Watercolour Smile (4 page)

“Seph…” Quillan repeated gently, trailing off, as if he didn’t quite know what to say.

“Don’t worry, Bossman.” I lifted my eyes, managing to smile at him, and he seemed to relax a little bit. “I get it. You were trying to prove a point.”

I fiddled with the watch around my wrist as we stared at each other. It was weighted, scratched enough to indicate that he had owned it for a very long time. The brand was Rolex, and apart from looking expensive, it also looked odd—since the watch-face was almost the entire width of my wrist. It was the only thing we shared that was wide open for the world to see.

Naturally, nobody noticed.

“Use the watercolours today,” he finally said. “You get more details outside of the painting when you do.”

I nodded and prepped my workstation, staring at the blank paper all the while. There were a bunch of paintings rolled up in a basket beside my easel, all of the same scene: a girl floating in water. I had drawn it before, but had been interrupted before I finished the picture, and ever since, I had been terrified that the girl was yet another person that I could have saved, but didn’t.

The memory of Aiden’s face still haunted me.

Once again, I brought the girl to mind, and my paintbrush stubbornly refused to budge. I had fought the same battle every single day for the past few months. Quillan called my ability
forecasting
, but lately, I had simply been painting. I painted the girl by memory, sometimes embellishing on my own, sometimes willing my stubborn mind to fill in the blanks. I sighed, staring at the white space. It wasn’t going to happen; the forecasting simply didn’t work that way. It showed me what it wanted me to see and nothing more.

Today, I would let go of the girl.

It was with a heavy heart that I tore away the paper and replaced it with a blank roll of canvas before I started painting, and the feeling only grew worse as the image blossomed before me. The green eyes formed first; bloodshot and bleary; they gazed at me, damming me. I started shaking but my fingers held firm to the brush. The watercolours melted into the colour of skin, sloping upwards into the hollow of a sunken cheek. I could feel the tears pricking my eyes as one of my greatest fears came to life right before me. It was a bleak outline, nothing but washed colours over a washed-out face. I finished my first coat with a mop of inky-black hair, and then stepped back, my heart wrenching as I stared into my brother’s face.

“Tariq,” I cried softly, and Quillan stood up immediately, rounding my easel and taking in the painting.

He reached out, his fingers hovered, and he seemed to realise that there was something off about the image. The skin tone was greyish in some areas, and the left eye was puffy, the lips swollen. For a moment, Quillan seemed frozen in his uncertainty, fingers reaching for the painting, and then he pulled back and both of his hands landed on my shoulders.

“Come back after school. You need to finish this painting.”

I wavered, finding comfort in the warmth of his hands. It was different to the way he had touched me before—this was more
us
. More normal. He had only kissed me once—as had Silas—to complete the bond. They did it because I was starting to implode, mentally… physically… I didn’t know. I had managed to convince myself that they were trying to wait out the bond, which would eventually cause me more pain than good. It made me realise how much we needed each other; we might have been five separate people, but we existed too closely together, like dominos. If one of us tumbled, the rest would fall too.

“I will.” I forced my voice to sound neutral as I fought back the burn of tears.

His chin brushed the top of my head and I closed my eyes, standing with him for as long as I dared without allowing the moment to become awkward, and then I pulled away before he could apologise for the earlier encounter. There was only so much I could take, and he always felt my spikes of emotion—fear, anxiety, anything but what I
should
have been feeling. Him and Silas both felt it now. I had learned to pull away from Quillan before the emotion leaked into him, because the pain in his expression doubled with each heavy draw on my heart.

I forced another smile and moved to the door, but he caught me, touching just below my elbow. The pressure of his fingers was so light, so brief… I halted instantly.

“What did you mean when you said you had to go on a date?” he asked.

I continued staring at the door. “Poison wants me to go on a double-date. She thinks that people are getting too suspicious of Cabe and Noah, and that they need to start showing interest in girls again before the rumours get back to Weston. You and Silas too.”

“She’s probably right, but what does that have to do with
you
dating?”

“I’m fairly sure that she’s hoping it’ll make it easier on them. Maybe it’ll make it easier on me, too. I won’t feel so…” I shook my head, unable to come up with a word.
Guilty
?
Confused
?
Jealous
?
Relieved
? “If we all do it; it won’t seem so bad.”

He was quiet, and finally, I turned. His eyes were darkly perturbed, and maybe even angry.

“They had plenty of relationships even after they found out about me,” I said gently. “I know it’s possible.”

“It’s not.” He shook his head. “Not once we touched you.”

I blinked, something niggling in some corner of my mind. “You tried?”

Pain flickered over his face.

“Oh.” I wanted to ask when, and why, and with whom, but the words didn’t rise. He looked too tortured, and I could feel the reaction that thrummed away in his chest, like a vicious bird trying to claw its way from the inside out. I didn’t know exactly what it meant, but I felt it, and it hurt. I remembered that it had taken Quillan the longest of all of them to accept that I was his
Atmá.
Silas still doesn’t accept it
, some part of my brain tried to reason with me, but I pushed it away. I understood how hard it was for Quillan because I saw the torture etched into his expression every day.
“It’s okay,” I eventually assured him. “We’ll be fine.” It was a lame offering, but it was the best I could give.

“It would be better if you didn’t go.”

“I have to.” I sighed, facing the truth of it. “One of us has to make the first move, and it will never be them. I’ll go, make conversation, eat some food and come home. Nothing has to happen, and it’ll encourage the boys to do the same thing. If I don’t do it, they probably won’t do it either—Don’t,” I protested, seeing him beginning to shake his head. “You know I’m right. They care too much about hurting my feelings. They don’t even
try
to make it look like they’re interested in other girls. Going on a few dates is harmless. The bond will put up a fight, I’m sure, but it’ll throw off the gossip mill and buy us more time, and isn’t that what we need? More time?”

He nodded, his only reply, and I could still feel the painful drumming of his heart, contrasting with the light crease of apprehension that marred his expression. He couldn’t pretend to be mildly concerned, and that bothered me. I didn’t want to pry into his deepest thoughts, I simply couldn’t help it.

“We’ll be okay,” I repeated, ducking forward to kiss his cheek.

He drew in a defeated breath and I turned away before he could misconstrue the gesture. I respected Quillan, I liked him as a person. I was determined that the
bond
didn’t ruin that. I swung my book bag over my shoulder and opened the door.

It wasn’t until I was in music that I realised I had more or less thrown Quillan’s present back in his face. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and typed a message to him.

I’m so sorry, Bossman… I didn’t even say thank you. I hope you can return the iPhone.

I was sitting at the piano and I set my phone to the side after I sent the message. I tapped on the keys, not actually pressing them hard enough to make sounds as I stared toward the door that sectioned off this little room from the rest of the classroom. We were all working on individual composition pieces, but I didn’t know how to
make
music, I only knew how to copy it. Eventually, I concentrated on playing through the notes and the chords that Noah had taught me. I arranged them in different ways and changed some of them, but they still weren’t original. I mashed my palm against the keys, frustrated, and the door swung open.

“It sounded great,” Danny said, leaning in the doorframe. “No need for violence.”

I gestured to the keys. “I don’t know why I’m enrolled in this class. Noah and Cabe chose it for me. It was compulsory at my old school, but I don’t really play any instruments.”

He arched a brow. “I just heard you—you were just playing it.” He stepped further into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. There were a pair of drumsticks sticking out of his front pocket and he pulled them free as he took a seat in the corner of the little practise room, tapping lightly on an empty desk.

“I can memorise stuff.” I shrugged. It was unexpected, him coming in to talk to me. “Is there… is there something you wanted?”

He chuckled. “No. Is it so strange that I’d want to talk to you?”

“You don’t usually.”

“You usually have bodyguards.”

I threaded a hand through my hair to push it out of my face. “Right, of course.”

“Don’t stress.” He flashed an easy smile, and I felt my eyes drawn to the hint of metal between his teeth.

He caught my look and I saw something flicker over his expression, something close to amusement.

“You have your tongue pierced?” I managed to ask.

Wow
, I needed practise making small-talk. I was getting too used to the constant company of the guys, it was like I’d forgotten what normal interaction entailed.

Then again… I wasn’t used to normal interaction, even before my pairs.
My closest confidant had been a stranger in a bar, my closest friend at school the boy who shared his lunch with me but never really spoke to me.

“Why don’t you come over here and see for yourself?”

I jumped up from the bench, accidently knocking my elbow into the piano. My knee-jerk reaction to run out of the room dissolved as pain shot down my arm. “Ow crap, crap,
crap
.”

I hopped around and Danny started laughing, full and loud like he had when I’d asked him what a bond really was.

“I’ve never heard you swear before, though I’m not sure that word really counts.” He stood and moved past me for the door, closing it on my stunned face.

“What the hell?” I asked the empty room.

The phone on the piano buzzed and I reached for it. There was a reply from Quillan.

I’m holding up a finger right now.

I smiled, typing out a response.

No you’re not. You can’t text with one hand.

I liked that Quillan was showing me a lighter side, he was usually some combination of mild and serious. I appreciated it, normally, since Cabe had more energy than was technically normal for any person, and Noah had so much intensity to him that he could sometimes be exhausting—not to mention Silas, who was energy twisted into violence, and intensity twisted into severity, brimming over with each step until he seemed to walk around with a perpetual timer strapped to the back of his head. Even so, it was nice when Quillan lightened our interactions.

Either way, you owe me now.

I glanced at the new message and typed out a response without really thinking. I hesitated with my thumb over the
send
button, suddenly wondering if it was the right thing to say, but I didn’t have a chance to decide before the door opened again. My nerves were so shot that I jolted the phone into my pocket like I was holding some kind of dirty secret in the palm of my hand—which probably wasn’t too far off the mark, since I was texting a teacher—and faced Poison’s inquisitive expression.

“Quit hiding.” She gave me a pointed look. “Nobody comes to school to learn anything. Come and help me play chopsticks on the xylophone.”

I laughed at her and the phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and realised that I must have bumped the send button, because there was another reply from Quillan.

You don’t mean that
.

I blinked, and glanced at the word I had typed to him.
Anything
. I had meant it in a friendly way… yet, somehow, the bond had managed to twist things into a different light. I didn’t know if he was right or not, so I didn’t reply. Would I do anything for him? Even if it wasn’t how I felt? Even if I knew, deep down, that it wasn’t how he felt either? I trailed Poison to the corner of the classroom where several students were sprawled out, lazily toying with hand instruments. I began to wonder if anybody took this class seriously, but then I remembered that the teacher was expecting a full, original composition by the end of the term.

I curled onto my knees beside Poison, and we began to tap out a song on the colourful keys.