across my neck followed by another squeeze from his hands.

“I don’t know. Like I said, my creativity meter is about as empty as a Kardashian’s brain,” I say, and Callisto’s chest moves against my back, a weak attempt at holding in his laughter.

“Maybe something simple? Like trees? A bee? A flower?” Callisto suggests. I rack my brain for something but can’t think of anything. I’m already getting frustrated with myself. I knew this was a bad idea. I should watch Callisto paint.

No. I need to do this for Callisto. I can step out of my comfort zone. I have been forcing Callisto out of his all damn week, so it’s my turn.

“What’s your favorite flower?” I ask abruptly, turning to look at Callisto.

“A sunflower,” Callisto answers after thinking about it for a moment.

“A sunflower?” I can’t help but be surprised. I figured it would be something romantic, like a rose.

“Yeah. A sunflower. I like how bright they are, and how they always point towards the sun. They are also larger than life. They always seem to take over the sky,” Callisto explains, looking at me as if he’s describing something else entirely.

Callisto smiles softly, his hand gently resting on my lower back. I can’t stop myself from smiling, too. He would look beautiful in a field of sunflowers, and I am saddened by the idea of never getting to see that.

Spring is right around the corner, the days not quite as cold, but I won’t be spending it with Callisto. No. We got to spend a week together in winter when everything was gray and dreary and dead.

“Then I want to paint a sunflower,” I say, my voice sure. Callisto beams up at me so bright, I think he may actually turn into a sunflower.

After that’s decided, I turn back around, and we get to work. Callisto teaches me about paint, mixing colors and different techniques as a picture slowly starts to take shape. I do most of it myself, but Callisto’s hand is always there to guide me. It’s relaxing to paint like this.

“Thank you,” Callisto says, the soft words ghosting over my ear. I shiver, the statement floating into my veins to take up residence there.

“For what?” I ask, painting another petal on my flower. I think we're done. I added the last petal and a streak of sunlight to the blue sky. It looks a lot better than I was expecting, but Callisto is a wonderful teacher.

“For everything. For these experiences today. For teaching me to ride a motorcycle and for painting with me. For going through all this trouble so we could have one final, amazing day together before we march to our dooms. Thank you for teaching me so much about the world. I meant what I said earlier. I’m glad you kidnapped me.”

My heart skips a beat or maybe stops beating entirely. I can’t be sure, but Callisto is looking at me in awe, and I don't know how to handle this. I want to destroy the world. Callisto will survive this. I will give my life to make sure that happens. He will survive and will go back to his world and probably forget about me eventually. If I don't die, I will never forget him. Ever. He is imprinted on my skin like a tattoo, in my heart like a beat.

“It’s your turn,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I look at his lips, desperately wanting to kiss them. I think Callisto wants to kiss me too, but neither of us makes a move.

I almost say it. I almost say the words that are on the tip of my tongue. I open my mouth, feeling as though I am standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down. I’m gonna fall, or perhaps I already have. It’s only been a week, but it feels like so much longer. It feels like centuries and endless universes.

Instead, I whisper, “What do you want to paint?”