And I am not exaggerating.
Sometimes I just want it to stop.
The voices.
The feelings.
I sink to the floor between my canvases and choose a blank one.
I twist my damp hair into a messy bun, wedge a brush between my teeth, and begin mixing black paint with deep blues and purples.
Time slips away from me entirely.
When the sun finally rises, and the pale light spills into the room, I step back.
The piece is finished.
A girl kneels at the centre of the canvas, her head bowed, her hair veiling her face, her shoulders curled inward as though she is trying to make herself disappear.
Black strokes slash across her back, like shadows clawing at her skin, as though something dark is trying to drag her down into the abyss.
I stare at it for a long moment, my chest tight.
“I will frame this one,” I whisper to the empty dorm.
I step back, and begin cleaning, rinsing brushes, putting everything away.
Then I move into the kitchen and make my coffee.
I take my americano and my phone and walk towards the window in the living room, and as I watch the sun attempt to rise between the clouds, I think of the trigger behind my nightmare.
Markev.
And Talia.
Seeing them together, knowing what she claims he did to her, woke every demon inside me.
And yet, a small, foolish voice whispers that maybe, just maybe, she is lying.
But I silence it, even though it might be… reason.
I don’t believe children should pay for their parents’ sins… but perhaps this is an exception.
It is not right.
But life rarely is.
And I never claimed to be good.
I open the window, and the chill September rain slips inside, the wind skimming my face.
As I sip my coffee, I unlock my phone and send a message.
The reply comes instantly.
A single thumbs up.
I smile to myself as I turn toward my bedroom.
