Celestia wants to leave her home and get as far away as possible from her alcoholic mother. When she stumbles into a drunk man and helps him home, what happens when he becomes her way out?
#2 in Smile
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October 5th
I held Moonie tighter in my arms, her fresh and warm skin holding my mind together. Her arms around me as she sleeps peacefully is all that's reminding me that she doesn't hate me.
I've never felt guilty for something like this before. I've done much worse to women after sex and never had a second thought about it, yet we didn't even have sex and I feel like I've defiled her entire being. I'm disgusted with myself for letting that happen.
I'm not saying it didn't feel good because fuck did it feel good..better than sex if you ask me. Just her fingers that I find so gorgeous wrapped around my dick and her heaven sent lips pressed against mine...I couldn't think of anything better than that. But I let my need for sex take over me and I didn't want her to ever have to experience something like that, for the first time, with me.
I don't know who else it would've been with but I just feel so...dirty. And it's even worse that she still looked at me with those beautiful galaxy ridden eyes and told me she wouldn't have done it for anybody but me. She said it as if it wasn't negotiable or as if she wouldn't even let the thought of holding somebody else, the way she did me, cross her mind.
And I feel worse because I don't think I could ever say no if she offered again. I could easily reject anybody else but I couldn't reject her. I couldn't not want her.
And I don't know what that means.
And I'm scared.
...
October 7th
Gillian wanted me to meet her here to discuss the plans for the exhibit. She claims we are only a week out from the final touches and two and half from the showcase. She says she thinks this could be my last one before I no longer have to even present my work beforehand...she says I could become as big as Van Gogh. But fuck if I believe that, I'm amazing but I don't think I could be that famous until I die and Moonie has to tell my story to some sick kids or some shit.
I flicked my cigarette down into the alleyway before straightening my sweater out.
"I've gotta quit smoking." I murmured as I opened the doors to the building.
I watched as men carried around and arranged my works on the walls. Some paintings I'd done over two years ago and just refused to sell but even in those, despite most claiming them as my best works, you can see all of the improvements since then in my new work. Or maybe my muse is just too wonderful to make a bad painting.
It wasn't even hard to repaint the ones that got ruined because after the flood, I was happier than I'd ever been. Moonie even sat with me a couple of times while I redid them and I even got one of her while she slept. She says that one is her favorite. I painted her in a field of blue poppies, blue beards, baby's breath, and larkspur. I stayed up all night painting it, a full nine hours of work and no sleep and I got it done.
