A Montage of My Brain

My shoulders tense at the sound of a harsh exhale behind me. Fingers instinctively wrapping around my dagger, I fling it backwards in one clean, practiced motion. A deep thunk echos through the air in response to my movement, along with a slightly delayed, breathy laugh.

“Come on, are you even trying? That just hit a tree; you didn’t even look.”

“Why would I need to look when you’re being so insufferably loud?” I retort.

“Is it still loud if I’m always this volume?”

“Yes.”

“Dually noted, and ignored,” he sighs. The grass beneath us ruffles as he sits down beside me, hand “accidentally” grazing my leg for only a moment before it disappears, instead moving to rest behind his head. From a quick glance in his direction, I find that his eyes have drifted closed.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m taking a nap.”

“A nap?”

“That’s right. Would you like me to spell it for you?”

“Why the hell are you taking a nap?”

A debatably sarcastic breath escapes his lips as he peeks one eye open, pinning me with his signature dimpled smirk that I’ve always hated so much. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve been playing cat and mouse for…what, days? The real question is why aren’t you taking a nap?”

“Because we’ve been playing cat and mouse for days.”

“Hmm. Touché.”

He watches me for only a moment more, an inreadable expression crossing his features before his eyes drift shut again.

Silence stretches between us. A loud, unbroken moment that causes me to become all too aware of my spiraling heartbeat.

…

“Alright, spit it out,” he abruptly states.

I jump, eyes flying to meet his before I can think better of it. “What?”

“You’re tapping.”

“I’m what?” I scoff. “You’re…drunk, or something.”

“You tap your pointer finger on your forearm when you’re thinking of what to say,” he claims plainly.

I make sure to remove my hand from my arm before I speak, an unwarranted heat blossoming in my cheeks. “That’s ridiculous.”

“If you say so.”

A huff climbs from my throat as I turn my head away. At the rare, ensuing silence from the man next to me, my gaze wanders to the horizon. The Sun had began its slow descent, dappling the sky with seemingly endless splashes of orange and yellow, only interrupted by the occasional cloud.

“I’ll bet that would be fun to paint.”

“Do you ever shut up?” I shoot back immediately. His eyes had found my face again, a location that they were now refusing to leave.

“Is that an actual question?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Glad that’s settled, then.”

“Yeah, well-“ I pause. “Did you just say that it would be fun to paint?”

“That I did.”

“Which…implies that you paint?”

“I do.”

A sputter escapes my lips. “You?”

“Gods, you’re a bit slow on the uptake today, aren’t you?” he quips. “Maybe a nap would help.”

Ignoring his comment, I continue. “Aren’t you usually too busy…like, you know-“

“As much as this may shock you, I don’t find any joy in what I do.”

His voice had gone flat, a tone that I had never heard from him before. Evidently, this marked the end of what he would share with me. His composed posture had slipped, though he seemed to either not notice or not care.

Likely the former.

“C’mon,” I prod. “Penny for your thoughts.”

This time, it’s him huffing. “I’m thinking that it’s hardly fair for you to tell me that I’m loud, and then go off like this-“

“Oh, please. You gotta give me something, here.”

“It seems I’ve given you enough.”

I groan, falling theatrically onto my back beside him. His shoulders tense for a moment as my hands move to grasp each other across my stomach.

“Look, I’ll level with you.”

“Wow,” he mutters. “That…was the worst pun that I have ever heard.”

“Why, thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Trust me, it’s not.”

A simple hum echoes from my chest as I try, and fail, to think of a comeback. He seems to be doing the same, if the dead silence could be of any indication. Crickets had begun to chirrup in the background, the remaining sunlight having changed hues to cover the hillside in golden patches of light.

“I…” he whispers. “I wanted to be a painter.”

His words are so quiet that for a moment, I almost wonder if they were merely a figment of my imagination. The thought of teasing him further crosses my mind for a moment, but I shove it aside. “A painter?”

A light chuckle. “Yup. It’s…ironic, isn’t it? When I was a kid, all I really wanted was to create something beautiful with my own two hands. Something that would make the viewer’s eyes widen, that they could stare at for hours. Now, I…” His words grow even quieter. “I do so with blood.”

As he spoke, his eyes searched the leaves above, that of which cast shimmering spots of sunlight over his features. It provided him with an almost heavenly glow; one that I was sure was reflected on myself as well.

“Then…why not?”

“I…what?”

“Why not be a painter?”

His eyes widened, as though he had never before considered this. “W-because it’s too late. I…have my path, and it would be pathetic to stray from it.”

“Really? Because I think that it’s more pathetic to stay on it.”

Poorly repressed fascination took over his features as he searched mine. “Well, I…” He abruptly scoffs. “I didn’t sign up for a shitty therapy session. I’m taking a nap.”

I sigh. “Sure.” I sit up, making sure that my movements are as harsh and jerky as possible.

It’s only a matter of seconds before he’s looking at me again. Despite my head being angled in the opposite direction, I can feel his gaze digging into the back of my skull.

Following a brief shuffling noise, I watch from the corner of my eye as he pulls himself up as well. A sudden finger taps on my shoulder.

My head swivels back to him. Clutched in his calloused fingers is a single, blue daisy. The petals are in surprisingly good shape, dappled in the same spots of dying sunlight that we are. It curves up, as though it’s reaching for something that we can’t quite see.

“For you, my lady.” His voice is as uncharacteristically soft as his hands as he takes mine in his, passing the flower off to me. His touch lingers for just a moment too long before his warmth suddenly disappears.

A light, disbelieving laugh crawls from my unwilling lips. “You know we’re supposed to be trying to kill each other, right?”

His head nods up and down, scarcely noticable. “Just a little bit longer.”