Everybody call him black.
I didn’t know how it all started or who called him that first. All I know is that he’s been going off with that weird nickname even before I got assigned to him.
I long ago given up trying to figure out where it came from. Probably because it is his favorite color. He was always wearing black from head to toe. Not a single color on his get up for as long as I can remember. Or maybe it was his personality. Quiet. Loner. Mysterious.
But regardless, I call him Jake. First because it is his real name. And nobody call him that except me, ever since his parents died in a car crash.
He was 13 then.
And five years later, the nickname black has etched deeper.
He was always alone, quiet and just observing people at a distance.
If it wasnt for his painting habit, I would have said he was no good.
That’s one thing he inherited from his father. Painting.
He started three days after his parents died. He would lock himself on his dad’s studio and would paint for hours. He found it soothing. A good way to be rid of unnecessary emotions.
Five years after, he have over a hundred paintings piled on one side of the studio.
Just four days ago though, he decided to move. He sold the house he grew up in and bought a small flat a thousand miles across the country. And left most of his paintings there.
He converted one of the rooms for his own studio.
Just like any other night, he fell asleep on the couch at the middle of the studio with smudged paints on his shirt. And just like I always do, I sat across from him watching him sleep.
He dreamt of his parents again tonight. He kept murmuring their names over and over until he woke up sweating and breathing hard.
He look around the room, his eyes passing to where I sat just a little slower than necessary.
If I wasnt a holy being and couldn’t be seen, I would have sworn he could somehow sense my presence.
Finally, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He fill a glass of cold water and drink. Then, he look at his wrist watch and frown at the time. It was two o’ clock in the morning.
He took off his shirt as he entered his room and tossed it at a chair nearby before lying down on the bed.
But he didn’t close his eyes to sleep. He just lay there staring at the ceiling keeping an undecipherable expression on his handsome face.
Maybe he can’t sleep. I decided to lie down beside him just like I always do when his like this.
I don’t know why, but ever since he was 13, I lie down beside him and he’ll be peacefully sleeping after a few minutes.
Yet tonight, sleep evaded him. He just stayed there staring at the ceiling until the sun finally rises.
The next morning was a blur. The sun did shine as anyone would have expected but it was as if something’s going to happen later today that would change everything. Something big. And im not one for superstitions and the kind, but I could smell it in the air. I just wasnt sure how to justify it.
But I did keep a close eye on Jake regardless. I keep him safe all the time. That was what I was supposed to do tonight. But like what I anticipated, something big did happened. And even though I have the abilities to do a lot of things, a being like I am is still subjected to failure.
Everybody call him black.