The Bad Boy Kept Me Sane

Chapter 17

There's a photo of the drawing! :) If anybody was having a hard time picturing it! Credits to the owner!

Chapter 17

Carmella's POV

Have you ever woke up one morning and had a heavy heart full of regret? That's how I'm feeling right now. My alarm went off and I reached for it to turn it off but instead it fell off the table.

"Fuck me." I muttered to myself rolling back on my bed. Okay, wait that didn't sound right, let me try that again.

"Fuck my life." I said again, pulling the covers over my head sighing in the process.

I'm so broken I don't think all the tape and glue in the world can hold me together.

I groaned in frustration because I am not looking forward to go to school like this. My eyes are swollen, my body is tired and most of all I don't want to see Jared. As I was just about to close my eyes and go back to sleep my door opened. I knew who it was and I just groaned more and slapped the pillow to my head.

"Don't even think about not going to school because of that idiot." Ethan said.

I turned around to face him and sat up.

"I don't care what you say, I'm not going." I said stubbornly, crossing my arms in the process.

"Carmella, don't start." Ethan said my name. He never says my full name unless he's getting pissed off or really serious.

Tears were welling up in my eyes and I wasn't acting. I was just so hurt inside that I even hate myself. Ethan must have noticed my emotion and he eventually gave in.

"Fine. Just for today, and please take your meds and eat." He said.

"Yes father." I said, mentally doing a happy dance.

Ethan scowled at me, but left without another word.

***

My day was going awfully slow. I was in bed till noon, tossing and turning and replaying the events of yesterday in my head. I finally decided to get out of bed and do something I haven't done in a long time. I got up and sluggishly walked over to my closet, I reached for the top shelf and pulled out a large box that has my painting materials. I dug inside my closet for my canvass and stand, I set it up in the dark corner of the room away from the window. I made sure my window was locked and my curtains were shut tight. I locked my door and tied my hair up into a messy bun, I took the stool and placed it in front of the canvass. I just sat there, staring at it for a long time.

Before, I would used to paint when I felt sad and alone, or when no one would play with me. I started painting when I was 5, it helps relieve the loneliness you feel, you can pour out all your anger and sadness into the painting that you feel like you're in this big bubble that you forget the moving world around you and drown into the world of art.

It all stopped ever since the Brandon incident, I was too busy being paranoid of my surroundings if when and where would Brandon show up.

5 minutes has gone by and I still haven't picked up my brush. I just sat there, staring at blank space. My hands were shaky, it was like this was so new to me. Maybe I was scared to pick it up and realize my talent has gone to waste.

My anger grew knowing that Brandon will be the reason why I couldn't paint anymore, it would be like he has taken everything from me. That's when I picked up the brush, I started stroking in different angles switching from color to color. I mostly used red and black, it symbolized my anger and depression. I've been going on for about more than an hour now, making sure that every detail was perfect.

By the time I was done my hands were shaky and I was panting like I ran a marathon and sweat was dripping from my forehead. I was staring at what I finished. I had drawn a girl whose soul is getting out of her dead body, symbolizing that she wants to start a new life and leave her old troubled one behind. I was shocked at what I have came up with, because this painting is practically what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to escape from the dark hole that I am stuck in. I suddenly snapped out of my reverie and dropping the brush and palette in the process when somebody knocked on the door.

I was debating whether to go open it or not. I stared at the door. What if it was Jared?

"Carmella! You better open this door right now before I break it open!" Ethan shouted causing me to snap out again and rushing to the door. He gave this adrenaline that I didn't care anymore if I didn't fix my painting yet.

I was midway through my room when the door slammed open. Ethan stopped right as he open the door and was staring at me with wide shocked eyes.

"What the hell is this carmella!" He said grabbing my wrist as if he were inspecting them.

"Uh, paint?" I said, confused as what he was thinking. Then I realized I was splashed with red paint as when I dropped the palette.

"You think I slit my wrist or something?!" I said again, this time yanking my wrist out of his grip. He turned around to see my painting and he slowly walked to it. He gently stroked his fingers across the canvass, staring at what I had done.

"It's still wet, I just finished when you knocked." I said in slightly ashamed tone.

"Since when have you been painting again?" Ethan asked me. Him and Jess were the only ones who ever knew about my paintings. I would always hide them before anybody got home or if I knew they would come to my room. Then one day, Ethan came into my room while I was just about to hide them.

"Just today. I don't know what made me, but it took me a while before I could pick up the brush." I said quietly.

He looked at the painting again and back to me. I guess he figured out the meaning and walked over to me and embraced me in a tight hug.

"Soon Carmella, you'll get better soon. " he whispered as he stroked my hair.

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A/N: HEY EVERYBODY!!! I HOPE THIS CHAPTER MAKES UP FOR MY LONG ABSENCE. LOL! BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYS! WE GOT 1K+ READS!!!!I HOPE WE COULD GET A LOT MORE.

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