Eccedentesiast (n.)

Someone who hides pain,

behind a smile

***

I can't get this stranger out of my mind.

Maybe it's because he's messing with Mark.

Maybe, because Mark is so protective of me, I've picked up on it now, and am likewise, protective of him.

But I still can't stop wondering.

Black. I think black hair would suit him.

And green eyes.

Black hair and green eyes.

It sounds like the perfect combination, and in the next few days I find myself painting a black haired, green eyed stranger.

I title the collection, 'Black Moon.'

Mark left again. This time he shrugged and didn't answer when dad asked how long he would be.

And the days fell one after the other.

I stare at the paintings of the dark stranger day after day.

He changes each time.

Higher cheekbones, thinner lips, more muscles or a taller frame.

Each time something changed.

It soon frustrated me. I wanted to paint stars. I wanted to paint the rain and snow. To paint mountains, and skies. But instead I was painting an unknown male.

"Father, are you okay?"

I left my room one day to go down the stairs and ask.

I could hear his coughing from the seclusion of it.

As selfish as it sounded, the constant hacking sound was breaking my concentration from my work.

"I'm fine Lexie."

I hesitate at the doorway, looking at him as he coughs again into his shoulder.

"Do you...want me to get the pack doctor?"

"No, no," dad laughs and shakes his head.

"O..okay."

I head back up the stairs, wincing as I hear the sound of his coughing again.

Just a cold, I think silently. It's just a cold.

By the end of the week, I'm used to dad's sound of coughing. It doesn't break my concentration anymore.

And because of that it took me a while to realize how silent the house was.