Yellow || hs au

| 22 |

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The large fireplace in the den crackles and pops loudly, being the only source of light besides the small desk lamp beside the leather arm chair. This is the last place I want to be.

  The walls are cream with dark wood panelling that matches the fireplace. Photos of my family and I are placed neatly on the mantle, the main photo being my parents wedding photo which is placed in the middle of the wall.

  This is usually where my father spends his time. He's a retired lawyer and spends literally all of his time reading his old law school books. It's obvious he misses working. He was good at his job too.

  The back wall is an entire bookcase, filled with his law books of course, others being books about life lessons that he also enjoys reading. It smells exactly like it always has, I used to love it in here, I'd sit quietly while my father worked and did what he needed to do. That's when we were close.

  "Lucky, what's up?" My fathers voice causes me to turn skeins abruptly. He's stood with her glasses propped on the bridge of his nose with a mug in his hand.

  "I need the keys to the shed." I tell him. The shed. My shed. My safe space. That was my art studio, my mother didn't want me ruining any of the walls or carpet in the house, so she told me I could have the back shed that would usually hold the lawn mower or something.

  "Your shed?" He asks. I nod. He takes a sip from his mug before he steps into the den, finding his way back to the large dark wood desk in corner. I stay in my place and watch intently as he pulls open the middle drawer and digs around. "Are you planning on working on something?" He asks.

  "Art." I reply. He sighs and hands me the singular key, my fingers grasping around it to tightly and protectively before spinning around and leaving without another word.

  I'd spent more time out in my shed than I did in the actual house when it was finally useable. It always bothered my mother to no end, she would have to come out and get me for dinner herself, I always turned my phone off and listened to music that I knew was too loud.

  I almost feel nervous as I trudge my feet through the freezing snow, staring up at the tall shed that resembles the actual house. Designed with the same paint and wood shutters.

  The double doors are heavier than I remember, the lock on the door being slightly frozen but I manage to pull it out of the hinge. I let out a small breath before I pull one of the doors open, slipping into the darkness and closing it behind me.

  It smells strongly of paint and dust. A smell that I've missed a lot. I feel around the wall until I find the light switch. I blink rapidly and focus my vision, the string lights are messily hung around the ceiling but that's what make them cool.

  I look around the walls, my heart thumping against my chest as it deflates with an overwhelming sadness. Everything is exactly the same and for once, I don't mind that.

  The walls are all bare except for the left one. I had recently started graffiti my senior year but my mom hated the smell. It would seep into rn clothes and follow me when I went back inside after the day. The flooring is completely covered with paint splatters. I never used paper to protect it, no tarps or anything. That's why I loved it so much. I could make a huge mess and nobody could say anything about it.

  I glance over at the workbench that is also splattered with messy paint and everything else I ever used. Nothing was out. None of my brushes or unopened canvases. Everything was hidden at the top loft where I had left it before moving.

  I stare at the narrow staircase that is probably very dangerous and not as sturdy as it used to me but I don't waste anytime making my way up the small steps to the loft.

  Sat in the middle is a large pile hidden under an old bedsheet. I remember it like it was yesterday. Pushing everything under the sheet, practically sprinting around to get back to my car and finally leave this shit hole of a town.

  I wet my bottom lip as I stare at the sheet, becoming nervous. Do I even want to see the pieces hidden beneath that sheet? Anything I did in this town was based solely around my feelings and I'm not exactly sure if I'm ready to feel those feelings again.

  I'm already so confused with myself and my feelings, bringing back the old ones that made me want to move off to New York as soon as possible, sounds like torture.

  So instead, I find myself sitting on the dusty wooden floors, my legs cris crossed as I stare intently at the hidden pieces of art, the bed sheet sitting incredibly still.

  Tomorrow is Christmas, I had spent yesterday shopping for my parents, setting on a new shoe polishing kit for my father and some expensive pot my mom had spoken about wanting before I left for college. I don't know how or why I remembered that.

Christmas is always a lonely holiday at my house. Both sets my of my grandparents have passed and my father is an only child. My mothers sister doesn't talk to her much, she moved her family to Iowa. But I'm sure there is more of a meaning behind that. I'm an only child, so there's no more than my parents and I who will be showing up.

I think sometimes it bothers my mother that it's so quiet and lonely. Maybe that's why she's so persistent on getting grandchildren. I guess I could see that, but I'm only eighteen. That's far too young, I still have three years of college to get through with my whole life ahead of me.

I don't even have a significant other to have children with. Sometimes I think about my future and wonder why I don't see myself ever getting married. I want to see myself having a future with someone but I don't. Maybe that's because I haven't met my person yet.

I want to build a life of my own. And I want to have a good relationship and get married and then talk about kids. It's exciting to me.

So why can't I see it ever happening?

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Happy update cuties! I know these couple chapters have been boring but just wait! It's coming together nicely!

Much love
~C