Ocean Of Need

❤️‍🩹 2 💔 That First Day

June 7th

The following day, in Freya's room I couldn't get my mind of you. The ridiculousness of giving a compete stranger a key. An invitation to become part of my world. I don't know if I was more terrified of you turning up or not.

The studio was set on the upper floor of a rambling house. A huge space bathed in sunlight from the enormous windows at each end. I set down my ancient typewriter on the desk under the window that over looked the ocean and moved the artist's easel a little closer to it. Then moved it further away.

There were nails already hammered into the blank walls. I could feel the ghosts of all the artists and writers from all the summers before that had resided there. I wondered, were they jealous of my time in the sun, or were they happy that I was getting a chance to live a poet's life - if only for the Summer?

As I waited for you I paced the blonde wooden floor-boards that stretched from one end of the room to the other. Where an enormous wrought iron bed, with crisp white sheets covered in black polka dots was set under the window that overlooked the gravel driveway.

For a moment I sat in the brown leather chair in the centre of the room. You know the one. It became your favourite place to sit and drink whiskey, and watch me crawl, on all fours, to you. Oh Mac, how could we go from that to this?

That first day when you came driving down the gravel driveway in that old pick-up truck of yours I could barely contain myself. I watched from the window, as you unloaded paints and canvases and my heart hammered inside my pussy.

I listened to you rattle the key in the front door lock. Memorised the thud of your feet on the stairs. Gasped as you burst through the studio door with a huge grin, dropped your canvases and paints to the floor, and said, 'Miss Lilah, you are a sight for sore eyes.'

You closed the space between us and kissed me like a long-lost lover. Those were the words you used, a long-lost lover. You really were such a romantic.

That kiss didn't feel like a kiss from a stranger. It felt like a jagged piece of glass, fitting into my jagged pieces, and fusing together, making them smooth. It tasted like creativity, and art, and freedom.

After the kiss we both laughed. Delighted with ourselves. I think there was even mention of how we would be the new Frida and Diego.

Do you remember Mac? That was the first day you painted me, as I sat at my typewriter, in my faded sundress, the colour of honey. You told me that my eyes were the same deep green the ocean turns to the day after a storm. It was the first painting to go up on the wall. You said it was mine. I can't believe you took it with you.

I'm telling this story to you, Mac. Because now that you're gone, I have no other way to find you. Maybe one day you'll find this book, and you'll read it, and you'll understand that I never meant to hurt you. That this wasn't just a love story of you and me. It was also a story of villains and betrayal, criminals and tricksters. Maybe if you read the whole story, you'll come back to me. Maybe you'll love me again.

For you to know everything I'm going to go back to the beginning. Back to April and all the pieces you don't yet know...

—-

Hello Wild Ones,

I hope you enjoy this newly edited version of Ocean Of Need 🌊

I'd love to hear your reactions in the comments and please do vote for my story 💋

With Love & Gratitude for you being with me on this journey,

Violet 🖤💫💋