The Blank Canvas

|ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ５|

A bright gleam of the street lights illuminated the stygian night and cast dark shadows across Jamie's pale face. The boy slowly leaned on the brick wall behind his dorm's building clutching a pack of cigarettes tightly as feelings and emotions flooded his preoccupied mind. Then a distressing thought came to mind... this week, was the first in 4 years where he had smoked every single day. With his grip on the paper pack tightening, he tried thinking of other things. Things like his unfinished Magazine -HOME- painting, or the faceless portrait laying idly in his room. Anything other than the letter.

But his mind decided to pull him back into the hurricane and images of the pink envelope flooded his mind's eye. He had the small envelope memorised, engraved in his memory: he knew the exact shade of dusty pink that coated the parchment, the eclectic embellishment on the wax emblem, the smooth curves of the graphemes. But most importantly, every word written in its letter. The letter that held his fate.

He pulled the fabric of his charcoal pea coat snugger around his petite body as he took a cigarette out of the box and eyed it with regret.

"This is the last time..." He softly whispered to himself, hoping that it really was the 'last time'.

He held the lit cigarette between his fingers, brought it to his lips and took a drag. The stale scent of the cigar overwhelmed him as the grey fumes swirled in the tarnished air. Suddenly, breathing was hard, as if his lungs were surrounded by metal bands, not impossible like his first time, but you never get used to it. With another draw from the lit cigar, his bound lungs engulfed the oxygen molecules and expanded powerfully. His once clouded mind was at ease as ecstasy seeped in with every drag. Images of his father, Blair and the letter seemed to fade to the back of his mind- long forgotten and discarded. His burdens seemed to diminish.

Jamie closed his eyes and inhaled the grey stench, knowing very well that the odour foretold of tar-infested lungs and his future death-bed. He slowly felt himself fall- like a raindrop, once again slowly free-falling from dense clouds into the briny ocean.

His phone started vibrating in his pocket and its loud ringing echoed through the leaden atmosphere. The blond boy hastily picked up his ringing device- he should definitely consider muting it.

"Hey," He grumbled into the speaker.

"Hey..?" Emily's worried voice echoed back, "You good?"

Jamie grumbled once more as he tapped his cigarette on his finger lightly letting any excess ash fall, "Just not in the mood."

"Do you wanna hang out?" She asked, in hopes she'd lighten up his mood.

Hang out? At bloody 11 pm? Okay Emily, Okay.

He shook his head in reply, "Can we just talk?"

"Mmhm," She softly hummed and adjusted her position on her bed, "What's up babe? What's bothering you?"

It has been a while since they talked. It's been a while since Jamie talked to anyone. He has been closed off in his cocoon, not wanting to burden anyone with his thoughts which may be a mere creation of his doubts. And let me tell you, these doubts have escalated to great measures.

"I got an anonymous letter earlier this week," He stated as he pushed the lit blunt against the wall, a small swirl of grey smoke rose, putting it out. He quickly shoved his unoccupied hand into his coat's pocket, he started walking back to his dull dorm.

"Oooh," Emily squealed and clapped her hands, "A love letter!"

Not a love letter.

Jamie gloomily chuckled, "not exactly..."

"Then?"

The blonde bit his tongue, not knowing how to word his response.