This Raging Light by Laure Estelle

Author:Laure, Estelle [Laure, Estelle]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780544636484
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2015-12-21T08:00:00+00:00

Day 61 cont’d

So after Digby is gone, I take the hottest shower in the universe while Wrenny sleeps in Mom’s room, which means I can take my time, languish, feel the water in beadlets, think about that kiss, those kisses, brand every second into my consciousness. Remember what I said about forgetting things? That’s real. You have to focus to keep things near.

Then I get into one of Dad’s old T-shirts. It says WHY ARE YOU WEARING THAT STUPID MAN SUIT? That’s a line from Donnie Darko, Dad’s favorite movie.

Digby’s hands were so soft, but something about the pressure of his fingers on my back sent me flying. I’m thinking how lips so close but barely touching made me feel romance-novel things. My thighs they quivered, my breath it came quick, a moan escaped. Like that. I crawled, for chrissakes, crawled onto his lap like a wanton creature.

I also didn’t hurt. For a few minutes I was exactly where I was, and truth? I would not have taken a million billion dollars to get off that lap right then. But now the pain is worse than it was before. So much worse.

I want, I want, I want.

Digby all over me.

I wish I could talk to Eden.

I can’t stay still, have to move. I am up and running for the yellow box, for the warped but clean canvas I found. I pull it open and get the brushes out, the paints. This color, that color, I am in a frenzy. I cut the paint with thinner and I go to town on this canvas. The paint is a living thing. Orange, red, yellow, and then blue and purple and green all up against each other. I don’t have a picture in my head. I only have a feeling about what it could be.

When I’m done, it’s a tornado of color. I am absolutely one hundred percent certain that it sucks by any real artistic standard.

But I know that the red, the orange, the yellow? That’s me, burning. The blue, the green, the purple? That’s Digby.

We are together in that painting, suspended.

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