I spent the morning doing my favorite part of this gig, with the calves and mamas. Then, some weed eating, and I finally finished the fence. By late afternoon, I was practically wrestling calves for vaccinations we were supposed to finish yesterday. It was past six when my boots came off, and I’ve been able to breathe again. Tomorrow, I need to check on Arnie and see how he’s doing, as well as the rest of the crew, to see if any urgent matters need addressing. It’s hard, hot, and muddy work, but it’s fulfilling.
Dinner was simple enough—Asopao de Pollo I made weeks ago and froze for hard, long days like today. I called my parents to check on them, then a book and my bed, and I’ve been ready to sleep now for hours.
Except Riley’s doing something over there with the lights on, music blasting through the thin walls and windows. I don’t know how she hasn’t had any damage in her inner ear with how loud her music plays, or how she has energy to do anything at all. It’s exhausting to watch.
I was waiting to see if she would crash at some point too, but no, the music’s still going, and the bright light burning through her windows straight into mine is still there. I’ve always been sensitive to light, but the soft white light from the moon through my blinds has become almost soothing, reminding me of being a little boy and having the kitchen stove light always on. It peeked through the bottom of my wooden door, caressing my cheeks as if it was mymom reminding me I was never alone. But this is not it; this is glaring, annoying and unacceptable, and she needs to stop.
I throw on some clothes and march to her cabin to ask nicely if she can please turn the music down, the lights off, and go to sleep. The knock on the door is soft at first, trying not to disturb nature more than she has so far. No reply. Of course not; she can’t hear anything with how loud the song is. An upbeat song, at that.
I knock again, louder this time, and when a minute goes by again without an answer, I bang on the door. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.
Then, the music stops.
Thank fuck.
Footsteps rush behind the door, and when it swings open, Riley is on the other side, looking ridiculous. Ridiculously hot, but ridiculous, nonetheless.
She stares at me with surprise behind her sky blue eyes, mouth dropping, and a paintbrush in hand, which explains the amount of paint she has on her body. There’s more paint than clothes on her, with the joke of an outfit she’s wearing. A tiny cropped shirt that lands below her breasts, right where the pink-stained tip of her messy braid rests. Shorts that wouldn’t be considered adult-sized if I were to see them at a store, with perfect bare feet covered in paint splashes of different colors.
I grunt involuntarily at the sight as she crosses a leg over the other, blocking the view. Fucking great.
“Do, um, what are you doing here?” she asks, squirming on sight.
I clear my throat, pointing upstairs. “Do you have long before you’re done?”
She follows my finger with her eyes before dropping them back to me. “No, why?”
“Whatever you’re doing is keeping me awake.”
Her brows furrow.
“The lights? The music? My room is right there, I told you this.” I point to my cabin, to the room tucked in the dark directly across from hers.
“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot. I am so, so sorry. Is it late? What time is it?” She looks at her wrist. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“No problem. Just how much longer do you have? So I know.”
“Um, I should be almost done, I think.”
“You think?”
“Well, when I ran here, I wasn’t thinking about it. But I can run back up real quick if you want and figure it out.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. Just lower the music, and I’ll try to go to sleep.”
"You know, now that you’re here, could I ask you to help with something? I tried doing it myself, but I couldn’t.”
“Is this a plan to get me into your cabin and murder me?” I ask, surprising us both. How my mood changed in a few minutes is beyond me. It’s what she does, though. I called her addictive earlier; she's more like intoxicating. All of her is.
“Look who’s acting all funny and shit today. No, for real. I can’t reach it, and I don’t want to fall and bust my ass—or worse, break the glass.”
“The glass?”
“Come on.” She turns on her heels, heading in the same direction as the stairs in my cabin. She climbs them, step by step, standing on her tiptoes, her perfect ass right in front of my face. Jesus.
Once we reach the landing, she pushes the door open, showing the kaleidoscope of colors that silently shout at me. Wow.
The entire room, with previously white walls, is now a work of art. It’s the only way to describe what I’m looking at, since I can’t narrow it down to one single object or item. It’s colors everywhere in what seems like splatters; however, it’s clearly anything but random.
