Nine Lives

Aidan and I cross paths in the hallway. He's buried inside his shell as much as I am. We trade nods. We both know something is up. We've spent enough time together that we can read each other pretty well. We're like siblings that way. I know he thinks the same thing I do. That maybe Logan is still out there, still alive. He heard the cry too. We'll talk later tonight, outside and under the cover of darkness.

I move on, trudging up the stairs. It's almost as if I'm not really there. I've become a robot, nothing more than a stiff being without thought. My brain is like a puddle. I can't think, or speak or act. I just do.

Rachel greets me at my bedroom door, two mugs in hand. She passes one to me, the sweet scent of apple cider rising to greet my nose. Sometimes, she knows me well, other times, it's like she's indifferent, misunderstanding. What she doesn't know is that it smells most strongly of cinnamon, and right now, it's making me miss my family. The colour of the drink doesn't help either. All I can see is blood, the blood of my friends and family and the other projects. My hands start to shake. I need to stop thinking about this. I have to stop and listen to Rachel. Now.

"You alright?" She asks. I probably look like a train wreck right now, wet hair, shaking hands, crumpled wrinkled clothes, and glasses off.

"Yeah, just thinking about stuff" I lie through my teeth, jaw clenched. I honestly don't want to talk about it right now.

She nods quickly. Rachel knows me well enough to be able to tell when I'm lying. "I'm gonna go talk to Hannah and Braedon." She waves as she goes off to talk to her sibling. We all miss our family, but we're glad for things like text and facetime.

Once inside my room, I grab a heavy metal briefcase from my closet, and lug it down to the main level, before dragging it into Steve's art room.

I flick on the light, pulling a stool and the briefcase over to the corner, where an easel and canvas are set up. We've dubbed it "Pooh Corner", after one of our new favourite song. I opened the briefcase, pulling out a battered sketchbook and pencil.

"Hey, Friday? You mind playing my art playlist?"

"Oh course." The AI replied as the soft classical music of the Piano Guys filtered in.

I sat there for the better part of an hour, simply sketching and re sketching the supposedly simple drawing. Steve crept in behind me, causing me to jump. He smiled, then went over to his current painting.

Now, there are a few rules when it comes to our art room. You don't look at the other person's work unless they ask you, or tell you that you can.

I sketched the final image onto the canvas, erasing bits that I didn't like. Maybe once the paint was on it would feel right. I grabbed my container of pre-made skin tone, adding just a hint of brown to make it darker. As I started painting, I sighed. It just didn't feel right.

"Steve. Help." I asked, placing the brush into the cup of water.

Steve came over, looking adorably dorky with a pencil tucked behind his ear.

"It doesn't feel right. He's gone. I shouldn't be doing this." I mutter, tapping my foot with annoyance.

"May I?" Rogers asked, dipping a brush in black paint. I nodded. "Do ahead. I'm gonna throw it out anyways."

He smirked, gently pushing me off my stool. "Go take a look at mine." He said with a smirk.

I walked over and stared at the black canvas. "It looks great." I said, rolling my eyes.

"Mhmh." He replied distractedly. "I call it snow. Or Winter in Canada." He deadpanned.

I laughed, walking back over to my corner. Steve moved aside. It was the same picture, except all black, like a shadow. It felt strangely…..alive.

"Wow. I…wow." I sputtered, as I stared at our combined effort. The man in the painting seemed to smirk back at me. It was almost as if I could see his reaction. He would like it. It had an air of mystery to it.

"Would he approve?"

I grabbed a thin paintbrush, dipping it in red. I placed three red slashes in the corner. I smiled.

"I think he would."

I was Sure.