Dust ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Four: Perplexed

Chapter Twenty-Four: Perplexed

April was a month I sometimes wished I could take out of the calendar. That, and May.

My hands were behind my head, staring at the ceiling, music playing in the background. I liked all types of music, but for each mood, I had a preference. Today was apparently a day where I wanted to listen to something heavy and fast.

Miserable.

My ears perked at the sound of the door knocking. I somehow already knew who it was just by the sound. It was light and gentle.

"Come in," I called out and sat my body upright.

Aria slipped through the door with her hands behind her back. She had a mischievous look on her face and her perfect teeth were biting her bottom lip.

I raised an eyebrow, curious. I hadn't seen her much lately, and I missed her presence. I felt a spinning sensation in my stomach.

Aria brought her hands in front of her and revealed a white cupcake with pink frosting on top. "Happy birthday!" She grinned and held her hands out.

"My birthday isn't for another two days," I said and took the cupcake out of her small hands.

"I know. But I won't be here for it."

"You won't?" I asked, suddenly disappointed. I hadn't expected her to be there in the first place but the confirmation wasn't pleasant to hear.

"I unfortunately need to visit my family," She shrugged and took a seat on my bed; She always liked to make herself comfortable. "So I figured I'd make sure to see you and wish you one before I go," she smiled, then her face was cold as mine usually was.

    "Hm," my throat spoke. For someone who didn't get along well with her parents, she sure visited often. "You don't seem pleased with that."

    A smile broke from her cold expression. "My dad has a vision for me and I don't want to follow it. So we just clash heads a lot. He can be so mean sometimes. I want to be an artist, I want to make people feel something. My dad wants me to be a doctor."

    "Aren't you technically a social worker?" I asked.

    She nodded. "Yep. But I don't want to be one, technically. I haven't worked as one since shortly after I graduated. And he won't accept it."

    "Then why go over there so often? Weren't you trying to get away from them in the first place?"

    She laughed suddenly. It didn't meet her eyes. I hated to see her feel this way. "If it were my choice, I wouldn't. He pays for all of my flights as an excuse to make me go there. Then guilts me if I try to get out of it. So I try to make the best of it. At least I get to see my brother." Her eyes glossed, but she blinked them clear again. "But I'm not here to talk about me," she placed a smile on her saddened face.

    "Why do you like to paint so much? To the point where it's putting a wedge in your family?" I asked, dismissing her comment. She tried so hard to fight with her father to get what she so desperately wanted, she was going to deteriorate.

    She bit her lip. Her eyes filled with passion. "Because. It changes perspectives and makes you feel something that you might not have felt before." She subconsciously put her hand above her heart. "I've always liked to help people-" That explained a lot. "-But I like to inspire people through art."

    I tilted my head. "How do you do that?"

    She laughed, awkwardly. When was she ever awkward with me? "It's expressive. For example, I was apprenticing a social worker while I was still in school. And there was this young teenager - he was around fifteen years old. He told me that he felt stuck, and everything he saw around him was grey, dimmed. I told him that he needs to change the way he looks at things and the things around him will start to change too. But he didn't understand how or what I meant."