Courage

Chapter Twenty-Nine

[Maya]

"Yeah, I can't do this," I said with a light chuckle.

Francesca sat across from me in a chair, with her legs crossed and hands together resting on her knees. We were in the art studio she bought for herself, and today, she wanted me to try to draw her.

"Try," she urged. I looked at my drawing; the eyes weren't aligned, the nose was crooked, and the mouth was crooked.

"I think I've tried enough for one day," I asserted.

She stood up and approached me to look at my terrible oeuvre.

"Well," she began, "at least you tried."

I wandered away and looked at the paintings Francesca drew of me. The one of me by a water fountain, the one of me in Leaser Lake, and the one of me on the beach.

The night after Francesca and I said "I love you," she told me more about her family, her father and how he hurt her and her siblings. I also ended up crying for her.

I officially hate Francesca's father. May Salvatore Russo burn in hell for all eternity.

One night I learned some interesting things about Franny and her siblings, when we were cuddling in her bed.

"So you speak the most languages?" I had verified.

"Mm-hm. When you're homeschooled your whole life, you pretty much have a lot of free time to yourself."

I turned to face her. "How did your homeschooling schedule work?"

"Okay, my siblings and I would start at eight, because that was the time the private tutors arrived at our house. Each class was forty five minutes."

"What did guys you do after?" I asked.

"Whatever we wanted. I would either paint or learn a new language."

"And how many languages do you speak?"

"Seven. Italian, English, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Polish and Mandarin."

"Which one was the easiest to learn?"

"Spanish and Portuguese."

"That makes sense. Which one was the hardest?"

"Mandarin."

"What's your first language?" Francesca was born in Milan so I didn't know.

"Both English and Italian."

"And how does that work?"

"My mom would speak both English and Italian to my siblings and I growing up."

"Oh." I nodded. "Who's your favorite artist?"

"Vincent van Gogh. Do you have a favorite artist?"

I smiled just thinking about my answer. "You." She laughed.  "No, seriously you are."

"Well, I do have a great muse."