The Mute and the Liar (30 page)

Woah.
That
was
uncalled
for.
That
has
taken it
too
far.

He
is
going
to
rue
the
day
he
thought
he
could
defeat
me
with
orange
paint.

With
one
swift
moment,
I
lift
the
tin
of
purple
paint
beside
me
and
throw
it
over
him.

Forget 'save the
trees!'
His
t-shirt
should
have
said 'save me.'

However,
instead
of
ruing
the
day
he
met
me,
he
shatters
into
laughter,
and proceeds
to
chase
me
around
room
brandishing
his
tin
of
orange
paint.

*****

9:07
PM

The
Godfather
is
playing
on
the
television
screen.
Nick
brought
the
DVD
with
him.
Apparently
it
is
on
a
constant
loop
in
their
house
and
they
could
not
possibly
go
one
day
without
watching
it.
He's
sitting
watching
it,
eyes
wide
and
gaping,
as
though
he
is
seeing
it
for
the
first
time.
Kit
sits
beside
him
on
the
sofa,
although
it
doesn't
seem
to
have
the
same
emotional,
'life-changing'
effect
on
her.

I
wonder
where
Jayce
is.
He
said
he
wanted
to
paint
something
more,
and
he
hasn't
made
an
appearance
since
then.
In
that
time
the
rest
of
us
have
changed into different
clothes
and
eaten
dinner (luckily
it was pasta again.)

I
leave
the
room
and
head
to
my
bedroom. As
I
reach
the
top
floor,
I
notice
that
the
door
to
the
room
we
were
painting
earlier
is
wide
open.
What
is
Jayce
doing?
What
could
he
possibly
have
felt
the
need
the
paint
at
this
time?

Curiosity
overwhelms
me,
and
I
creep
into
the
room.
I
suppress
a
gasp.

Immersed
in
his
work,
he
is
leaning
over
the
portrait
of
a
beautiful
girl,
which
he
is
painting
right
in
the
middle
of
the
wall.
Well,
the
portrait
is
beautiful, but
I
can't
say the
same for
the
person
he is
painting.

He is
painting
me.

It
must
be
me.
That's
my
face,
right
there,
staring
back
at
me
with
my
own
eyes.
But
he
has
drawn
me...
Differently.
There
is
a
crimson
tint
in
my
curly
hair,
a
slight
rosiness
to
my
cheeks,
and
a
few
dotted
freckles
jumping
across
my nose.
That's
not
how
I
look.
Is
it?

Where
is
my
pointy
nose,
or
the
small
crease
in
my
forehead?
I
am
supposed
to
be
plain
and
boring.
Invisible.
But
this
girl
on
the
wall
is
beautiful.
There's
a
slight
glint
in
her
chestnut
eyes,
as
if
she
knows
a
huge
secret,
but
she
won't
tell
anyone,
because
secrets
are
just
a
game
to
her.
As
if
she
herself
is
an
enigma.
It's
some
sort
of
alternate
version
of
me,
perhaps
what
I
would
look
like in
a
perfect
world.

Perhaps
this
is
what
I
look
like
through
his
eyes.
There's
just
one thing
about
the painting.

He hasn't
drawn
my mouth.

There
is
just
a
gaping
blank
space
where
my
mouth
should
be.
He
doesn't
seem
to
be
interested
in
painting
it.
He
is
just
adding
a
strand
of
gold
to
a
ringlet,
with
the
relaxed
air
of
someone
who
has
just
finished
working
and
doesn't
plan
on starting
again
any time soon.

He looks
up
at
my
arrival
and
stands
aside
to
allow
me
to
see it
clearly.

Hesitating
a
little,
I
walk
over
and
slowly
reach
out
for
the
space.
I
only
touch it
with
my fingertips, as
though
afraid
it
will
cause
the wall
to
crack.

“
Oh.
That.
”
He
says,
watching
the
blank
space
too.
“
It's
because
I
don't
know
what
you look
like
when
you smile. And
I
don't
want
to
paint
you
sad.
”

A
ripple
seems
to
spread
through
me.

It's
a
strange
thing
to
say.

I am
his hostage.
Why
would
he
say
something
like
that?

Smiling.
I
haven't
smiled
properly
for
a
long
time.
Fake
smiles,
sure,
I
do
those all the time. But not real ones.
I
haven't thought about that, about how
I
don't smile. It's just the way
I
am.
I
wear
my
scowl
like
a
crown.
Like
a
sign
of
strength.
I
am
perfectly
fine living
in
this
shell,
watching
the
world
at
a
distance.

But Jayce wants me to
smile.

It's
a
strange
thought,
a
thought
that
sends
a
lightless,
balloon-like feeling
in
my
stomach
and
a
blanket-like
warmth
in
my
chest.
I
watch
him carefully,
feeling
light-headed
all
of
a
sudden
and
dizzy,
like
my
mind
has slipped
into
cotton
wool.
Gently,
I
feel
it
creeping
across
my
mouth.
It's
a
warm,
tingling
sensation
that
I
can
feel
slowly
lighting
up
my
whole
face.
It
is
not forced and it is not fake.