Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Scout
I dip my paintbrush into the green paint, swirling and mixing until it blends to the perfect shade that matches the image in my mind. The Phantom’s eyes stare back at me from the canvas as I layer in the color, adding depth and dimension until I feel it come to life.
I suppose one of the benefits of Luka avoiding me is that I’ve had plenty of time alone to wrestle with my muse and plenty of time to overthink about every single thing that happened the other night.
What I’m saying is, it hasn’t exactly been a pleasant experience.
Am I really that naive that I don’t know the difference between Luka acting friendly toward me and thinking there was something between us? My God, I guess I’m worse off than I realized.
No wonder Luka’s avoiding me. I must reek of desperation. If I were him, I’d avoid me too.
I guess being cooped up in this room all day with Luka’s house as my only companion is starting to get to my head. I need to go outside and touch some grass.
The sound of something clanking in the kitchen brings me out of my anxiety spiral, and my ears perk up to listen.
“I can’t help but notice that you’re showing signs of distress. Is there something bothering you that I can assist you with? Or are you still feeling the same symptoms you were suffering from this morning?” I hear L.O.K.I. ask.
“While I appreciate your concern for my well-being, is there something else you should be working on right now?” Luka calls out.
“Of course. I’ll leave you to it then. Would you like me to start tracking your mood to see if I can detect a pattern for your distress? Other than the obvious, I mean?”
“No. I want you to mind your own business and do what I asked you to do,” Luka fires back.
“All right. I’ll adjust my curiosity and empathy to meet your needs. If you’d like to create a record of what you’re upset about, just say, ‘record journal entry.’ Would you like me to remind you this evening during your bedtime routine?”
“No! Jesus, L.O.K.I. can you just stop?”
The paintbrush slips from my hand, and I flinch at the sharp crack of a cabinet being slammed, quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of angrily stomping feet. I freeze, muscles seizing, as a cold sweat chills my skin.
I look down to find my feet covered in green paint, relieved that my feet blocked most of the paint from splattering on the rug. “Shit.”
I rush to the bathroom to wash the paint from my feet. I need to act quickly before the stain sets in.
“I’ve started the kettle for a cup of Stress Relief Tea. I apologize for upsetting you. I will remain silent until I’m next prompted.”
Luka’s heavy footsteps grow louder, and I feel myself go into full-on panic mode as I rush to the bathroom to clean up.
“Whoa. Nice work. What are you—?” He sees the giant splatter of paint and looks around, wearing a curious expression. “What happened here?”
I give him a little wave from the bathroom as I hop off the counter, my feet and legs still dripping from washing them in the sink. “Sorry about that. I accidentally dropped my paintbrush…” I start, but now Luka’s attention is on the painting.
“I’ll pay to have it cleaned…” I continue, but the side-eye he gives me tells me he won’t hear of it.
My stomach twists in knots as I watch him, studying his expression to try to make out his thoughts. He looks a little more tired than usual, with dark circles starting to form under his eyes, and I notice the shadow of the two-day-old beard on his jaw.
I think back to his argument with L.O.K.I., and I can’t help but wonder if the symptoms he was referring to are anything like the sexual frustration I’ve been drowning in lately.
“This is really great, Scout,” he finally says, and I can hear the sincerity in his voice.
“Oh, really? Thanks. I think I finally got the right expression.” I finally manage, as I take a step, putting a couple of much-needed inches between us. Honestly, it’s like the man’s never heard of personal space.
He shakes his head; his eyes still locked on the canvas. “I knew you’d create something amazing, but this is so much better than I expected.” He turns to glance at me, and I try my best to act casual, like his praising words didn’t just heal something inside me.
“I wasn’t sure if it was too much…or if he looked too angry…”
He must find my response amusing because he clicks his tongue and takes a step closer. It’s as if his body sucks up all the oxygen in the room, and I instinctively hold my breath, as if waiting for him to give me permission to breathe.
Luka’s gaze holds mine, and I wonder if he realizes that the Phantom’s eyes are the exact same shade of green as his.
That it’s his stern expression the Phantom is making.
Or that I spent two days staring at the blank canvas, feeling completely lost at what direction to go, until I realized that Luka was my blueprint to nailing the Phantom’s complexity.
They share the same essence, equal parts good and evil, darkness and light. Neither are just one thing, but a mixture of paradoxes that most will never understand and even fewer will be close enough to feel firsthand.
Once I made the connection, I couldn’t see the Phantom any other way.
It was as if my hands moved of their own accord, and I surrendered to a mind greater than my own.
Much like the blissful absence of worrying thoughts Luka induced in me the other night, I barely slept, barely remembered to eat, not stopping until my muse felt satisfied.
It’s only when I feel Luka’s thumb brush over my arm that I finally suck in a breath.
“It’s perfect. You did incredible.” There’s a spark in his green eyes as he watches me, and for a second, I wonder if he can actually read my thoughts—because he always seems to know just what to say.
My shoulders sag in relief, and I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face knowing he’s happy with the design.
That’s one of the benefits of having such a blunt friend.
I know if he says something, he means it.
Luka has proved more than once that he isn’t worried about hurting my feelings, which makes this moment feel that much sweeter.
I’m lost in a trance, staring at his mouth when he says, “Get dressed and meet me outside in ten minutes. We’ve got some errands to run.“
I’m relieved when Luka takes the long way into town, not that I’d really expect anything different. I’ve grown to understand him so much deeper over these last few weeks, recognizing more and more what drives him.
While everyone else is rushing through life, trying to skip the dull parts, Luka makes a point to savor each and every moment.
It’s like he’s always looking for a way to upgrade his experiences and make them something to look forward to.
Thus, a boring commute into town turns into a joy ride through the mountains, the feeling of complete and utter freedom, making you feel like anything’s possible.
I never understood the appeal before, but now that I’ve experienced it firsthand, I can see how addictive the feeling is. No wonder he always opts for the bike every chance he gets.
It’s romantic, really—the way he’s so determined to squeeze the most out of life.
His fearless approach to living, paired with his unapologetic honesty, has me questioning things I never thought I would.
For the first time in my life, I’m actually considering what I want before I think of everyone else.
I can’t say that I’m not nervous riding as his backpack, but I trust him to keep me safe. And let’s be honest—wrapping my arms around that ridiculously firm chest isn’t exactly a burden. I might even look forward to the excuse to get my hands on him.
As if on cue, Luka’s hand moves over my thigh in a comforting caress, massaging and squeezing as we roll to a stop at the red light. I know it’s not anything more than platonic, but there’s certainly nothing platonic about the way my body responds.
I blow out a long exhale through my nose as I try to drag my mind out of the gutter, desperately hoping Luka can’t feel the involuntary clenching my lady bits have taken to in protest.
I hate how easily my body responds to him. It makes me feel pathetic, like I’m the only one caught in this mess while he just drifts through it, completely unbothered.
Meanwhile, I’m in my head twenty-four-seven, dissecting every look, every word, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in his.
He clearly notices the effect he has on me; it’s obviously why he keeps doing what he’s doing. But have I really been reading him wrong? Is this just the way he is with everyone?
God, how stupid am I to think there was more going on between us?
Either I’ve misread him completely, or this is just some game to him. A game I keep losing.
But not anymore.
I’m done letting him string me along. Done falling for every half-smile and heated glance.
He’s not going to keep me drooling like a naive idiot.
Luka’s hand slips from my thigh, and I hate the disappointment I feel from the loss of it.
“Here we are,” he says, parking the bike at the curb.
I glance up at the sign, then back at him, brows raised as he secures my helmet to the back of the bike. “What are we doing at Hardware Store?”
“I thought we’d get a jump on ordering supplies for the mural,” he says casually. “I don’t know much about the process—just what I skimmed from a quick online search, but I figured you’d need paint, maybe some tarps, buckets, brushes. That kind of stuff.”
“Right. Supplies.” I nod, pressing my lips together as I cross my arms over my chest.
A flicker of disappointment rises, quickly followed by the flush of embarrassment. Of course this is why we’re here.
What did I honestly think we were doing today?
Luka must notice my sudden change in demeanor because he narrows his eyes like he’s studying me.
For a second, I think he was going to ask me if I’m okay.