Mine.

|Confrontation|

con·fron·ta·tion/ˌkänfrənˈtāSH(ə)n/

noun

"There can be no progress without head-on confrontation."

― Christopher Hitchens

Arabella laid on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She needed to have her paintings back. It had been almost a week since she had been detached from them.

She felt so trapped now that she didn't have her place to escape to. She had no way to express herself. She couldn't write because she couldn't find the motivation. She simply just wanted to paint in her own space.

She didn't paint in the house because her parents didn't know about her hobbies. She liked it that way. She wanted to just fade into the background. She enjoyed being overlooked because then there's no pressure. She could just be herself with no expectations from anyone. She enjoyed that.

Until now.

Dominique wouldn't be mature enough to give her her stuff. He didn't understand or respect her obviously. She just wanted her stuff.

Arabella felt herself pouting as she turned her head and looked out the window. I guess I'll have to try.

Arabella went to her closet and threw on an appropriate dress and some sandals. She found herself standing in front of the mirror, staring at herself. She fiddled with a loose curl, deciding if it should be placed behind her ear or just be loose.

After she realized she was stalling, she blew a deep breath, and just stuffed it in her head wrap. She then grabbed her phone and began making her way out of the house.

Minutes later once she arrived outside of the guest house, she stopped before knocking. She didn't like being yelled at, and she felt that that was exactly what was going to happen.

She gripped her phone tightly in her hand as she knocked lightly on the door.

She waited patiently until Dominique opened the door. " Whatchu' want?"  He asked, staring her down.

She just stared at him because he knew exactly what she wanted.

"I don't read minds." He said while propping himself up against the door.

She pointed towards the house, asking could she come in. Arabelle felt childish. Whenever she wanted something she just got it herself. She never needed to speak to get what she wanted. And if she wanted something but couldn't get it herself, she just convinced herself she didn't need it.

Now that she thought about it, nothing had really physically stopped her from getting what she wanted. Except for the six-foot man blocking the doorway.

"Girl, how old are you? Open up ya mouth and speak if you need sum."

Arabella sighed and looked down at the ground. This was obviously a waste of time.

She turned around and began making her way towards the house.

"Wait, damn. You can come in." She heard him say.

She swiftly turned around but hesitantly walked past him as she entered through the doorway.

"Hurry up, you letting flies in." He rushed her as he closed the door behind her.

She looked around the plain space as she began waking her way to the bedroom, where she last saw her paintings.

"Aye, slow ya roll. I got a stripper in there ass naked,  so I wouldn't go in there."