Black

XIV

Art.

Art is freedom.

Being able to bend things most people see as a straight line.

It was the thing that used to comfort me the most, because it was the only way I was able to speak my mind freely when words were too weak to explain how I felt.

I saw the world differently. I admired every single thing whenever it was possible and imagined how it would look on a paper, aching to hold a brush or a pencil as soon as possible.

But, like everything, I used the past tense not the present.

Drawing was something I loved because of my mother.

She used to draw a lot, especially when we were kids, and all I used to do back then was sit and gape at what she was doing, admiring every single color and line she drew, then spending my night trying to imitate what she did, the image of her drawing so clear in my mind. Though, the result of my drawings never did it ever satisfy me or did any justice to how perfect and flawless were her drawings.

I was first so self-conscious about it, so it was kept a secret, but not for that long because I was terrible at keeping things from anyone. One day, mum was cleaning our room, when I was about eight, and while she was getting something from the top of our wardrobe tons and tons of papers rained on her.

From that day on, she started making me practice with her, teaching me a lot and showing me plenty of her paintings so I could draw like them. It was something we both shared. It was our thing.

So now that she no longer exists on earth, breathing the same air as I am. Drawing became the most painful thing I could do, or to be precise, the most painful thing I can no longer do.

I had lost the ability to draw long back, ever since the incident. After being able to paint cities and draw people, I could no longer even draw a line that is straight. Instead of teaching Zoe the passion she also grew to love, I just complimented her, watching her go on and on about how one day she wants to draw just like me and mum.

Mum.

I ran a hand through my hair and returned my attention back to the window.

It was silent outside except for the cars that passed by every now and then. I had been standing in my place for quite a while, paranoia taking control over my senses.

A black Range Rover came to a halt in front of the house and out came a person with a bunch of brown curls.

"Not again." I closed the blinds back shut and walked to the door. Not giving him a chance to knock, I opened the door to be greeted with his annoying face. It was a Saturday, I was tired. Dead tired.

Even if my anger towards him still bubbled inside me because of what he did yesterday, and because now he knew my soft spot, but I didn't have enough energy to get that anger out.

"Damn, improving are we?" he grinned.

"It's the weekend. Why don't you give me a break, Styles?"

"Well, didn't improve by a lot, but at least you are working o-"

"Look, I'm serious, just leave us alone! Find something else to waste your time on."

"If you just let me explain why I'm here, you will understand how I'm not that bad." he smirked. "I'm here for that chemistry project we are supposed to do together, that's it." he leaned against the door frame.