Read Online Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) by S.J. Madill - Free Book Online Page A

plastic pot rattling as she repeatedly hit the rim.   "Huh," she said, as the paint's colour became more vivid.   "Too much red.   Now it's more like the blue in your hair."
    Elan remained quiet, standing a single pace into the room.   The faint chemical smell of the paint had begun to reach him.
    "Fine," said Heather with a sigh.   She motioned toward the far end of the room.   "Go sit on the bed.   But I don't want to hear you or see you.   I want to forget you're here.   I need to get into my own head if I'm going to get anything done.   Okay?"
    "Thank you," said Elan.   "I understand."  
    Elan was about to walk farther into the room when Heather spoke again.   She sounded exasperated; he wondered if she had changed her mind.
    "Look," she said.   "I don't want you asking a thousand questions, so here's the tour."   She pointed at the pots on the floor in front of her. "This is called 'paint', but it isn't.   It's a synthetic pigment-carrying liquid ceramic, but I call it 'paint'.   No, it's not toxic.   And yes, it cleans up easily. "
    She jerked her thumb towards the wall.   "That blank sheet is called a 'canvas', but it's not made of canvas.   It's also synthetic."   She glanced up at him before continuing.   "It's on the wall because I want the paint to dribble downward after it hits the canvas.   I like the effect it produces, but it means I need to make the paint more runny."
    Heather looked up at the spattered paint around the room.   "The room is a mess, and I don't care.   Unless I apply a sealant, all that paint will come off with water.   I leave it the way it is, because it reminds me that I can be productive."   She shrugged.   "Some days, it makes it easier for me to get started."
    She turned to look at him.   "That's it.   Any questions?"
    "No," said Elan.
    "Good.   Now go park yourself somewhere.   I want you to be a hole in the room."
    "I will.   Thank you, Heather."
    Elan stepped forward, his bare feet on the cool floor, and navigated his way across the room.   Each step was carefully placed, to avoid clothes or art supplies or other clutter on the floor.   It was an alien environment to him; as alien as any foreign planet could be.   In many ways, it was the opposite of every place he'd ever known in his life.   Nothing was tidied or put away.   A complete lack of order, of propriety.   The smell of the paint, the visual chaos of the room, it was all strangely exciting.   A glimpse into a world without rules, or duties, or order.   There was a tightness in his chest, as part of his mind screamed at him to panic and run, or tidy up, or both.   At the same time, part of him wanted to laugh at the absurd freedom of it all.
    Elan climbed onto the bed, over the rumpled heap of blankets and pillows, toward the wall at the far side.   He sat down, back straight against the wall, and drew his knees up to his chest.   Keeping his feet flat on the mattress, he curled his arms around his knees and shifted until he was comfortable.   When he looked up, he saw Heather watching him.   A hint of a grin briefly tugged at the corner of her mouth, before being replaced by a stern look and a pointing finger.   "Remember, I want to forget you're here.   If you interrupt me, I'm going to kick you out."
    "I understand, Heather," said Elan.
    Her face softened, and she smiled.   "Good.   Glad to hear it." She stood up and stepped over her collection of paint pots, leaning toward the desk and reaching out with one arm.   With the sweep of her hand Heather shoved aside a pile of clothes, revealing a small desktop console underneath.   She tapped at the screen a few times, and the room was filled with noise.   It was music, in its own way: not the delicate harmonics of Palani instruments, or the soaring majesty of a choir; it was a fast, pulsing rhythm with a deep bass beat and a simple, repetitive melody.   With a swipe of Heather's finger, the music became much louder, its