War

Story 19 – Dana’s room, still in ruins, has been a soul-sucking void. When she suggests Rowan repaint it with her, hilarity ensues

“Lot of paint there, fuckwad.”

26 cans to her three? Of course, it was. Not to mention the bowls, the buckets full of confetti, feathers, and other decorative touches. There was even a pack of plastic dinosaurs picked up at the till.

Dana narrowed her eyes. “Surprised your scrawny arms could carry any of those.”

“Three cans too much for yours?”

“You’re in over your head rookie!”

“Over yours maybe, pipsqueak!” Rowan spat, straightening up to accentuate his nine-inch higher height.

Dana eyed his collection. “Forget to buy brushes?”

“Don’t need them,” Rowan said smugly.

“Awww. Never graduated from fingerpainting, huh?”

“RETIRE ALREADY HAG!!!”

It had been weeks since Dana destroyed the room they now faced each other in. Consumed with self-hatred, heartache, and anguish, she’d smashed every object in it with tearful screams and violent swings of her sledgehammer.  Everything had been burned out back in a gasoline fireball. Even the ceiling he had so admired.  

Though Rowan’s arrival brought joy back to the room, darkness soon returned. It was unnerving. It soon became, once more, a soul-sucking void that peddled despair. Sit in it long enough, it would eat at your mind.

“If you stand there much longer, it’s going to get you, Dana.” Rowan said, approaching. She’d been staring into the abyss from the doorway. 

His concern was genuine. Although they were both on a high that seemed endless, Rowan knew deep inside, depression was never far below the surface. Best not to seek it so openly. 

Dana turned to him with resolve in her eyes, “We should paint it together.”

“Are you sure? This is your space.”

She shook her head slowly, tapping her temple. “You live here too now.” 

A joint effort was exactly what the room needed. An infusion of new life. It was Rowan’s idea that they each take one half and have a little competition. They could use whatever they wanted, however they liked. Whichever side was deemed ‘best’ would win, whatever ‘best’ might entail that is. Neither of them really knew but one thing was for sure, the competition would be hotly contested. 

Both had their eyes on the tantalizing prize; 5 minutes of smug, merciless mockery that the other had to endure. A dance to accompany it, highly expected.  

As the clock in the kitchen struck 4, the psych-out began. Cross-legged, confident and Rowan’s case, cocky, the two faced each other. A selection of materials were spread out behind them, lids removed. 

This would begin with a war of words. A last-minute decision, for no better reason than just to be silly. 

It didn’t take long before one thing became clear. Dana was winning. Rowan’s barbs had been weak. His attempt to keep a straight face, failing. 

She was certain that any minute now he’d break out in laughter, but not quite yet. He dug deep, intensifying his threatening stare.

“Such a frail little thing you are. Be careful you don’t break a nail.”

“Careful that paint doesn’t get on your pretty, pretty face,” she sniped, punctuating her words with wildly panicking hands.

Eyes fiercely locked on hers, he reached for a bag behind him, pulling out a large tub.  With a wicked grin, he slammed it down in front of him with a resounding thwack. “Wet wipes.”

Unimpressed, she raised a single eyebrow. “Coward.”

He then grabbed the tub anew and flung it hard out the door.

“I’m not afraid to get dirty,” he grinned, leaning forward. “Are you?”

“PBBBT!!!!”

“ARE YOU GOING TO START THIS OR NOT?” 

“FINE!!“ she belted back, smirking. “May the best woman win.”

“I intend to,” he responded, haughtily tossing his hair. 

Noting a tell-tale twitch of the lip, Dana dove in for the kill, knowing he was about to crack. 

“QUEER ASS FREAK!!”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer, bursting out into laughter. Where the hell had she learned Stefan’s favorite insult? She hadn’t even met him yet!

Desperate to claw back some control, he inhaled sharply and bellowed “START THIS ALREADY!” 

“THREE!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. He did the same. 

“TWO! “ 

He flexed a few fingers.

“ONE!!!!”

They sprang into action.

She grabbed a can of white paint, intending to coat the wall behind her. He did the same, but with a can of red. Rowan grabbed the tin with both hands, swishing it into the air, letting it fly in a sweeping arc, its contents aimed in her direction.

It caught the wall to her left, most of her back and neck, and a fair bit of wall on the right with a sickening slap. Dana froze in place, mouth hanging open in shock. Taking advantage of her sudden paralysis, he reached for another can, hoping to get her again. 

Snapped out of disbelief, she transformed into a creature of pure mock rage and impossible speed, flying at him with her can held close.

Fuck she’s quick!

Springing high into the air so freakishly fast that he was momentarily stunned, his swinging arm paused mid-action. Screaming like a deranged banshee, she lifted the can up high, aiming to dump its contents onto his carefully spiked hair. She wasn’t the only nimble one here though. He side-stepped away just in time, the thick ooze landing on his shoulder instead.

Not to be so easily defeated, he caught her on the descent, enlisting his free hand to grab one of hers before dunking it straight into the baby blue depths of his choice of weaponry. Let’s see her try and grab anything now!

That backfired completely as she scooped what she could, slapped him with it hard in the face, spreading it around, before disappearing backwards, cackling. Disoriented and vulnerable, he quickly rubbed his eyes clear, expecting another attack. He braced himself for the hit, but she was gone. 

Confused, he picked another can, discarding the now half-empty blue one. His eyes darting around, trying to fathom where she’d gone. The room might have been large, but having been stripped bare there wasn’t a single piece of shelter, or even a dark enough shadow to hide in.

A stifled giggle gave her away. He spun around one more time to find the sneaky little thing hiding behind him. She reached out to disarm him, only this time he was quicker. He dropped whatever he was holding and started tickling her sides, rendering her disabled, at least for now. Only when she was thoroughly beaten, writhing on the floor, did he pick the two cans back up, upending them all over her, laughing in triumph.

What followed was all-out war. Nothing seemed out of bounds, so long as it ended in a hit. The more colors each sported, the more fictitious points the other had gained. It was clear soon enough, again, that Dana was winning. Between her much smaller size and uncanny speed he was finding it hard to land a hit.

He soon gave up throwing paint at her in favor of grabbing her around the waist, lifting her up to the wet wall and smearing her around like a living paintbrush.

Squealing with pretend rage, Dana grabbed one of his arms and sank her teeth into it. Rowan snapped back in shock dropping her in the process. 

“Bitch!” he cried, having difficulty getting words out between laughter.

“Catch up asshole!” she screamed, tearing past him to find whatever remained of the hoard, getting close, but not close enough. Rowan attacked from behind, tackling her to the wet, soppy floor, nicely within arm’s reach of a bucket of feathers. 

Spotting intent, he yelled “Oh no you don’t!” sweeping up a great glob of paint in either hand, shoving the lot up her shirt. 

Eyes wide, she let out an ear-piercing shriek at the cold, unexpected intrusion. Twisting and turning until she slipped his grasp. Grabbing two fistfuls of feathers, she jumped back to her feet, glaring at him intently. Rowan slowly sat back on his folded legs, smiling sweetly. With fluttering eyelashes, and a silky voice he purred “You wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?”

Her smiled faded, flushed with guilt. She’d been about to trip him back there. “This is getting out of control,” she murmured, averting her eyes.

Suddenly she clenched the feathers tighter, a terrifying toothy smile appearing on her lips. Her laughs grew deep and diabolical.

“AND I FUCKING LOVE IT!!!!” she screamed before enthusiastically beginning her assault.

The floor became too much of a hazard, each finding themselves in heaps of laughter on the ground, more often than on their feet. They made a few last determined, albeit hysterical attempts to coat each other with sequins, glitter, and anything else they could grab.

Eventually calm returned to the room, but not for long. 

Their battle soon became something else. Hands that once flung, thrust, smeared, and slapped now grasped at one another, seeking each and every part yet to be spoiled by paint. 

Dana’s sodden shirt was first to go, flung into the corner by Rowan’s eager hand. He slid a hand from her hip, drawing the slick viscous liquid with him. His fingers sought every tickly spot on her side, painting swirls around them, then up a touch, smoothing them over her bared breasts. Each digit led brush stroke was preceded by lips to further moisten the empty canvas.

Any remaining clothes were promptly discarded, as were all thoughts of keeping certain parts of themselves pristine.

Naked, bearing every color of the rainbow, they became one. They painted each other with the force of their sliding bodies, leaving not a patch of unblemished skin, becoming an abstract masterpiece created through love. She was the other half to his whole, and him to hers, expressed as an ever-changing landscape of color.

Intertwined in the ooze, the war was over.

Their choice of bed may have been a foolish one, but they’d suffer later. For now, well, what can you do? People do stupid things when they’re in love.

It looked nothing like she had envisioned. There was paint almost everywhere, slowly spreading to any corner or crack it hadn’t managed to fill yet. Great blotches of color were scattered around the wall in all shapes and sizes. Despite their efforts, great gaping voids still remained. Blank slates to be filled with thoughts, emotions, and memorable moments yet to come. 

A massive smile stretched across Dana’s newly cleaned face. “I love it!” she said with reverence for the man who’d conceived it. She then walked into the room, her feet making a sucking sound as they navigated the muck. 

Rowan tiptoed his way to her side, trying to avoid the worst of the pools.  Soon giving up, he pressed his feet down into the congealing goo, cringing as it oozed up and around him, resigning his feet to their wet sticky fate.

Looking around with awe, Dana proclaimed  “This is the greatest thing anyone’s ever done for me. This whole room is full of memories now.”

About to respond, Rowan erupted in a throaty hack. 

“I’ll be coughing up feathers for a week,” he muttered, spitting one out to prove his point.

Dana gave him a comical smirk. “Next time don’t eat them!”

“You’re the one who stuffed them in there!” Rowan laughed, giving her a light-hearted shove. “And for that matter, all I can taste is paint! Where’d that come from, I wonder!?”

Dana responded by sticking out her tongue, which he promptly tried to grab but she danced away, looking up above her. “How the hell did we get so much glitter up there?”

“‘I was just about to dump it over your head,” he sang mockingly, “but you tripped me!” When she responded with another raspberry, he lunged at her so fast, he forgot about the slick mess at his feet. He fell right on his rump, eliciting a fresh burst of laughter from his just a little bit cruel girlfriend.

“NEW MEMORY!” she cried, pointing at the void he’d made.

He stood up with dignity, quietly brushing himself off, as if it would make any difference. As she walked over to a spot on the wall, smiling, he went to join her. The paint had mostly rubbed clean leaving a few distinctive patterns, including a handprint.

“That’s where you kissed me,” she smiled. “You were trying to distract me.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

“And you did it again there…. and over there …. and just over here where it looks like about 6 people were here!” She snorted at her own comment, resorting back to the giggles. That had been one hell of a slippery mess. 

As if reading each other’s mind, their eyes then moved together to the biggest disturbance of them all. The one at their feet. 

Dana gave him a sidelong look, snickering. “That wasn’t the best idea, was it?”

He responded with a comical cringe. “I really hope that paint is non-toxic!”

“Think the clothes will come clean?”

“Clean, maybe, but you tore my shirt to shreds! AGAIN!” Rowan complained.

“Oh yeaahhh…” she giggled. 

Dana quickly scanned the room, settling on a mass of assorted colors firmly affixed to a section of wall. “No, no wait. Here it is!” she declared, plucking it from its new home. It had a few more holes than it was supposed to, and a rip up the middle, but it was more or less in one piece. One crumpled, soaking, sticky piece. 

“See!” she said in triumph, lifting it high. “Still good!”

Attempting to look stern, he shook a disapproving finger in her direction. “You’re going to have to buy me some new clothes. And a dresser to put them in!”         

Silence fell between them as the implications of his statement sunk in. “You. You want to move in?” Dana asked, startling herself in the process. The words had tumbled out of her mouth without thinking.   

“I, uh,” he stammered, momentarily stunned. 

Her face turned beet red. “Sorry, I got ahead of myself,” she replied in a timid voice, staring nervously at the ground. 

The idea was pure insanity. It had only been 3 weeks.

“Maybe… not all at once,” he whispered, surprising himself. He’d meant to say no, but part of him felt like saying yes. “Can we just start with a drawer or two of my own?” 

Dumbfounded, she simply nodded. 

He took the remains of his tank top from her hand, giving her a smirk. “Still good my ass” as he stuck it back on the wall as best he could.

“It’s part of all this now” he lamented, wondering if she had something black that would fit.

They stood a bit longer, looking over the room with fond affection before he put his arm around her and smiled warmly. “No matter where I am, I’ll still be here.” 

“If you ever leave me,” she sighed “I’ll have to burn the house down.” 

“Yeah, I know. And then mine.” 

“Yeah. And then yours.”