Black Rose

Thirteen

I sighed as the taxi came to a stop in front of my apartment. I paid the cab fare and dreadfully got out of the car, grabbing my luggage one by one. Stepping inside of the building, I traveled to the ninth floor to my place. Opening the door, a wave of cold air hit my skin, causing the hairs on my body to stand high. My mood shifted the second, I placed a foot pass the threshold. I wasn't in the best of mood, to begin with, now I feel like complete crap. Because of the overflow of customers contacting me, my paradise vacation was cut a whole week short. To say I'm disappointed is an understatement--it's a more bittersweet feeling because my time there was getting better as the days come, but when money calls, I have to answer. Now, Raine is pissed off with me because I chose to return to the states due to work when I stayed down his back about him being on his phone because of work. I know I'm hypocritical, but Raine literally doesn't have to work another day in his life. He's the wealthiest man I personally know. I, on the other hand, have to grab every customer I can. I'm not rich by far, so he should understand my side of things. Unfortunately, he doesn't and he decided to stay in Puerto Rico just to crawl under my skin.

To add fuel to the fire, he invited his little friend Victoria over to the house before I could even step a foot out the door. It didn't bother me because he's a grown single man and I wasn't staying there to watch them play catch up. I simply grabbed my belongings and left them to do whatever it is they desired. However, Raine and I friendship we were building is definitely on pause. I refuse to allow this man to disrespect me. If I didn't allow my own mother to treat me badly, I'm not going to tolerate it from anyone else.

Leaving my bags by the door, I sluggishly walked towards my painting room and set everything up as desired. Most of my time will be spent inside of this place, so why not make it home. I gathered as many snacks as possible out of the mini fridge, sitting them on the table next to my work area. Since I hadn't planned on leaving the house in a few days, I stopped by my gallery and put a notice up for any customers who wish to do business with me to call my cell phone. Once I had everything in place, I began my journey of creating one of many of my masterpieces.

People have asked me over the years, why do I paint for a living? What joy do I get out of splattering a variety of colors on a canvas? My response is painting is comforting and excites me...the colors, the fluidity of the paint, the experience of creating something and bringing it to life and letting it tell its story to me. It's like my work form its own personality and human qualities and engages in a personal conversation with me, expressing what I keep buried deep inside my mind and spirit. Everything I need--the paint, the brushes, the canvas--all come together and collaborate to create this story of what I want to say, but can't form into words. So, it's not just simply painting for me, it's my way of speaking my feelings without actually opening my mouth to say them. Art is who I am. I am art.

*****

Hours had gone by and I lost count of how many canvases I had created, but my hands were cramping terribly, so a break was in order. Leaving the room, I went into my bedroom and grabbed my phone, checking for any missed calls from Raine. None. He and his guest must really be enjoying one another's company, I thought.

"Why do you care Melrose?" I asked myself, going to surf the fridge for dinner. A knock on the door, caused me to reroute from the kitchen and to the living area.

"Who is it?" I asked, looking out of the peephole, but no one was there. Slightly opening the door, I stuck my head out and saw a little red box sitting on the floor. Frowning, I looked both ways before picking it up and closing the door again. Walking towards the island, I sat the box down and stared at it, suspicious of who sent it and what is inside. There was a note attached to it with my name written in one of the most beautiful penmanship I've seen. I took the lid off revealing a medium size brown and red teddy bear, holding a heart with I'm sorry engraved on it. Picking it up, a piece of folded paper sat underneath it and it appeared to be a letter. By now I'm extremely confused as to who sent me this and for what reasons since I don't have friends. Unfolding the letter, I began reading the short message.