Jessica doesn't trust men. Worse, she has a string of short relationships and runs away when things get too serious. Demons from her past resurface when she meets him, Angel Seth Saint, her new teacher with a burning look. And, even if the young wom...
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"Jess, open the door! "
"No."
I can't calm down. I don't want to. I'd rather pound away at the canvas and take a puff of a cigarette between brush strokes. I haven't smoked in a while, but half an hour with Seth was enough to get me going again. This man is the source of all my stress. Whenever he's around, old demons surface. I can't face them alone, so I just walk away. They'll get me one day, just not today, not now. Let me at least finish my painting, first.
I'm letting off steam on paper and it feels great. I finally remember why I enrolled in art: I like to feel the pigments staining the paper and expressing feelings I've been keeping quiet. Every time I look at one of my paintings, it's like I'm rereading my diary, written in a language only I can understand. I can recall my good and bad memories, without having to share them with anyone and without being judged or pitied. I hate that.
How does pity from others make me feel better? It doesn't. I don't need to be taken care of either! Fuck Angel with his paternal blaming and perverted games. I'm perfectly fine. And, even if I wasn't, having me tied to a cross wouldn't make it any better.
"Jess, I'm starting to worry. What did your teacher tell you?"
"Don't talk to me about that idiot, Charly!"
"Okay, but open the door... please."
"But I..."
"That's not the way to make things right. Talk to me, so I can help you. Best friends for better or worse, remember?"
"Yes, that's right."
I abdicate and open the bedroom door. Charly seems horrified by the paint stains and my cigarette, which he snatches from my fingers. It's true that I didn't use any of them. I even got some in my hair. But he doesn't judge me. He would never do that. Instead, he pulls me by the hand and makes me sit on the bed.
"What is it, Jessi?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
I hide my face in my hands. Charly is my only confidant. I always tell him everything, but today it's at the end of my strength. I don't even know where to start. I had made a movie of this relationship telling myself that Seth wanted something serious with me. But he didn't.
"I was so stupid."
"Did he hurt you? Because if he did..."
"Relax, no he hasn't done anything to me...at least not physically. Not yet."
"So what's the problem?"
"He doesn't want anything serious with me."
"How do you know that? Wait...is he married?"
"No, he wants me to be his..."
"His...?"
I silently beg him not to force me to say it. But he's still so insistent. After all, it's normal. He would be the worst best friend if he didn't care about me. It's just that confiding in him isn't my strong suit. I keep everything bottled up inside and no one can get a word out of me. It's my nature, I assume it. It's just that there are days like this when I wish I were an open book. That Charly can read my mind without me having to talk to him.
