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In His Head
Setting: Kyle's room
Characters: Kyle
In his head, he knew it wasn't healthy. In his head, he knew that he needed to stop this. That he needed to put down the paint brush, step away from the canvas, and enter the real world. And for more than just a dinner where he put on a mask and pretended to be just fine. He had been doing so well, but the last few days had launched one setback after another at him and he was dealing with it in one of the only ways he knew how.
Kyle had been painting all night. He had had dinner with Wren yesterday and he knew he should have said something to her. She was one of his best friends, but he hadn't wanted to break on her. So he had kept to himself everything that was bothering him. The fact that Violet's death was still haunting him. The fact that Meg had voluntarily left, and he was fighting not too take that personally (he knew it had had absolutely nothing to do with him, but in the midst of everything, the loss felt very personal). The fact that Adam didn't even want to speak to him and he had no idea what to do there. How to fix things with his best friend that he couldn't help but think could only be fixed if he stopped fighting and agreed to more. He hadn't shared any of that with Wren. Instead he had played the calm, happy, stable persona. The face he had developed in New York society. He had sat there and been charming and chatty and carefully steered her away from any subjects that might suggest he was anything but. He had told her that he and Adam had talked, both that morning and over PMs. He had told her he hoped the other man would be okay in the other block, and expressed concern over the situation. And then he had diverted the subject to something else.
When dinner was over, he had said his goodbyes, returned to his room, locked the door and started to paint. He had poured all his emotions into the canvas. He had been up until the early hours, when he had become too tired to keep his eyes open. Then he had fallen asleep on top of the covers, caught a few hours, and then started work again.
He had to stop, he knew that. And he would. Eventually. He would have to eat. Eventually. But not yet. Not now.
Mixing up another colour, Kyle picked up a fine brush. Now it was time to start on the detail.
Characters: Kyle
In his head, he knew it wasn't healthy. In his head, he knew that he needed to stop this. That he needed to put down the paint brush, step away from the canvas, and enter the real world. And for more than just a dinner where he put on a mask and pretended to be just fine. He had been doing so well, but the last few days had launched one setback after another at him and he was dealing with it in one of the only ways he knew how.
Kyle had been painting all night. He had had dinner with Wren yesterday and he knew he should have said something to her. She was one of his best friends, but he hadn't wanted to break on her. So he had kept to himself everything that was bothering him. The fact that Violet's death was still haunting him. The fact that Meg had voluntarily left, and he was fighting not too take that personally (he knew it had had absolutely nothing to do with him, but in the midst of everything, the loss felt very personal). The fact that Adam didn't even want to speak to him and he had no idea what to do there. How to fix things with his best friend that he couldn't help but think could only be fixed if he stopped fighting and agreed to more. He hadn't shared any of that with Wren. Instead he had played the calm, happy, stable persona. The face he had developed in New York society. He had sat there and been charming and chatty and carefully steered her away from any subjects that might suggest he was anything but. He had told her that he and Adam had talked, both that morning and over PMs. He had told her he hoped the other man would be okay in the other block, and expressed concern over the situation. And then he had diverted the subject to something else.
When dinner was over, he had said his goodbyes, returned to his room, locked the door and started to paint. He had poured all his emotions into the canvas. He had been up until the early hours, when he had become too tired to keep his eyes open. Then he had fallen asleep on top of the covers, caught a few hours, and then started work again.
He had to stop, he knew that. And he would. Eventually. He would have to eat. Eventually. But not yet. Not now.
Mixing up another colour, Kyle picked up a fine brush. Now it was time to start on the detail.