Tied

Dinner was an awkward, silent affair. Mom and Dad halfheartedly tried to make conversation, but we managed to avoid anything more than small talk. I was extraordinarily relieved. After the episode back at the psychic shop, my tongue felt unfamiliar, too heavy in my mouth. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing control over my own body again. It had felt so invasive, like I walked up to Artemisia Gentileschi naked and bearing my soul. Just thinking about it freaked me out.

I practically ran to my room after dinner, desperate to hide away from everything. My easel sat in the corner, mocking me with its blank white canvas. I shuddered away from it, hopping onto the bed instead. I tried to concentrate on homework for close to an hour, forcing myself through every single problem. The words and numbers began to run together. Such simple black splotches, but they could convey so much. Just like paintings.

My fingers began itching for the familiar, comforting feel of a paintbrush. I hadn’t painted since school started, but my muse had seemingly returned to haunt me tonight. I shoved the feeling away and got out my laptop to search for something to cover the wretched words on my arm. A page was still up from my previous research. I couldn’t help but trace the stars on the page with my eyes, playing some weird form of connect the dot. There were so many patterns hidden inside, it made my head hurt. Clicking the red X to close out the website never felt better.

I ordered a long silver bracelet, paid the extra amount for one-day shipping, and tried to relax. My eyes were invariably drawn to the easel. There was a set of paint just to the side, calling me. With a sigh of defeat, I let my hand close around the nearest paintbrush.

It was like I was possessed. Once I started, I could not for the life of me stop. Every stroke was automatic, planned, like I was one of those old robots programmed to draw a rocket in the moon every time someone pressed the right button. The colors swirled across the white with easy precision. Before long, an image began to form. It was a group of people. Us, all of us, Raven and Rhea and Zhenia and I. We looked absolutely terrified. And below Zhenia, flowing out across his body, was a dark mass- a shadow- and a hand, reaching out-

The paintbrush fell from my hand. With a half-scream, half-roar, I tore the painting off and threw it out the window. Every nerve in my body was thrumming, my lungs expanding too quickly. I fell back onto the bed and let the panic come.