After waking from a six-month coma, Athena Blackwell world is shattered. Betrayed by her fiancé and half-sister, who are now expecting a child together, Athena is forced to confront the life that was stolen from her while she lay unconscious. As a b...
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I am aware as a reader you may not understand the time jump which is only going to be a month after Athena awakes after her coma, but it is necessary for the character development and the drama I plan to unfold as she gets back in the social scene
Thank you for reading enjoy ;).
ONE MONTH LATER [Downtown Manhattan]
The soft hum of the air conditioner buzzes in the background, but it does nothing to fill the silence in the room. I stare at the plush carpet below my feet, unsure how I ended up here again.
I've been seeing Dr. Miller for about a month now and every time I sit on this plush couch across from her, I'm never prepared for what questions she might ask.
"It's been a month since you woke up, Athena. How are you feeling?" Dr. Miller's voice is calm, steady like a lighthouse cutting through the fog in my mind.
I lift my head, my eyes meeting hers for a moment before dropping back to my findling hands on my lap.
How am I feeling? It's such a simple question, yet I want to laugh at its absurdity.
"A month," I repeat my voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't really feel like I've been here a month. It more so feels like it happened yesterday, like I just blinked, and everything changed" Dr. Miller nods, waiting patiently, as if she knows I'm still grasping the for the right words.
The words that are on the very tip of my tongue but for some reason I can't explain the emptiness inside me, the loss of my life, the time that was stolen from me. I squeeze my hands into fist, trying to ground myself.
"I've starting painting"
"That's great to hear, Athena. Painting can be a such a powerful form of expression. How has it made you feel?"
"It's... cathartic, I guess. When I paint, I can forget about everything else for a while. It's just me and the canvas, and I'm able to pour all of my emotions and thoughts into it. The colors bleed together like my thoughts chaotic but beautiful in their own way"
She hums nodding her head "I see, what emotions have you been exploring through your art?"
I let out a low chuckle, a mixture of amusement somewhat out of confusion. "You know I thought it would be anger, betrayal or something more explosive. But if I'm being honest, my art has been consisted of worry, longing, and loss. It's like the brush strokes reveal how confined I feel in my own emotions"
I lean back on the couch, the soft fabric pressing against my back, a reminder of the comfort I often find elusive. "Each time I dip my brush into the paint, it's almost like I'm searching for something- maybe clarity or closure. But all I get are these swirling images that reflect my inner turmoil. It's exhausting but strangely freeing"
