“I was telling Scarlet about the nightmares.”
There's a rumble in his chest like an idling Mustang as he nods his head but grumbles his disapproval. His face screws up like he wished I didn't know that. He continues to clean the brushes with more vigour than they need, his hands dark from years of smoking rollies and putting his hands into all sorts of chemicals and paints.
No one says anything.
“Seems like some pretty intense nightmares.” I try to break the silence. Could've chosen something better to say.
“If I don’t draw them…” He pauses. Glances at the walls as he breathes slowly out. When he speaks again his voice softens, yet still sounds like gravel from smoking too much of the good and not-so-good stuff. “They'll take over my mind.”
He looks at me with shame in his eyes, a brow furrowed and waiting to see if I will judge him for it.
I joke instead.
“So you let them take over the house then?”
“Who doesn’t love to draw on walls?” He spreads his hands out in front of him. Even behind the crows feet and sad eyes there’s a hint of cheekiness that lights up his face.
“Can’t take the child out of the old man.” Liv laughs at herself, drumming her fingers on the armrests and pressing herself into the back of the chair.
“Ease up on the ‘old’, woman.” He rubs the back of his hand across the stubble under his chin with a sound like sandpaper on wood.
