𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭| 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 |𝟏𝟖+

Chapter 52 | Drunk words, sober thoughts

I stand here, brush in hand, my heart pounding against the silence of the room. The canvas before me is a blank slate, a world waiting to be born from the tip of my brush. Yesterday, when I returned from the lake, I found canvases, paints and brushes in my room. A gift from him.

I'm so grateful for all of that. I really want to paint again, crave it with all my heart...

But it's been two years - two years since I've painted anything, since I've felt the bristles glide across a surface, leaving a trail of color in their wake.

I remember the accolades from high school, the way my paintings would come to life under my hands, effortless and vibrant. But now, doubt creeps in like a shadow over my confidence. What if I've lost it? What if the magic that once danced at my fingertips has dissipated, leaving me with nothing but the memory of what used to be?

The brush feels foreign in my grip, and the fear that I might no longer know how to use it gnaws at me. I'm afraid of the blank canvas, afraid that my strokes will reveal a truth I'm not ready to face - that I'm no longer the artist I once was.

Yet, here I am, yearning to dip the brush into the paint, to feel the rhythm of creation once more. But can I overcome the fear of not being good enough? Can I allow myself to be vulnerable and take that first stroke? The canvas waits, and so does my journey back to the artist I hope to be.

"Average or not, I want to see golden hour through your eyes." I recall the words from the note I keep in my night table's drawer.

Uh, here we go. It doesn't matter if I suck.

With a deep breath, I quell the storm of doubt inside me. I let the tip touch the canvas, a tentative dance of bristles against the stark white surface. The first stroke is a whisper, a promise that I did not forget.

Colors blend and swirl under my command, each brushstroke feels lighter and easier. The fear that had shackled my hands melts away, drop by drop, with the paint that now adorns the canvas.

I'm lost in a world of my own making, when, suddenly, the doors of my room burst open, a gust of reality intruding upon my sanctuary.

For a heartbeat, I'm startled, the brush halting mid-air, my chest heaving up and down in rapid breaths, until-

"Hello babeeee!" Sikly blonde hair shine through my room, light green eyes twinkling and her mouth part in wide smile as she laughs, demanding all of my attention.

"Ana!" I squeal, almost not believing that's she's ready standing in the middle of my room. The brush becomes forgotten and I toss it on the pallete of paints, rushing towards her and pretty soon our bodies crash against eachother.

We both giggle, almost falling flat on our asses like two idiots.

"I can't believe you're back, ugh I missed you so much." I whine as we part, bright smile takes over my face and I'm not able to shake it off.

"I missed you too, it's good to finally see y-- what the fuck is wrong with your hand?" She cuts herself off, shock and anger transforming her features as she slumps her bag on the floor.

My gaze falls on the white gauze wrapped comfortingly around my hurt wrist. I ponder on whether I should tell her a lie or even a bigger lie; I could confess someone hurt me, not ever mentioning who it really was, or I could say that I hit my own self.