After an hour in the car, I was getting anxious. We were somewhere outside the city limits. The buildings were crumbling while the potholes were multiplying. The security fencing was a staple apparently to the scenery. We didn't go past a single home or business that didn't look prepared for an apocalyptic panic. Street lights attempted to stay lit while others didn't bother coming to life at all.
"Finn," I whispered as we passed a liquor store with four guys huddled out front. They looked up as we neared then followed us with a watchful glare until we were out of sight again. "How much further?"
"Are you scared?" His hand squeezed mine as we turned onto a road that led to the industrial side of town. I didn't have to say anything. It was written all over my face how uncomfortable I was with the area we were traveling through. "Would help if I told you that my cousin owns a building over here, and that is where we're going."
"A building your cousin owns?"
"Do you remember Zoey? She was at my birthday a few years ago? I think her hair was purple back then. Nose ring." He kept rattling off things about this girl that I had a vague memory of meeting.
"The one who smoked a joint in your bathroom?"
"That's the one." He was grinning ear from ear. "She got some inheritance money after her grandmother passed. My uncle wanted her to invest it and put it toward a higher education. Zoey knew that it would be a waste. The type of schooling she wanted wasn't in a classroom taught by someone who had no idea what she was looking for."
"So she went and bought a rundown building in a sketchy part of town," I asked as we pulled up to one of the apocalypse fences. He nodded and rolled down his window. There was a beep and screech from the box sticking out of the ground.
"What," a voice barked through the crackling speaker.
"Hey, Zoe. Mind opening up." The gate whined and started moving. He drove the car through the opening and I stared at the side of the building.
The smooth concrete had a mural stretching ten feet high and twenty feet wide. The bright, bold colors looked freshly sprayed. As the car got closer, I was able to see that I was wrong. There were chips and patches that showed the image's age. The way that the golds, blues and purples blended and swirled hypnotized me. It was a smooth flow of one color after another that spoke volumes against the harsh industrial surroundings and blackened sky.
"Zoey knew that it was crazy to buy the space. Her parents were pissed when she told them. There was no warning. They found out at christmas when my dad asked what was doing. She just blurted it out how she was working on the huge spray paint job. Her parents freaked and thought she was going to be arrested for vandalism. The horror quadrupled when they learned it was her own building that she was tagging."
A door along the side of the building opened and a figure held it open. The bright lights behind the figure hid her features but it could only be one person. I looked to Finn who gave my hand one more squeeze before letting it go. We got out of his car and met at the front. He opened his arms and embraced the woman.
"Little Finnigan. What are you doing dragging this poor girl to the hood?" She shoved her cousin away by the shoulders and stepped around him as he caught the door. "Hey, Laine. It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you, too." I gestured to the artwork. "I love the colors."
"I wanted something that would stick out without upsetting anyone. They're so touchy in this neighborhood, but overall pretty good people."
"A heads up would have been nice, but he didn't want to ruin this big surprise."
"Big surprise," she laughed with no apology. With a look over her shoulder she scolded him. "You're a pain in the ass to more than just family, huh?"
"Mind if we go in now," Finn grumbled. "It's cold."
"You're a pansy ass. Do you know that?" She turned back to me. "Do you know that?"
"Oh, I'm fully aware." There was an approving smirk on her face as she looped her arm through mine. With a quick nod, she walked me into the building.
Since Finn had told me about Zoey and what this place meant to her. It was her escape from the mad world beyond the fenceline. It was someplace where she could be whoever she wanted. To do anything that allowed her to express what was going through her head. I had expected to find canvases littering the floor and paint stains on every surface. What I found was organized chaos.
The warehouse had been gutted of any previous life before Finn's cousin got her hands on it. The main level was broken down based on art style. Clay and sculpting materials were in one area of the space. In another space was a collection of canvases ranging in sizes with various containers of paints on a shelving unit. Each turn I made I found more materials and products that created the amazing art displayed on the walls and separating the workspaces.
"Do you guys want some coffee or anything," Zoey offered. I spun around to face her as she approached the stairs I had missed earlier.
"Coffee," Finn looked at me for an answer. I nodded and joined them.
She had converted what used to be offices into a functioning apartment of sorts. There was a bedroom and a full bathroom toward the back of the second level. What must have been the break room was now a kitchen. The rooms reminded me of the woman floating around the kitchen as she mocked her cousin. Vintage, teal appliances. Black and white checkered linoleum. Bright fuschia walls. It was the perfect fit for someone like her.
"So," Zoey chirped as she joined us in the living room. Finn was sitting beside me on the couch and she sat cross legged on the oversized chair. "Finn said that you need to let go of some bad energy and frustration."
"Bad energy? Are you going to give me some breathing techniques?"
"Not exactly," she snorted. "I was thinking more like art therapy?"
"How does art therapy work?"
"You find a medium that speaks to you and give it your all. Don't put too much thought into the outcome of what you're working on. Instead, let it do the speaking for you. Don't limit yourself to a single color or perfection. If you want to throw some paint, throw the damn paint. Think the sculpture you're working on needs an additional limb or a thicker base, pile on the clay. There is only one rule that you have to follow." I raised a brow as Finn's smile grew a little bigger. "You cannot start over or undo what you did. Other than that, enjoy wonderland, Lainy."
I looked at Finn who was slowly getting to his feet. He offered me his hand and I took it without hesitation. My eyes darted across all the possibilities spread out before us. I had always wanted to play with clay. The thought of the smooth, cool material being molded by my hands had a calming vibe. That wasn't what tonight was for though. It was to let loose and do something that would do all the screaming for me. Finn slowed as we reached the bottom of the stairs and waited for me to take the lead.
"We have free reign of this place?"
"Anything you want to use is at your disposal. She and I already worked out the details." He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back to his chest. "What will it be, Laine?"
My eyes were already fixed on a massive canvas that was as tall as me. I pointed and he was already making his way over to it. There was a huge tarp that hung down from the rafters and stretched across the floor. While Finn positioned the monstrosity, I tiptoed over to the metal shelves. There were so many tools scattered carelessly across the shelves. Brushes ranging from tiny detail makers all the way up to the biggest size hardware store had to offer. Rollers in different stages of being mutilated to recently replaced.
The smudges across the cans, containers and tubes of paint made me smile. Some matched the paint inside as well as others. My fingers danced over the different colors as I studied them. This was supposed to be therapy. That's what Zoey had called it. The point is to not think and let it all just disappear into the art. The paint was supposed to do all the work as I stroked, smudge and splatter them across the untouched canvas.
I hauled two paint cans onto the tarp near the base of the canvas before returning for another one. I didn't check to see what colors were even in them as I grabbed them. That was the point after. I came back on my third trip with an armful of brushes and a matted roller.
"What are we creating?"
"Who said you get to help," I teased, crouching down beside him to help open the cans.
"I did not flash your brother my nipple to sit on the side lines." He threw out his arms to the side, a dramatic tantrum starting. The smile stretching across his face made me smile in return. "What if we swap that gigantic thing in for two smaller ones. We can put them side by side and do our own thing together."
"You're making this sound like a date."
"If it was a date it would technically be our first, you know." He was already swapping them out. He propped them up with an inch between. Just enough to keep them apart, but close enough that whatever we did to our own would affect the other.
"We've had dates." I dipped the three inch wide brush into the turquoise paint.
"Name one." He stepped in place beside me. He bent down to grab a brush and dip it into the canary paint. Releasing like a pitcher throwing a ball, the yellow paint hit canvas with a splat. The beautiful, bright color glistened as gravity pulled it. He gave me a cocky, half grin when he turned back to find me struggling to find what he wanted.
"We have movie dates all the time."
"We've never gone out though. We got to parties and practices. Movies are great, but real dates," he gestured to our surroundings and I bit back the smile wanting to join the blush, "They consist of going out, just the two of us. Doing crazy things like this. Painting or bowling. Those are dates."
"Then what took you so long to ask me out?" I pointed a finger accusingly at him. Snatching my hand in his free one, he yanked me toward him. The sound of fresh paint hitting his shirt. We both looked down then backed up. His eyes were wide as I failed to muffle a laugh.
"Was that intentional?"
"What are you talking about? You're the one that made me stum-" the word was cut off as I gasped. A bright, yellow streak of paint was plastered across my chest. "Finn."
"It looks good on you."
I raised my brush, intending to turn him into Braveheart. He caught my hand once again. This time when he pulled me toward him, his lips landed on mine before either of us could make any more of a mess. The brushes fell from our hands at the same time. One of his hands cupped the back of my head as the other found its way to the small of my back. Fingers curled around the belt loops, holding him from running away.