MAURA
The sunrise blazes through my bedroom windows, demanding that I get out of bed. I cover my face with my arm, pretending I don’t see it.
I was in the studio late last night, working on the giant canvas that’s going to be the centerpiece of my show. At first, I envisioned it as a larger, more intense version of the thunderstorm painting that caught Sydney’s eye in the first place. The longer I spent painting it, though, the more I realized it needed to be something more complex. A painting that didn’t just catch your attention, but kept it.
It took me hours to mix the perfect gray, not too dark or too flat. I finally stumbled into bed around 3:00 a.m., too exhausted to pull the drapes closed. Which is why I’ve unfortunately got the sun as an alarm clock.
“Enough,” I groan at the sun. “I’m awake. Just go away.”
When it doesn’t, I drag myself back out of bed and back to the studio.
My eye starts twitching the second I look at the painting. The color is way too flat in the middle, with none of thefluid, looming curves a real cloud would have. Even though my painting is abstract, I’m still trying to evoke a cloud’s shape.
I grab my headphones off the table where I left them and turn on some mood music. Then I grab a brush and get to work.
The sun interrupts me again around lunchtime, this time by disappearing behind the clouds and casting my studio in shadow.
“Where was this energy this morning?” I grumble at it.
My stomach echoes me, growling loud enough that I can hear it over the music blasting on my headphones. Apparently, I missed breakfast, possibly lunch, too.
I reach for my phone, and I gasp when I see the time. I completely missed my medication alarm.Shit.Dropping the phone, I rush to the bathroom, pull open the drawer and pop open my pillbox. Since I’d have to go all the way to the kitchen to get a glass of water, I dry swallow them, wincing as the bigger pills make their way over the lump in my throat.
“Stupid,” I mutter. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
If I’d missed these meds, my blood pressure could have spiked. Even if I magically avoided a trip to Dr. Markovic for a checkup, I’d still lose a full day of work, when the show happens in a week. I lean back against the sink and force myself to count through four deep breaths. My lungs fill and expand, then release. I let my breath out in a whoosh, both because it’s supposed to relax me, and because I want to drown out the blood pounding in my head.
My goddamn heart. Always demanding my attention, refusing to just beat along like a normal person’s.
No. Now’s not the time for me to start wallowing in self-pity. There’s too much to get done with this centerpiece painting. I force myself back to the studio, where the alarm on my phone is still chiming. When I pick it up, there’s a missed text from my husband.
James
You skipped breakfast.
Eat.
I roll my eyes. Since when has James decided he’s in charge of my nutrient intake? Besides, he’s been at work all day. Even if he missed me at breakfast, he has no idea whether I had a nice, balanced lunch. I shoot back a reply.
Maura
I did.
James
Liar.
Maura
?? Do you have cameras in here?
James
Don’t need them. You’re a terrible liar.
Maura
How can I be a bad liar over text?
