Shopping for Love

Chapter 33

Shanaya's painting.

Shanaya's POV :

Everywhere I went, everyone stared at me. Even in classes. And it scared me. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I knew it was about me.

I entered the canteen by myself. Everyone's eyes were once again fixed on me. I kept my eyes on the floor, not wanting to look up.

'Oh look, it's the prostitute!' Someone yelled. I snapped my head up to find the source of the voice. But I couldn't tell who it was. Every ody was laughing at me.

My wall started to crack. Tears started to well up in my eyes. My throat built up a lump in it, making it harder to breath.

'I should go to your prostitution centre, maybe I could get you to fuck me.' A guy yelled out from a corner.

That was it. My first tear fell down onto my cheeks. It left a wet path down my cheek. But I didn't wipe it off. I couldn't, I was frozen.

'Come here babe.' Another guy said, making his way over to me. I still didn't move. I just stared at him, open eyed.

He reached out to touch me but a hand grabbed out to stop him. I let out the breath that I didn't know I was holding.

'Touch her, and trust me, you will never be able to touch anything.' The person said. It was Brooklyn. His eyes were solely on the guy who was about to touch me.

'Oh so your still defending your slutty girlfriend. Seriously Brooklyn? Could you not find anyone else apart from this prostitute?' The guy said, glaring at me.

'She's not a bloody prostitute. Get that out of your bloody mind!' Brooklyn yelled, throwing the guy's arm back with force. I winced at his tone of voice.

'You can say all you want Beckham. I have proof that she's nothing but a whore and a prostitute.' The guy said, handing Brooklyn a picture.

Brooklyn snatched the picture and stared at it. His face changed from anger to shock to fury. He scrunched the picture into his fist.

'The picture isn't of Shanaya. It's either been photoshopped or it's a lookalike.' He said loud enough.

'It can't be. It looks exactly like her.' The guy said, smirking.

'Well it isn't. Get that into your minď yourself or I'll force it in.' Brooklyn said aggressively, grabbing the guy by his collars.

'Your girl is nothing but a prostitute.' The guy said.

And that was all I heard before I ran out of the canteen. Tears were flowing freely down my face. I wanted to scream and shout and strangle someone, but I couldn't. I phoned a taxi and I told them to take me home.

As soon as I was dropped at the gates, I ran into the house gates. I couldn't find my keys so I rang the doorbell, praying my brother or someone was at home.

My brother opened the door after I pressed the doorbell multiple times.

'What the he- Shanaya?' His face was etched with confusion.

I ran past him and up the stairs to my room. I locked the door behind me. My dogs were laying in their baskets. They saw me and happily yapped. I smiled at them, wishing I was as happy as them.

I ran to my bed and plunged under the covers, protecting myself from the outside world. I felt my dogs jump onto the bed and curl next to me. I took the covers off me and pulled them to me. They happily allowed me.

I stayed there, cuddling them. Until I did what I always did when I was mad. Paint.

Whenever I was mad, angry, upset, I would always paint my feelings.

I grabbed a canvas, paint and paintbrushes. I put my canvas on my canvas holder and started painted.

I don't know how long I stood there for. Maybe a few minutes or hours. I had no idea. I was solely focused on my painting.

Once I had done, I examined my work. My painting was of a face with red coloured tears coming out of her eyes. The tears had some words coming from it.

Those those words conveyed my feelings.

The colours showed my feelings.

The face showed my feelings.

I left my things where they were and climbed into bed. My pups were fast asleep. I smiled at their small furry wrapped up figures. They looked so peaceful, their adorable features showing in the light.

Totally opposite to me.

My mind was reeling, clogged up from today's incident. My feelings were jumbled. My stomach was empty and hungry yet full. My tears had dried and I knew I couldn't cry anymore because I had no more tears left. My cheeks felt crusty. My head was hurting and ached from all the crying. My nose was runny and blocked, my eyes hurting and puffed.

That night, I didn't sleep.