~Jeremy’s POV~
My painting room was dark, exactly how I loved it, except for the moon light slipping through the blinds and the glow coming from the lamp I set on the table beside the drawing board.
I stared at the plain board, hand itching to make good use of the paint brush in my hand.
I needed to bleed something out of me. My chest had been tight since last night, and paint was the only language I could stomach.
My hand moved before my head did, painting black strokes. A few minutes later, I had painted a gun. It looked sleek, lethal, and satisfying, easing my mood.
When the image came into focus, I realized there was only one face burned into my mind behind the weapon- Zayne’s.
I stared at it for a long time, brush dangling loosely at my side. I wanted that steel barrel pressed
