"He definitely wants to sleep with you," he taunts.
"Excuse me?" I look at him weirdly, "What are you even talking about."
"The way he touched your arm. That's what people do when they wanna fuck someone." He looks down at his paper and continues to...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
"Do you want any help?" Elijah inquires as I open the can of 'linen white' on the floor.
"No thanks. You pay, I paint," I quip as I finally get the lid open. "Do you mind opening a window though? I forgot how strong this paint is." I wave a hand in front of my face, somehow thinking it'll help the smell.
He walks over and opens the window before leaning against it, watching me as I prop myself up on my knees and about to pour the paint into the tray.
Painting, it's such a comfort for me. I love it. Though sadly, just like writers, I'm having painter's block, if that's even a thing. I spent all last night trying to come up with ideas, but I failed. I know what I want to do but for some reason, I don't know.
Before I pour the paint, I face Elijah.
"Wait, actually- do you know the last time the walls and trims were wiped down?"
He pushes himself off the wall, "Uh, no. I don't think so."
"Crap," I mumble under my breath.
"Oh, sorry. Was I supposed to do that?" Elijah's tone is genuinely apologetic as he walks closer to me.
I reach out to touch his leg, right below his knee. "No, it's alright." I smile as I look up at him.
He looks down at my hand and tilts his head a bit in confusion. I copy his movements and realize what I did— what I'm doing. Shit, I'm still touching him. I'm on my knees, touching him. Stop touching him!
I pull my hand away and stand up, clearing my throat. "Uh, I mean- yes. You're supposed to wipe down the walls before. By you I mean me. I'll clean them. It's easy, I just need water, soap, a washcloth, and a sponge."
Elijah opens his mouth to speak but I unintentionally interrupt him. "Not like dish soap though, I hate the way it feels. I think I have like a sensory issue. That's why I make Sage do the dishes and then I unload. It's weird, I'm weird. Anyways—"
"Lavender, it's okay." He touches my arm. "I'll go get what you need." Elijah gives me a quick... smile I want to say, then leaves the room.
I forgot I talk when I'm nervous. Why do I do that? He doesn't care about what type of soap I can use.
I awkwardly stand in the middle of the room, rocking back and forth on my heels. Moments pass of me just staring into space until Elijah comes back with a bucket of soap water, sponges, and washcloths.
"And, don't worry. I used a little hand soap." He walks next to me and nudges me on the shoulder with his own. "Lavender scented."
Our shoulders are still touching. "Thanks." I smile as my eyes study his face.
"I'll help clean, it'll go by quicker," he offers.
"Are you sure? It's not that much work."
He stares at me and pokes his cheek with his tongue. "You really don't like asking for help, do you?"
