The Shadows of Memory Lane (Book 2) [Gxg]

Chapter 22

She stood there in The Effusion of Colours. Haley's and Kira's art studio. Kira's paintings were displayed but she'd never been there. Only Linda and Juan knew it existed. And she was sure that Juan wouldn't enter, and if he did want to he wouldn't be able to, he didn't have the key. She took the key out of her pocket, the silver key in the shape of a paintbrush glinted in the pale sunlight of dawn that fell into the room. She walked past all the paintings, inhaling their energies, using them as her fuel to put one foot after the other. She opened the door at the back of the room. The one that only she knew about. Well her and Haley. But Haley was dead. That four letter word held more darkness than the moonless night sky. It was an unanswered question. The fatal flaw of every curious person. It had sunk in alright. The feeling that she was gone. The absence of the warmth that had been by her side for years. She pried the door open, it camouflaged with the wall. She was engulfed by darkness. She strode past the floor, sure of her steps, she knew this room way too well, and she switched on the light. The sudden brightness, blinding her for a few seconds. As the temporary sightlessness receded, her eyes captured the scene before her slowly. The easels, the supplies, the brushes, the cupboards full of paints of all kinds. The oil pastels, the soft pastels, the colour pencils, the lines and lines of unused canvases. The rows of old paintings that she and Haley had painted together. And the wall. The wall that they'd taken a week to complete. Both of them kissing in a cave by the sea. It was a piece accentuated by the emotion and memories behind it. The colours of the sea, a swirl behind them. Their hair tangled into a incomprehensible mess, their lips on each others but barely. Their eyes closed, the moon bathing them in it's silvery light. Their pools of brown hair obtaining a metallic sheen under the moon's gaze. Their fingers, grasping each others hips, their hands fitting themselves in the familiar curves. Their nails digging into each others bare sides. Their bikinis dry from hours of kissing and forgetting themselves in each other. Their faces speaking of nothing but bliss. She'd switched on the spot lights just above the painting, casting a golden glow on their silvery faces. She ripped her eyes from the painting and trudged towards the speaker system. She attached her phone to the port and let the gentle music soothe her infuriated veins. The melomaniac in her, resurfacing. Her frayed patience, restored, she grabbed an easel and a canvas. Her fingers twitching to hold a paintbrush. She'd torn the creativity away from her soul for the past seven months. It was summer vacation now. The joy, the freedom surrounded her but somehow did not touch her. There was a barrier. A barrier called nostalgia. She missed her. So much. She painted with her tears that day. The paintbrush smooth against her fingers. The agony expressed through colours. She'd drawn Haley, quite obviously. She couldn't draw anything else, as she was always the only thing on her mind. She dug her fingers into the red paint. Her fingers moving gracefully, as if she was slashing blood across the canvas, but with the utmost precision. Her fingers moving in harmony. Curving down, painting the white with crimson, dark and light. Blackening the background. Painting her cheeks as if she were caressing them. Carving the curves, she'd felt countless times. The shoulders she'd held. The hands that had touched her. The lips she'd kissed. She shaped her eyes with a brush. They were too intricate and precious for her fingers. She placed each fleck carefully. The image of her irises were burned into her mind's eye. The picture had never hurt before. She drew a flirtatious smirk with a bit of characteristic goofiness that spoke of her Hals. She dipped her hands into the dark blue and played around with it in the pool of black. She splattered the white. She painted her skin, golden in the light. She stepped back and she let the words of the music finally reach her. 'And now your song is on repeat and I'm dancing on to your heartbeat, and when you're gone I feel incomplete, so if you want the truth' she sobbed, "I just want to be part of your symphony," she sang. Symphony, Zara Larsson, perfect.

She took in the painting she'd just created. When she painted she felt as if she were a goddess creating a whole new world. With her own colours. Her freedom to 'make', it was what kept her sane. Haley was in a salsa dress that ended at her knees. The red dress, elegantly cascaded down her body. She was reaching her hand out, with that smile on her face. She had a beautiful red flower that stood out in her brownish black hair. She was asking Linda to dance with her. Her golden goddess in all her angelic heavenly beauty. Around her, the spotlight cast its glow, behind her, the stars gleamed against the dark night sky. The golden light played with her eyes, making it look lighter, more playful, less burdened, as they had often looked when they had been together. Her features were delicate and her pool of brownish black hair fell on her bare shoulders, strands on her left side, braided back, holding the flower. Her cheekbones were sharp, her lips half hidden by her teeth that were biting them. Her lips themselves were deep red. Coloured by lipstick. Her cheeks were rouge, tinged with blush. Her lashes thick and long, her eyes were lined. She didn't usually wear makeup but when she did- wow. Not that she wasn't already stunning without it.

She spent the whole day painting. One after the other. Of Haley. Of Haley and her. Her Hals. One was of them in teal and white dresses under an arch at a beach in Greece. Kissing, their ring fingers occupied by their wedding rings. Ones with infinity symbols etched on each of them. Their loved ones laughing and clapping. She painted the lives that they could have lived. Every moment that they would've cherished. She laughed as she painted one where Linda was running around with a child. Their child. And Haley was following after her- her face mid-scream- and with a diaper in her hand. She cried when she drew the one, the last one. Both of them, clad in hospital wear, their hair grey. Their fingers intertwined. Their bodies under the sheets. Their eyes closed. Eternal smiles on their faces.

And the one thing that did go straight in their lives indicating their deaths.

Memory #22: As they painted the wall mural, Linda had to carry Haley on her shoulders as she painted the top parts. Yeah there were ladders... but where was the fun in that? They'd soon ended up in a tub of paint, paint that had taken forever to scrub out of their hair. But they'd never been able to scrub the memory from their minds. Nor had they wanted to.