The weather seemed to align with my mood. The cold rain soaked my body. I looked at the sky, it was completely gray. At that moment I remembered a phrase I read, "you can cry in the storm, or dance in the rain." It didn't have meaning until this instant.
I took the phrase very literally, I started to dance, to dance like a psychopath, dancing reminded me of my Nana, she used to be my partner in the kitchen, since nobody wanted to dance with me at parties. My mind clung to the good memories, I jumped, laughed and danced until I ran out of energy.
... I woke up in the hospital, I had been there for a couple of days, I didn't know how I got there. The last thing I remembered was crying, dancing and fainting.
"Who brought me?"
"He said he was your boyfriend." Impossible, I didn't have that. I didn't even have a suitor. All the men were hypnotized by Layla. I didn't think anyone knew my name.
"Did he tell you his name?"
"No." I would have liked to thank him for what he did. However, he didn't give me the opportunity.
I didn't have money in my pockets, I wondered how I would pay the hospital, luckily the stranger had left everything paid.
I left that place feeling reborn, and with two objectives. One, to kill the love I still felt for Luke, and two. To fulfill my biggest dream, to succeed as an artist.
Four years have passed since that day. Things were not easy for me, I was used to having all the comforts of the world. Now I had nothing. Only the clothes I was wearing. The moment I needed it, a miracle appeared. I got a call from the bank, my Nana had no family, but she considered me her own, she left me everything she had, I didn't think it was too much, but her forty years of work had achieved great results.
End of flashback.
"I owe it all to you." I told the painting I made of her four years ago. It was the first one I wanted to restore. I sighed feeling a weight disappear.
... The morning had arrived without me realizing it. I felt like I didn't sleep well, but I still got up and went to take a bath. Then I opened my closet and felt depressed. Before I had beautiful colors in it, from white to the most intense red. Now all there is is black and gray clothes, that's how my life feels, that's how my character feels, and above all, that's how my world feels. I can't stand wearing colorful clothes, it reminds me of my self from four years ago. It reminds me of all the damage that was done to that young woman, who, only longed for a little love.
I had to push away my thoughts and chose a black blouse with a cross in the middle, black pants, black boots, black socks and a gray jacket. It's a little cold outside.
I left my apartment when I saw my Uber arrive. I went to the university and talked to my friend Sierra, I didn't know if I should give this girl a chance, I mean, my own sister betrayed me, what was stopping a stranger from doing the same? I don't know why, but she insisted for more than two years. We have been friends for less than a year, everything is going well so far. I wish with all my heart that it continues like this.
"Hello Lidia. I didn't see you at yesterday's exhibition." We had planned to admire the work together. I forgot everything with the presence of that jerk.
"I left early."
"Why?"
"I had matters."
"I took pictures for you. You missed a great show."
"What happened?"
"Well, you see. Joseph was dating..." I stopped her from hearing that name.
"I don't care what that Joseph does." I hear his name so much that I see him even in my soup. It tires me to go anywhere on campus and hear Joseph did this, Joseph did that. As if he were the center of the universe.
"What's your problem with him?"
"None." In reality, I have barely seen him.
"And why do you act like you hate him?"
"I don't. I simply don't care what he does." Joseph reminds me of Luke, he is four years older than me, but in my high school everyone talked about him, Luke this, Luke that, at that time I liked to listen to all the rumors, now I am irritated by men who are the center of attention. I have already learned that staying away from them is the best option. "I'm going to class. I want to finish what I started." The classroom was about two minutes away, I arrived, arranged my materials and started painting, this is the only thing that has color in my life, my paintings. But even they look opaque. Once I heard someone say that the painter was a woman full of pain, that he felt nostalgia when he saw my paintings, I wanted to approach, I did not understand that inexplicable need to talk to a stranger, a few steps behind him a woman arrived and hugged him, it was then that I recovered my sanity and walked away, I never knew who he was, I was left with curiosity, undoubtedly he was right. I am a woman full of pain.
"It's cute." An unknown voice forced me to turn around. My eyes went up the blue shirt to the face. Perfect features, blue eyes, reddish black hair, thick eyebrows and sexy smile. Everything in him screamed danger, womanizer, disappointment, the alarms in my head were ringing. Alarms that I turned off when I realized that I am not his type, the kind of woman he would like would be Layla. Not Lydia. "I've seen several of your paintings, you paint very well."
"Thanks." I turned around and continued with my thing.
"Do you think you could accept an apprentice?"
"No." I heard a giggle.
"You didn't think much about it."
"There is nothing to think about." My calm answers kept me focused on my painting. I wanted it to be perfect, as perfect as all the ones I have made.
"Honey, what are you doing here?" A slender young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair came for her belonging. I imagine that's how she sees it.
"Admiring the work of an artist. Isn't this painting beautiful?"
"I don't understand much about art." She said, I felt the disdain in her gaze. Do I care? Not at all. I'm used to everyone hating me, one more on the list won't hurt. "Let's go. Class is about to start." The two left, through the mirror I could see the boy's eyes, we both looked at each other for a fraction of a second, before I looked away to continue my work.
"Mom." I was leaving the campus when that child caught me, he clung to me so hard that I thought he would break my hips. "Mommy come home with us."
"I'm not your mom." I pushed him away roughly. It bothered me that he saw me as a replacement. If his mother were here he wouldn't even ask about me.
"Mommy, don't you love me anymore?"
"I'm not your mother!" How the hell do I make him understand? His crying caught the attention of my classmates, everyone looked at me with disapproval. As if I were the villain of this story. "Hey, calm down." Now how do I shut him up?
"I missed you so much. But you didn't miss me. You don't love me." He cried louder. He reminded me of his mother, always crying to get attention. I wanted to leave so I wouldn't see those eyes similar to mine anymore. He again clung to my waist. "I'll be a good boy, I won't do any more mischief. I promise. Just love me." A tear escaped me. Damn it, he reminded me of myself, always in need of love, I never received it, neither from my parents, nor from the man I loved.
"Byron." I was about to give in. I swear I was two seconds away from giving in, but hearing his voice reminded me of all my damn suffering. I didn't want to go through that again, I will be selfish, my heart comes first, it wouldn't resist more pain.
"Get away from me." I pushed the little one. "I'm not your mother." I looked at Luke with hatred. "I want you and your son away from me." The tears again take over my eyes. I was strong and contained them. I can't let a child manipulate me. He could have been my son, but Luke chose my sister. Just like everyone else did.
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