And suddenly I don’t know if I’m ta

And suddenly I don’t know if I’m talking about the colors or him. His body heat fans across my shoulder blades. If I leaned back, even a little, I’d be touching him … but I can’t. I shouldn’t. That’s not what this is about. I open my eyes. The swirling, mysterious colors that dwell beneath my eyelids are gone. In front of me is my paper, dull white. A blank. The loss is shocking, like surfacing from a dream before you’re ready. Caleb is so quiet behind me that I pivot in my seat and my legs collide with his. I wobble and my hands rise to keep myself from sliding off the stool. His do the same, and I end up clutching his arms while his fingers close around my elbows, steadying me.
For a moment, he gazes down at me, and my heart skips and stutters. “Now create it,” he says. “Make it real.” His grasp on me tightens.
I’m not thinking of what I saw beneath my eyelids anymore. Storm gray, spindly threads of yellow ochre, a tiny, brilliant spot of phthalo blue in his right eye but not in the left ... “What?”
He glances down at my abandoned palette. “Recreate what you saw. Do that, and then you can go.”
“I can go whenever I want,” I blurt.
His eyes flash with something, maybe annoyance or humor, and he releases my arms. “Of course you can. But you won’t want to go until you’ve done this for yourself.”
I open my mouth to argue with him, but then I realize he’s right, and my words slip back down my throat.
“We … uh … have open easel time on Sunday afternoons, too,” Caleb says, suddenly hesitant. My heart thumps as I realize he’s staring at my mouth. He bows his head and a few loose, chocolate brown strands fall across his face. “If you don’t already have pl—”
“Caleb?” A voluptuous woman with perfectly highlighted blonde hair peeks into the room—she’s the one who went upstairs earlier. His head jerks up in time for me to see the flush on his cheeks. The woman’s eyes lock onto him, and her lacquered red lips quirk into a seductive smile. “I was waiting for you.”
A ball of nausea forms in my stomach, and I have to look away from her. My gaze falls on Caleb’s hands, which clench for a moment before relaxing again.
“I’ll be right there, Claudia,” he says before looking back at me. “You good to go?”
I force a casual smile onto my face. As if the last several minutes were simply nothing, easy, meaningless, shallow. “Good to go. Thanks.”
He returns my smile, but I swear I detect a hint of sadness there. “Anytime.”
He turns on his heel and follows Claudia up the stairs. I watch him go, the broad expanse of his back, the way he follows her like she’s in charge, his shoulders slumped and his head down. Who is she to him? Why would he … no. I’m not here to think about Caleb or the women who so clearly want him. I don’t care. I don’t care.
I look down at my palette, my brush, the lumps of color on the thin wooden board, the means to my salvation, my path back to myself. This is about me and no one else. I repeat that a few times, and then I settle myself on the stool again. My fingers tighten over the brush, and I start to mix the colors, feeling giddy and hopeful. But as I work, my hands and brain betray me. The color on my paper isn’t the swirl of earthy brown I saw when I closed my eyes.
It’s cool, thundercloud gray shot through with threads of yellow, along with a single pinkprick of perfect, vibrant blue.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Dan tiba-tiba aku tidak tahu jika saya berbicara tentang warna atau dia. Penggemarnya panas tubuh di tulang belikat saya. Jika saya bersandar kembali, bahkan sedikit, saya akan menyentuh dia... tapi aku tidak bisa. Aku seharusnya tidak. Itulah tidak apa yang hal ini adalah tentang. Saya membuka mata saya. Berputar-putar, misterius warna yang tinggal di bawah kelopak mataku sudah berlalu. Di depan saya adalah saya putih kertas, membosankan. Kosong. Kerugian mengejutkan, seperti permukaan dari mimpi sebelum Anda siap. Kaleb begitu tenang di belakang saya yang saya poros di kursi saya dan kakiku bertabrakan dengan. Saya goyah dan tangan saya naik untuk menjaga diri dari geser dari bangku. Melakukan nya yang sama, dan aku akhirnya menggenggam tangannya sementara jarinya dekat siku, memantapkan saya.Untuk beberapa saat, dia menatap ke arahku, dan hatiku melompat dan gagap. "Sekarang membuat itu," katanya. "Membuatnya nyata." Mengencangkan genggamannya pada saya.Saya tidak berpikir dari apa yang saya lihat di bawah kelopak mataku lagi. Abu-abu badai, kurus benang kuning oker, tempat kecil, brilian phthalo biru di mata kanannya tetapi tidak di sebelah kiri... "Apa?"Ia pandang turun di palet saya ditinggalkan. "Menciptakan apa yang Anda lihat. Melakukan itu, dan kemudian Anda dapat pergi.""Aku bisa pergi kapan pun aku mau," Aku blurt.Matanya flash dengan sesuatu, mungkin jengkel atau humor, dan ia melepaskan lengan saya. "Tentu saja Anda dapat. "Tetapi Anda tidak ingin pergi sampai Anda melakukan ini sendiri."Aku membuka mulut untuk berdebat dengan dia, tapi kemudian aku menyadari dia benar, dan slip kata-kata saya kembali ke tenggorokanku.“We … uh … have open easel time on Sunday afternoons, too,” Caleb says, suddenly hesitant. My heart thumps as I realize he’s staring at my mouth. He bows his head and a few loose, chocolate brown strands fall across his face. “If you don’t already have pl—”“Caleb?” A voluptuous woman with perfectly highlighted blonde hair peeks into the room—she’s the one who went upstairs earlier. His head jerks up in time for me to see the flush on his cheeks. The woman’s eyes lock onto him, and her lacquered red lips quirk into a seductive smile. “I was waiting for you.”A ball of nausea forms in my stomach, and I have to look away from her. My gaze falls on Caleb’s hands, which clench for a moment before relaxing again.“I’ll be right there, Claudia,” he says before looking back at me. “You good to go?”I force a casual smile onto my face. As if the last several minutes were simply nothing, easy, meaningless, shallow. “Good to go. Thanks.”He returns my smile, but I swear I detect a hint of sadness there. “Anytime.”He turns on his heel and follows Claudia up the stairs. I watch him go, the broad expanse of his back, the way he follows her like she’s in charge, his shoulders slumped and his head down. Who is she to him? Why would he … no. I’m not here to think about Caleb or the women who so clearly want him. I don’t care. I don’t care.I look down at my palette, my brush, the lumps of color on the thin wooden board, the means to my salvation, my path back to myself. This is about me and no one else. I repeat that a few times, and then I settle myself on the stool again. My fingers tighten over the brush, and I start to mix the colors, feeling giddy and hopeful. But as I work, my hands and brain betray me. The color on my paper isn’t the swirl of earthy brown I saw when I closed my eyes.It’s cool, thundercloud gray shot through with threads of yellow, along with a single pinkprick of perfect, vibrant blue.