<span style="color: #FF80FF"> <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><div style="text-align: center;">Lea Stevens</div></span></span> </span><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn24/SociallyToxicBeauty/036e0d3a-b28c-47ec-b858-0eaea6c67e4d.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #FF80FF"><div style="text-align: center;">"Jazz"</div></span></span></span><br/><br/>Lea had managed to cry herself to sleep, only to wake up an hour or so later. She was confused as to why she was in bed and why the smell of paint was permeating in the room. She rubbed her eyes for a moment and the memories flooded back.<br/><br/>She let her feet touch the floor, standing slowly still groggy from sleep. Soon she was peeking out her door to see a shirtless and finely muscled Carlos rolling paint onto the wall. Her muddled mind was confused at him painting, only briefly grasping onto the memory of how much she wanted to paint the room.<br/><span style="color: #FF80FF"><br/>"What are you doing?"</span>she asked, her voice somewhat raspy from sleep. Her hair was a mess and her mascara was smudged from crying, some of her foundation had come off while she had slept revealing some of her bruise. She looked a disaster, but not unhappy.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF80FF">"Are those the colors I picked...?" </span>she asked. Her tone wasn't clear on whether or not she liked how it was turning out. She crept closer hesitantly, folding her arms across her chest as she ducked her head down some upon approach.<span style="color: #FF80FF">"You got a lot done..." </span>she commented as she glanced around the room. It seemed there was a patch of the wall that Carlos had tested the colors on. It seemed he had made a decision while she slept, but it was a good one--though Lea did not say anything.<br/><span style="color: #FF80FF"><br/>"Do you...do you want anything to eat?" </span>she asked softly, her eyes on the ground as she tried not to stare at his body, the muscles subtly rippling under his skin.<br/><br/>Lea was a pretty good cook, though she hadn't cooked much since her family's death. She had brought Carlos meals before that she had made, but she never told him that she didn't even cook for herself most of the time. She always made it out to be as if she had made too much, but the fact was she had made food especially for Carlos.