She Will Be Loved

She Will Be Loved (Chapter 7)

Hannahs POV

I take as long as possible to eat my breakfast, partially savoring the taste of real food, partially prolonging the enevitable. Meanwhile Adam had already shoveled all his food into his mouth and was now in the shower. Still laying in his bed I took the opertunity to really look around his room. The bed was the same silk sheets and comforter as mine, only a lighter grey color. The beds frame was a  solid oak with a dark stain, the bedside tables matched it as well as the entertainment center pushed against the wall beneath the tv. The far wall was made completely of glass, just as in my room. I was begining to think that whole side of the house was like that. There were two doors to the right of the entertainment center, craneing my neck I could tell one was a closet. The other door was shut, and me being the curious/noesy person I am got up to investigate what was held on the other side. Opening the door slowly it revealed a sort of living room. There was a big white piano right in the middle with white couches behind it. The walls were adorned in guitars, guitar picks, framed photos, as well as handwritten letters. I looked to my left seeing a glass case. Dropping my coffee I almost screamed. Staring back at me was one of my own paintings. It's of a woman who is being swollowed by the swirling chaos of drugs and mosnters, she's reaching up trying to find something to grab onto. There's another hand reaching down, trying to save her. The arm stops right above the elbow. The look in her eyes tells the whole story. I find myself lost in my own painting. I haven't seen it in so long, and it was always one of my favorite pieces I ever did. Bobby sold all my art for booze money, so you understand why I never thought I would see it again. I'm not sure how long I stood there staring, lost in a sea of my own thoughts. A hand on my arm makes me jump and gasp. Realizing it was Adam I slowly start to calm down. "Hannah, are you ok? I called your name like fifty times." I nod and wipe the tears from my eyes. "Yes, I am fine. Uh, how...how long have you had this?" I raise a shaky hand to point at the object of my trance. His eyebrows push together as he starts concentraiting really hard. "I bought it from a second hand art dealer about two or three years ago. He bought it from the original artist himself. I been trying to track the artist down for years. But there is no name and the dealer never got the mans name either...Why?" I just shake my head, the words unable to come out. "Why is it in a case?" He sighed and stretched a long tattooed arm up to scratch the back of his head out of embarasment. "It's my muse. My prize possesion. I don't want anything to ever happen to it. That's why it's in here, this is my inspiration room. It is responsible for so many songs, I can't write without it." A big fat tear rolled down my cheek. My painting was his prize possesion. MY painting was responsible for so many songs. MY PAINTING was the reason Adam Levine could write. I raised my hand to my mouth, trying to stiffle a sob. "Hey, hey. Hannah what's wrong?" His strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close to him. I push myself back just far enough so I can see his perfect hazel eyes. I raise my hand to my chest, pointing to it. My mouth forms the word "me" but it comes out as nothing but a broken whisper. "What?" He asks confused. This time I find the strength enough to say it louder. "Me. I painted it. That's mine." His eyes go wide as he pulls away from me, "No way. Are you kidding me?" I shake my head no and walk over to the case. "I can prove it, open the case." He looks sceptical but walks out the room, returning a second later with a key that opens the latch on top. I reach in and pull the canvas off the glass stand it was on, flipping it over to look at the back. "Give me your keys." He reaches out his hand and deposits them in my hand, the look of worry and sceptizism still on his face. Turning the canvus I found the spot where I always signed my name, and Bobby always painted over it before selling them. Carefully scratching the black paint away there it was, my innitials in pink sharpie stained into the wood frame. I hand the painting to Adam for him to inspect. "H.C.R. Hannah Chavea Rose. That is me." He holds it close, studying it, not saying anything. Just running his fingers along the pink letters. He finally looks up at, setting the painting carefully on the piano, the crossing the room in a quick stride. His hands are around me in a second, holding me tight as his lips crash to mine. The kiss is so full of passion it took my breath away. After pulling away he holds me closer to his chest, tightly squeezing me to his body. "Thank you!" Confused I just hold onto him tighter.