Some Days

“I- I.. don’t know,” he muttered. His hesitance caused me to groan and sigh in frustration. It wasn’t every day that you could stand in front of a boy in just your bra and panties, and he’d only stare back at you, perplexed.

“You’re killing me, O’Callaghan,” I said, giving him a stern look.

“This- This is a little different than making my way through a party,” he argued, crossing his arms. I gave him a disapproving look. “Nolan, this is an art, okay? You don’t rush this.”

I giggled and lightly placed my hands on my hips. I bit my lip as he wheeled the rollychair over to me. He had picked up my glasses off my dresser and put them on, the prescription no doubt hurting his eyes; he held the paintbrush in his hands, the corner of his lip snatched between his teeth.

“Come on, Picasso,” I laughed, growing impatient as he stared up at me, wearing only his boxers. “It’s cold and my mom will be home soon.”

He gave me one last glare before he rolled a little closer and cautiously placed the paintbrush against my bare stomach. He made one lousy line before his eyes looked up, meeting mine. “Nolan, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And this paint idea, well, it just proves that the prettier you are, the crazier you are.”

I smacked his arm, sending the paintbrush flying. The purple paint splattered on the white plush carpet and I felt a quick pang of guilt, until I then felt John’s arms wrap around my waist. I looked at him in time for him to tug me onto his lap and our lips met due to the force.

“I saw a video once,” I scoffed as he pushed the chair and we wheeled across my room. I reached behind him and grabbed a tube of paint. “An artist wanted to show that art comes in all shapes and forms, so he set up a room with paint and white paper and let a couple go in and.. well, express themselves.”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Sounds more like a porno to me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you in or are you out? Because I’m sure Kenny would like this idea.”

He held me closer to him and fiercely molded his lips against mine. “How many colors are we allowed to use?”

I grinned. “As many as we want. But let’s do this in the shower. You know, easier to clean up.”

I grabbed some colors – red, blue, and purple – and raced him into my bathroom. He had grabbed green, orange, pink, and yellow. I discarded my bra, tossing it into the basin of the sink. I was bending over to step out of my underwear when I felt a line of cold, slick paint dripping onto my spine. I locked the door behind us and kicked my panties off as he stepped into the shower with a grin. A puddle of pink fell at my feet but I didn’t think twice about stopping to clean it up.

I stepped into the shower, closing the curtain to hopefully keep the stray paint splatters to a minimum. I squirted blue into my palm but before I could think about where I would put it first, I felt more paint drip onto my body - yellow this time.

We were a messy, colorful explosion, kissing and laughing having sex with a whole new meaning. Our outcome wasn’t nearly as aesthetically beautiful as the ones I’d seen in the artist’s video – it was browner than anything else, once all the colors had mixed together – but it was ours, and it was a sign that we had been there, and we had fun while creating our mark. Once we had finished, I rested my paint-covered body against his, and listened as his heart raced in his chest. I dipped my finger in the glob of red paint stuck to the wall and traced the outline of a heart on his chest. He responded by gently kissing my forehead.

We stood there for a while, the drying paint pulling tightly at our skin. I could see the sky turning orange from the bathroom window and I knew it was only a matter of time before my parents came home. But for some reason, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t catch my breath and my heart still hadn’t gone back to feeling normal. My fingers and toes were tingling, but not with the threat of orgasm this time.

“John,” I murmured, and before he could respond, I felt myself giving up.

“Nolan?” He was pulled from his dazed, post-sex dreams when I didn’t respond and his arms tightened around me, holding me up by the armpits. “Nolan, try to remember what your doctor said to do when this happens. Baby, come on. You can do this.”

I shook my head weakly, my nails digging into his biceps. I bit my lip so hard that I could have sworn I was going to bite straight through it. “Ca-call my mom.”

He pushed himself away from the shower wall and helped me out of the tub. He sat me on the toilet seat, propping me against the wall, and he raced into my room to grab some clothes. My eyes started to lose focus, even as I tried to control my shaky breaths, and everything sounded distant. He came back, wearing shorts now, and quickly dressed me. He had his phone on speaker and it was dialing out, but downstairs the front door opened.

“Mrs. Greeley!” he shouted in a panic. He picked me up, cradling me in his arms, and carried me into the hallway. I could hear my mom drop her briefcase and her light feet running up the stairs, demanding to know what happened and how long I had been like this. John mumbled and I could see, with what little vision I had left, that my mother wanted nothing more than to toss John down the stairs. She wanted to explode at us for having sex at such a young age, for being stupid and reckless. But her anger subsided when I felt my face flush of all color – but not because I was embarrassed.

“Okay, Nolan, baby, stay with me. Breathe, honey. We’re going to get you to the ER okay? You’re going to be fine,” she soothed, smoothing my hair back. She ignored the fact that we both had dried paint on our bodies and ordered John to keep me conscious.

“I love you, baby, please,” he said softly, “please stay with me.”

My mom sharply turned, fire in her eyes now. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t force her to do… things!”

“M-mom,” I managed to exhale. “I have a heart condition, o-okay? It’s n-not gonna go away, even if John leaves.”

Her eyes softened, but I could tell she refused to believe what I was telling her. She didn’t want to accept that I wasn’t just extremely calm and laid back. She couldn’t accept it, because that meant that I was sick. And this kind of illness – well, it was something that she couldn’t cure.

I woke up in complete darkness. I had no idea how long I had been passed out, or where I was. Worse yet, I had no idea where Regan was or if she was okay. There was a little bit of sunlight peeking in through the shades and I slowly released myself from the fetal position I had been in.

“Nolan,” I heard from the darkness.

“Where’s Regan?” I asked.

The bed shifted and John slid in next to me. He cradled me in his arms. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

I sighed, cuddling closer to him. I buried my nose in his shirt, inhaling his familiar scents. “I have Bradycardia, John. Not some brain disorder.”

He exhaled a chuckle, his fingertips lazily dancing in my hair. “Humor me.”

“The last thing I remember..” I pursed my lips, nuzzling even closer to him. “Do you remember the first time you witnessed this happen to me? We were covered in paint and my mom had just come home from a board meeting.”

“Nolan,” he said, and I could hear the sadness in his voice.

I sighed. “I was just going to say, the last thing I remember is seeing a panic in Regan’s eyes that reminded me of my mother’s. And the concern on your face mirrored the concern you showed when you held me in your arms the first time you saw what Bradycardia can do.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Are you hungry?”

He helped me out of his bed and offered a new shirt for me to wear. Apparently, when I hit my head, I had gotten a nosebleed and the blood got all over my blouse. He mumbled about how he didn’t know if he should change shirts for me, or wait until I had woken up, so he opted to wait. Being a boy, however, he didn’t realize that I would have to throw the blouse away now that the blood had dried. But what was a blouse in comparison to this mess?

He drove us to his favorite café in town and we had coffee with toast and eggs. We were silent for a while. I watched as he worriedly scrolled through his phone.

“How did you know I didn’t have a concussion?” I questioned.

He laughed and set his phone down. He sipped from his coffee mug, eyes fixated on mine from over the rim. He set the mug down, “You’re too stubborn for that.”

I didn’t flinch. “I could have died in your bed.”

His lips twitched, itching to fall into a frown. But he resisted. “You could have died in my arms, too, Nolan. All of those times where you would –” He paused to gather himself. He was getting too emotional. “I learned, Nolan. I understand how your body works. And a stupid table is not enough to stop you from anything.”

I saw his eyes glint with an emotion he had been suppressing for years. He wanted to continue on that train of thought. He wanted to tell me that he knew, he understood, that nothing, not even love, could stop me once I had set my mind to something. And even though that kind of mentality was great, it was only great when it came in moderation. I had too much of that drive.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked gently. “With regard to your mom.”

I pushed my eggs around the plate so I could avoid eye contact. “I can’t stop thinking about.. I’m scared, John. I want to be there for her, like she was there for me, but I don’t know how. I can’t fix her.”

“She doesn’t need to be fixed,” he explained, placing his hand on top of mine. He squeezed my fingers and I lifted my eyes to meet his. “Remember when she would suddenly have things to do at the office whenever you guys would come back from seeing the doctor? And you’d call me, crying, not wanting to be alone? She needs you to be there for her, like I was for you.”

I didn’t know what to say, probably because I didn’t expect him to care so much. But who was I kidding? Of course he cared. He would always care.

I watched as his eyes changed colors with the rising sun. He remained silent, staring at me, waiting. Waiting for me to say something – anything – in response to him. But I still couldn’t think of anything.

I stood and leaned over the table, placed a hand on his cheek, and let my lips press against his. There was a split second where my brain screamed holy shit as loudly as it could, but then he kissed back. He cupped my cheeks, stood up, and closed the space between us. And in a way, it felt like he was closing the gap I had forced between us when I ran away.