When the Paint goes Dry

Chapter Four

Two thirty and my stomach were rumbling. I wasn't waiting for a knock on the door. Of course not, and I didn't even realise the knock was one hour late. I was busy, yes, I was painting.

Okay fine attention from a guy, let alone a guy who was handsome and didn't seem like a creep, so far was nice. But then I reminded myself why I didn't date. I didn't do relationships, nine out of ten, no ten out of ten that it would end up like Tom and I and one of us wont get over it.

And I was pretty sure maybe next time it would be me that would be heart broken, even if I have so far left behind eight broken hearts and I wasn't effected, but why would I jinx myself like that?

I stared at the canvas; somehow there was no life in this picture. It looked good, but it wasn't good. There was something wrong with this. I frowned; I didn't want to draw butterflies and forests for her third child. I wanted to draw something else. I took the canvas off and placed it near the window that was shut to dry and placed a new canvas in its old spot.

What should I paint? Or should I eat?

Before I could even decide there were three strong knocks on the door and I frowned. Was it him? No why did I even want him to come? Sure his grey eyes were pretty attractive; I have never even thought grey eyes could look so good. Oh god Ava.

And sure enough when I opened the door, there he was leaning half on the ledge with his eyebrows raised when he met my eyes.

"You live here," he said, was that disgust on his face.

I rolled my eyes, "Is that a problem?" I asked. He didn't reply, so yes, and walked straight in pushing me out of the way with his shoulder. Excuse me?

Should I call the police, what if he was some creepy serial killer.

"You coming in?" he asked and I looked up. It was my home, what the heck did he think?

I slammed the door and glared at him, "How did you get my address?"

"You weren't that hard to find," he said looking around before settling on a couch looking so out of place. He looked huge sitting in the small seat taking up half the space in my already small apartment.

I didn't realise how intimidating he looked till he crossed his hands over his chest and leaned back narrowing his eyes as he took in the place.

"Not even my mother knows where I live," I said annoyed, yep he was definitely someone my mother would have set up with.

He was wearing half a suit, a crisp white shirt tucked into suit pants and a blazer. He was something she would have picked out.

"I know, the surprise when I go to find a eighty year old man living in this said apartment," he said. I smirked, so he met Carl, he was a nice guy, weird, and had more relationships then I would even have. For an old an he was active, and I shuddered thinking about that. That was just weird.

I also tried pushing out the condom trip he made me do since he was too embarassed to go buy some himself, "You are young, people won't stare at you like they would stare at me,"

So was this Robert's son? I stared at him. He looked different, really different, but then I guess nearly a decade would do that to you. But I swear his eyes were a pale green, not this dark.

He cleared his throat and I realised I was staring at him, well whatever I will stare at him since he was in the house.

"So my mother and Robert hooked this up?" I asked irritated. He knotted his eyebrows, "What? Robert's son-,"

"I know who you are," I snapped a bit angrily. Was she really that desperate to get me married and breed children? Maybe I should go adopt a child.