Beautiful Broken Self

Chapter Four

I sat upright and I was in my bed. It was dark and when I touched my cheeks it was wet with tears.

Oh yeah, Dad.

It was only past eleven in the night when I awoke. I fell asleep crying, I guess. I was suddenly feeling thirsty so I went down the stairs quietly. Dad could probably still be there. I wasn't in any mood to see or talk to him. Not after that conversation we just had. I was still hoping that he would cancel it.

I was almost downstairs the last steps when I look at the window of the front porch. My father was there, still in his business suit and out in the streets was a limo. It looked like my Dad was about to leave when his phone rang and he answered it. I slowly tiptoe my way there and place the side of my head to the door to listen.

"Yeah, it alright," I heard him say. "She didn't take it very well . . . I just- I don't know anymore. I'm trying but-" he paused. "You think so? . . . Are you sure about this? . . . I just can't bear it anymore . . . Okay, do what you can." He hung up. I heard him sigh then footsteps getting farther away.

He's obviously talking about me. I just realized tears were already pouring out of my eyes. I'm mad at him but I know I can never hate him. He's still my father after all. I still care for him. I'm not ready to forgive, it's just what he did was still unforgivable.

"Goodbye, Dad." I whispered when I heard the engine of the limo driving away. Forgetting my thirst, I headed back to my room and feelimg drowsy, I slept.

***

I dipped my paintbrush in the yellow ochre paint and lightly stroke on the canvas, making sure to get the perfect shadowing of the structure of the the girls face.

I woke up five in the morning, feeling ready to start my Sunday with my favorite past time. Painting. It's one of the known facts about me. My talent.

When I have free time (mostly weekends), I paint and paint into oblivion, forgetting my surroundings and getting deeps into my thoughts. I found out my talent when I first picked up a brush and stroked. My Dad said I used to paint so much that I even forget everything.

Right now, I rushed into eating my breakfast and locked myself in my studio, already wearing my paint splattered apron,  where my other paintings were. I rarely show this part of the house to anyone except my bestfriend, father and Meredith. The studio in located on the left side of the house where there were windows and a balcony where I can paint when I want to or just relax.

With a calmed sigh, I step back a bit and take a good look at my work. As always, dark and deep. It was a girl in a pink cream colored dress sitting by the balcony, looking at the stars above. She looked so nonchalant, not a care in the world, wishing she could disappear into oblivion.

I was putting my paintbrush back in place when I hear knocking on the door downstairs. I head to balcony and looked at the street to see an unfamiliar blue car parked outside. I frowned in confusion and went out of the studio immediately.

I checked the wall clock and it was only past eight in the morning. I guess Meredith has just arrived and forgot the keys, like always. I was almost to the door when Meredith beat me to it.

"Oh, Meredith. You're already here." I said.

Wait. If she's here then who's at the door?

I was just going back upstairs when I heard Meredith.

"Ah, you're here. Come in."

I quickly turned around and was surprised to see a boy. He was around my age, I think. He had black hair that was almost covering his eyes and he was smiling at my maid. I went to them to get a better look.