Painting

The two brothers' faces assumed two opposite faces, Cole's face was relaxed, even too much relaxed, it was happy and threatened to explode from joy at any moment.

On other side of the table a puzzled scared, rancorous face enlightened Brendon's face. What if she remembered Cole? It would be the end of him and his sacrifices.

All the years he spend adding brick after brick to their relationship would go to waste wiped out by an insignificant memory.

That reasoning was what drove Brendon's face even angrier just at the thought until he asked.

"What do you remember Claire?"

Cole and Brendon's gazes met for a fraction of seconds, two rivals in the same room fighting for a woman's heart and bringing on the table different strategies and purposes.

Who would win the battle? Will there even be winners at the end or just a field of heartbreak and tears?

"I used to like painting," Claire said in a murmur.

Brendon sighed in relief while Cole, once again, felt his heart stabbed by thousands of needles.

"I would like to paint again." She nodded in excitement. "I had some flashbacks of my fingers brushing the paper and painting. I can't remember what I used to paint but I can remember how it made me feel."

"I doubt you shall paint again." Brendon intervened right away.

Claire frowned, taken aback by such a sudden comment.

She tilted her head to the side, still in shock at what she heard.

"Excuse me?" Claire asked flustered and cleared her voice.

"You heard me. I don't want to see you flustered and miserable after painting and discovering you didn't remember anything. There is no way you will do it."

Cole was also surprised but not as much as Claire was, he was used to that behavior.

"I didn't know that boyfriends had something to do with his girlfriends' decisions." He intervened.

"I do since I had been there for her during her crisis and I know how sad and bad she felt afterward. Mind your business, please."

Cole had to bite his tongue not to tell him that this was his business more than his. But he wasn't worth ruining his plans for.

"Brendon what's going on with you today!? I will paint, I don't care if I won't remember what I painted three years ago. I just care that I feel the same feelings of happiness and light mind."

She stood up, with an unusual determination and an odd bust of confidence she turned her back to her boyfriend and walked to the corridor.

Cole soon reached her, he smiled when he saw her confused trying to figure out what was the right room.

"Down the corridor, on the left." He whispered next to her ear.

"Thank you." She whispered back offering him a shy smile.

She clenched her fists and reached the bottom of the corridor, walking to the left room.

Meantime, Cole had returned to the dining room to finish his lunch where his boyfriend was waiting for him like a predator patiently waiting for its prey.

"I'd like you to stay out of this. I know how to handle this situation, I don't need your help." His voice was reserved uncared to tone his voice calmer. All his resentment was revealed.

"You can handle this situation on your own by minding your tone and not being a dick next time."

He air-quoted the word handle, before standing up and taking his dish before his brother was even finishing eating.

"Brother, you always had a habit of intruding in other people's business or relationships in general. Maybe is it the fact that you're adopted, giving you this trauma?"

"Maybe yes. At least I admit it, I am not inwardly eaten up alive just because I cannot admit to myself that I'm unhappy with my own life." He answered with the same tone, switching the game to his favor.

After that heated conversation, silence fell in and they ignored each other as if they were the only ones in the room. The silence was probably the most dangerous, sharp weapon for family arguments.

In the silence, the noise of a door opening echoed from the other side of the room.

It was Claire who shyly opened the door and walked in, her eyes darted from the brushes to the colors and lastly to the canvas.

She felt it, something inside her, the same feeling of pleasant disorder and unknown that she felt when she met Cole for the first time.

What was that?

She didn't know what that sensation meant, wheater it was a wake-up call or just a mind trick.

She just knew that she liked whatever she felt and that she couldn't wait to finally handle the brush and paint.

She took the brush, that rough stick gave her shivers, she dipped it in the blue color and then slowly and delicately drew the paper.

She didn't know how to use that, nor how and what to paint. However, she trusted the feelings that clicked in her stomach.

She smiled unconsciously, once again, her body reacted for her and before she knew it, her hand began moving deliberately fast.

Her heart skipped a beat each time the brush she held touched the paper.

The smile grew bigger and bigger until, after more than one hour of painting, the paper come back to life.

She drew a field of tulips and sunflowers next to a lake hit by the sun standing on the corner of the paper.

She wasn't still able to trace back to her memories of what she painted yet, but that landscape was breathtakingly beautiful.

So beautiful that she freeze staring at it.