SONG :
Nothing but Thieves - Itch
Episode Eight :
UGLIER THAN PANCAKE MIX
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L A W R E N C E ' S P O V :
Fawn left me with little to no goodbye.
Her breath was shaky, and her speech was awful. She stuttered.
More than usual. Her speech impediment had been better, nearly nonexistent as she had gotten so good at covering it up, pretending, but it all crumbled before me in that moment.
She left my house fast, with no hesitation, and an urgency that's got me thinking there's a possibility that maybe she didn't like it.
Maybe, it wasn't what she wanted. What I did.
I shake the thought, but it's shadow remains. Taunting me with the fact that I will never do right, and that I am probably wrong now. That nothing will change now that she's in my life. But I do my best to ignore it.
I'm still standing right by the side of my house, right where she had left. I haven't moved from my spot on the side of the house, the garage really. It's a four car garage and held room for my parents' cars, my car, and the last one, a Lamborghini, we keep around for show when we have guests over. That was my parents' decision— to keep the useless car.
My parents love to make people jealous. Show their wealth like some badge of honor, they did nothing to earn. Priceless vases sit atop glass tables, and thousands and thousands of dollars go into scouting the art fairs held each summer.
Sometimes, I don't understand why they waste all their money on art that looks uglier than pancake mix. Not brown, but not cream, barf colored, the color of vomit. Who buys vomit? Parents who know people will look at it, and relish in its unspoken symbol of wealth.
They don't care that the picture looks like barf, and smells like barf, because they know how people will react when they see that five-hundred thousand dollar picture hanging on the pristine white walls of our house. Framed by even whiter crown molding, and expensive vases with no purpose other than to be expensive beside the barf colored paintings.
They don't really like paintings. I already said—
they like making people jealous.
That's why they keep the barf colored paintings even though their are so many beautiful paintings they refuse to look at. The beautiful painting that is only $15—that is growing dusty at Henrietta's antique store down by the community college.
I've always found it to be beautiful, the way the brushstrokes raise above the rough canvas in striking colors. But if I were to ever buy it. If I were to frame it with white crown molding, and expensive vases, and paintings uglier than pancake mix—The collection would loose its value.
And who would want that?
Fawn has always been my painting. My painting.
The most beautiful painting I've ever seen, but could never touch. The painting that would devalue my family and insult my parents. The painting that I've always loved. The painting that's growing dusty at Henrietta's antique shop with brushstrokes of striking color.
It's hard not to stare.
It's hard to share.
And I'll be damned if someone buys my painting.
And taints it with their dirty finger prints.
YOU ARE READING
Wrong Guy
Teen Fiction❝Would it be wrong to think - to think, that I could make you so much happier?❞ Fawn Lockhart and Elliott Mass have never gotten along. The water and oil of people they avoid each other at all costs, and when they do interact it's nothing but petty...
