I wake up, still in his dimly lit apartment. I roll over onto the cold side of the bed and feel paper crumple underneath me. It’s a note from him, telling me that he’s at work and to make myself at home. It’s always the same thing with him. You’d think that after almost six months of living together he’d know that I know where he is if he’s gone when I wake up.
I drop the paper and watch it flutter to the floor and land on my clothes, still in the messy pile they were thrown in last night. Reluctantly, I roll out of bed and walk to his closet and grab one of his shirts. He won’t be too happy if I get paint on this one, too, but I can always make him get over it.
While walking to the small art studio I convinced him to make for me, I button the white shirt and run my hand back through my thick red mane. A few finished paintings are propped up against the wall. He says they’re good, but I’m not so sure. I have really vivid dreams, and when those dreams started keeping me up at night, he said that I should find a way to get them out of my head. He had a couple ideas, and while I wasn’t totally against them, I liked the idea of painting away my dreams better.
I mix a few basic colors on a small wooden tray and start painting out last night’s dream. My hands take over the painting, and I let my mind wander. By the time my mind finally wanders back to the apartment, the once dull painting has taken on some brighter colors. The picture looks just like what I saw in my dream last night, a bull, a bird that looks like a kingfisher, and a gold and red ram. The same three animals have been regulars in my dreams for almost two weeks now. As I’m looking at the painting, I swear one of the ram’s chocolate eyes moves and watches me for a second, trying to tell me something. I blink and drop the tray, making paint splatter everywhere, including his shirt. I take a few steps back from the painting, and then run out of the studio. I need to take a walk and get out of here for awhile.