jasper | part one (completed)

Chapter Two

As soon as Mum and Jasper finished their shower (time which was spent watching Dora the explorer) I was finally showed to my room. The weight on my shoulders seemed to dissipate into thin air, I could finally relax in a space that I could eventually call my own.

I took a glance around; it was definitely nothing like my previous bedroom. Bright lights hung on the high ceiling and various abstract paintings decorated the walls, a neatly made, double bed sat in the far centre of the room with an edgy, distressed dresser at its bottom. My attention was immediately brought to the simple wooden desk under the large window, it was simplistic but also was the perfect place to paint. The view outside was picturesque. The rolling green fields peppered with wild spring flowers and fat, tall gum trees seemed to be endless. Small birds chirped from thick branches and plump toads croaked from damp, moss-coated logs. 

The itch to draw was inevitable. I dropped my bags to the floor and went on a crazy rampage, searching for my sketchbook and pencils.

"Aha!"

With the necessities in hand, I strolled over to the desk and made myself comfortable, grabbing my crappy old phone from my pocket and turning on some sweet Beethoven. 

I wasn't a huge classical fan, but it always seemed to put me in the right mood to art. It was the beauty the music dripped from its sweet melodies and deep baritones that struck a cord with me.

I put my pencil to paper and started sketching, unaware of the direction the sketch would take me.

---

It must have been a few hours later when my mother knocked on the door, "Honey, dinner is ready."

Time sure did go fast, though the tightness of my hand muscles and the slight ache in my back gave it away. I looked down at the messy sketch below me and smiled. It was a woman, her eyes were shut but a peaceful smile adorned her lips and in her chest was an open bird's cage, which a dove had just been set free from. I wished I could paint it, but sadly I had sold all my oil paints and brushes for fuel money. I frowned and got out of the desk chair, I'd have to paint her another day.

 I internally groaned like an ungrateful teenager as I sat down at the table, dinner was vegan spaghetti. I didn't have a problem with vegan food but the green noodles sort of freaked me out, what even were they?

I pictured myself back at my old apartment watching movies with Harold in my arms and a big, juicy burger in my gob and began to drool. I sure missed Harold, even more than the juicy burger.

Before I got the chance to try the suspicious looking vegan spaghetti my mother began to speak.

"Honey, I think we need to talk," she sounded worried. The only time she was worried about something it was about me. I wasn't some stupid depressed teen. I was some stupid depressed adult; she had no reason to worry. Yeah, I didn't exactly have my life in order but who did?

"Over dinner?" I questioned, the rumble in my tummy wasn't going to subside anytime soon. It was a monster that I don't think even vegan spaghetti could defeat.

"Maybe you should start going to therapy," she started, "I hea-"

"Mum, I'm not going to therapy," I muttered bitterly, caving into my desires and stuffing a forkful of spaghetti in my mouth, "My bloody cat died, nobody needs therapy for that."

Therapy wouldn't fix me.

Admittedly the spaghetti wasn't too shabby, the creamy sauce was almost to die for. Not quite, but almost.

A frown adorned my mother's face, "Lauren, people go to therapy for many different reasons. No one will judge you if you go."

"Can we not talk about this here?" I mumbled feeling my cheeks heat up. This was not a conversation for the dinner table.