Her Heartbreak ▶▶A Hunter Hayes Fanfiction◀◀

IV

A/N: Hey my beautiful hayniacs :) So towards the end of this chapter they mention self-harm. It's not very much or detailed or anything, but if you feel uncomfortable reading it, just skip some of the ending of the chapter. I don't want any of you to be uncomfortable or anything. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

"Forty dollars for a jug of paint?" I hiss under my breath, my eyes wide. "Crazy. Nutso. No way." I place the jug back onto the shelf.

If I knew that supplies were going to be so expensive I would have just stayed home. Instead, I just had to throw everything off the table and spill all the paint that I own all over the floors. Smart. Now, since I've been deprived of painting all day, I'm at the store to buy new paints; acrylic and water colors. But now I can't. I guess I'll have to go another day without painting, which is absolute torture.

I start to walk out of the store, but I accidentally shoulder-check someone on my way. Whatever they were holding falls to the floor.

"I am so sorry," I tell the person and bend over, picking up the bag they dropped. When I hand it back and straighten up, I realize that I'm looking into the eyes of my mother. "What are you doing here?" I ask her with a smile.

Mom returns the smile. "Oh, just returning things." She tucks a strand of grey hair behind her ear. "What about you? Are you starting a new craft?"

I contain myself from rolling my eyes. She doesn't take my art seriously, just like everyone else besides myself and Hunter. My mom and dad support me and my art of course... but just as a hobby. Painting is my passion, not a hobby of mine that I do on the side. I want to make art my career. Hunter's passion was music and he made a career out of it. It's my turn now, but my work is still being seen as a hobby.

"Actually," I tell my mother, "I ran out of paint for my art, so I thought I'd come get some more, but the prices here are through the roof."

She gives me a knowing look. "Well, your father and I told you that living on a teacher's salary isn't going to give you enough room to buy all your craft supplies." She hangs me the bag she was holding. I take it and look inside. There are three medium sized paint jugs; one blue, one black, and one white. "Your father and I thought we'd need five containers of each color, but we only needed four of the blue, black, and white. You can have them since you seem to be having some money problems."

I give her a strained smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, dear." She pats my cheek.

Well, at least I've got something to work with.

As soon as I get home, I take out a new canvas and prop it up on the esal. I display my brushes out on the table, stare at the blank canvas for a few seconds, and then choose a brush. It's got a larger tip to it, so whatever I paint won't have much detail until later.

I uncap the blue and smell it. It smells like watercolor paint. It's not my favorite kind, but it'll do.

I pour out a quarter sized blob of blue paint onto the back of my hand, then dip my brush into it. I realize the blue is too bright as soon as I plaster it onto the canvas. Pouring some black into the blue, I figure it'll become a little darker. Thankfully, it does. I start to fill the blanks with all different shades of blue; some dark, some light, some pale, and some in between. Once the base and background it painted, I let it set for a little while.

As it's drying, my phone goes off. I pick it up, not caring if paint from my hand gets on the case, and look at who it's from. It's an unfamiliar number.

Hey Reagan, this is Jayden from the park.

I smile and bite the end of my paintbrush. I start to type him a response, but he texts me again.