In The Painting

Chapter 1

It was around noon, exactly one week since my mum's funeral and I still had a continuous stream of tears pouring down my cheeks. I was sitting on my bedroom floor, with an open suitcase lying abandoned at my knees. Dad kept talking to me through my bedroom door, but I didn't hear the words being said. I couldn't hear the thunderous noises of the busy road outside my window. I was oblivious to everything around me.

"Bella, you're not the only one suffering because of her. You're not the only one who loved her, and you're not on your own".

But I was. Dad didn't understand that. He still had his immediate family, whereas I had no one. He had only lost someone whom he had chosen to have in his life. I was her daughter. Without her, I wouldn't be here, but now that she's left me, I wish that I had never been brought to this world. Who would want to spend a happy 16 years of life, and then be drowned in an ocean of sadness for the rest. Why live in a world of dismay and riot? Why not in a world where strong bonds of love and friendship were never broken, and a sad expression was never seen? But this is life. It may not be what you want or expected, but it is your life, and you need to travel through it to get to the end.

This newfound knowledge of mine still doesn't stop me from planning my escape from this town though. I thought about what my mum would want for me if she was here. She would want me to be happy, and not to let her death stop me from continuing with my normal, everyday life. But she was a part of it, a big part, and I can't change the past, no matter how many times I've woken up his past week hoping with all my heart that it was just a nightmare.

"Bella!"

There's dad again. I'll pack later. Let him get whatever he wants to say of his chest. I slowly unlocked the door and went downstairs. The heavy thud of my feet seemed unusually loud in the quiet house, with no one calling on us, trying to keep us on schedule.

"Bella."

This time he said my name as a sigh of relief. I had decided to leave my room, but I wasn't in the mood to talk.

"I told you not to call me Bella."

The only person who ever called me Bella was mum, and I didn't want to hear my nickname said by anyone else. It made me think of her too much, and brought more tears to my eyes. I guess I wasn't ready to talk to my dad yet. But I had already started, so I needed to finish.

"Look dad, I know you think that I shouldn't spend this much time mourning her, but I loved her, and if you had any idea of what a mother-daughter relationship was like, then you would leave me alone and let me do what I want to do right now, because this has affected me much more than it has affected you!".

That caught him off guard.

"Isabella, I loved her as well, but we can't reverse time."

"Yes Dad, you did love her, but I still love her."

This topic brought more tears to my eyes when the power of my loss struck me again. In answer, I went back to my room and locked the door. He didn't try to talk to me again - wise of him. But this time, I did start to pack. I almost forgot to pack my most important possession, a painting that my mum painted for me when I turned 13. I left a farewell note in my bedroom, saying goodbye. I told him that I was going to stay with an old family friend so I would be perfectly safe. Obviously, I wasn't. Then I unlocked the door but kept it shut, so that dad could get into my room if he wanted to. I left the note on my bed side drawer and put on my shoes. Running trainers, the ideal shoes for running away from home. I carefully threw my suitcase out of the window, watching it land silently on the front lawn. Now it was my turn. I didn't want to risk a sprained ankle, so as carefully but quickly as I could, I climbed down the pipe outside my window. My landing was just as silent as my suitcase's.