Sisi / Season 1

99⁒

lock it up - marc e. bassy

He sketches. I'm guessing he's sketching me, because every time he lifts his forest fire eyes, he looks at me. I try to move as little as I can, though it's hard when your heart is beating rapidly and your nerve endings are breaking off. I'm not a major fan of him looking at me for so long and so deeply. I get all self conscious about my blemishes and the alligator back I call forehead. I don't drink coffee, but he insisted that we start the day with Starbucks. I let him order for me, as I have zero patience with the difference between tall and venti. So, once we sat down on the terrace, I learned that he drinks expresso in order to wake up. The artist smudges his finger over the charcoal, over the paper. I randomly asked him why his hands are so big and he answered 'the same reason why women have big asses'. And then I stopped talking.

The wind gusts overbearingly between us. He turns the paper around, before I turn into a corpse.

"I like it," I smile, looking at my black and white reflection.

"I know," he leans back in his chair.

I take my million-dollar art piece and get a closer look. Very realistic. He even got my hairline on point. He even drew the bags under my eyes.

"You couldn't Photoshop me just a little?" I frown.

"If you were a model, Photoshop would be out of business," he says, squinting his eyes from the sun.

I can't take the compliment—it's too much.

"Clearly, if you keep squinting like that, obviously, you can't see my battle scars."

Jacob just grins, as if I'm talking nonsense. He finishes his espresso and sighs away his thirst. I call my acne scars 'battle scars', as it's more appropriate.

"What do you like most about me?" I ask, batting my lashes.

"Your smile," he answers.

I put on an unimpressed face, "That's what I paid braces for. Be more creative."

He lightly laughs, "Your hair. It's flowy."

"That's what I pay extensions for. Try again," I sigh.

"If I say your eyes, you'll say that's corny."

"Because it is," I roll my eyes.

"And I can't say your personality, because you have multiple personalities."

"So does everybody else," I shrug.

"And if I say your ass, you'll hit me."

"At least you know..."

I divert my stare to the tall buildings around, looking as bored as possible. The pigeons work hard to pay their bills and support their families. they clean the streets from muffin crumbs and cigarette butts. 

"The thing I like most about you is that you can't be pushed around," Jacob explains. I pause. He continues. "You speak your mind. Out loud. And don't give a fucking shit."

For some reason, he's sexy when he swears. I blush.

"Only sometimes," I wave. I then clear my throat. "On the other hand, you don't speak much."

"We compliment each other well, don't you think?"

If the sun couldn't mind its own business... Making me feel hot and breathless...

"Not really. We'll annoy each other soon to death. And then it's only a matter of time before one of us has to hide the other's body."

I fan my hand over my face to escape the heat.