Painted Heartbeats

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"father...." I whispered. I feel like my world is moving. My head hurts especially my wrist. I can't open my eyes.

"you'll be okay, hold on" then I heard a man's voice. He's like running because I hear him panting so hard followed by another shout. Why is it so noisy? He keeps whispering to my ear that I'll be okay and we can still make it.

"I'll never be okay..." never will. I smiled, I already accepted it. I felt a soft mattress at my back. Then there were bright lights. I looked and saw a blurry face of a man. He held my hand and kissed my forehead.

"Be strong, my princess" he weakly said. The last thing I saw is he's not by my side anymore he's looking at me while I'm moving farther away from him.

So far, that I can't reach him.

Every time I wake up from my attempts. He's always the one who I dream of. He's like watching me but I can't feel his presence. He's there but he is not. Every time I remember the warmth of his skin it brings back memories. The memories of my father before he died.

It brings a lot of pain because I still can't believe that my father left me all alone. He promised me. Every night I cry myself to sleep, every damn night I always think about how peaceful his face looks like. That day I said to myself that I also wanna go there father. Did you meet mom there? Are you both happy?

Why can't I be happy?

When will I be happy?

After that day, I continued my life. Every morning I went to school then work at night. I survived that kind of living. Even though my father left me a huge amount of money I still decided to work. So I can avoid thinking irrational thoughts. So I can distract myself to the things that make me want to end my life.

It was never easy at first, but I was getting the hang of it. It was more like surviving than living. I do those things to survive. I was never happy. I never loved what I'm doing.

Except that moment, I finally found the thing that makes me happy. I finally found what I want to do and that is painting. How artist paint their artwork from their heart not only from their hands. How every color matches the other and how they picture the image they want to create.

Months passed and my room is full of paintings, sketches and designs.

I knew I was back on track.

But fate keeps surprising me. The next thing I knew my hand cannot draw anymore.

"Seriously Millie, it's so dark in your room. Can't you open the curtains?" then I heard an irritating voice and there she goes again acting like my mother. How did she get in here anyway? I didn't give her a spare key.

"how did you get in here? I lock the door" she started opening the curtains and my eyes adjusted to the light.