We pull up to the house within an hour, little Lola fast asleep on my lap and her blonde hair delicately scrunched up around her head. Jessie and I say nothing the whole time, we oly throw a few glances once in a while.
Jessie walks slowly towards the front door and I follow promptly, Lola now slumped in my arms with the pink cast adding extra weight.
He comes to a halt outside the front door, his breaths deep and heavy before passing me a small copper key; it's obvious how important this small object is just by the shine in his eyes. However, I cannot tell if this shine is a tear in his eye or a reflection from the sunlight.
"Take this key, go straight upstairs, put Lola in bed and go up to my art studio." That is all he whispers. I take the key and he opens the groaning door.
Tiptoeing up the stairs, I begin to hear a few mumbling noises coming from the living room and they gradually get louder.
Without hesitation, I lay Lola down in her bed and tuck her in, leaving a small kiss on her forehead before the smash of glass splitting into tiny pieces rattles through the air.
Waiting for a second, I listen carefully, leaning against the wooden banister.
"Where is she?" Mr Oliver asks, his voice low and menacing.
"She's safely in bed, I promise." Jessie's voice quivering and vulnerable. He has completely changed from the strong, terrifying guy that helped me at Layla's party.
"I should through you out for this! You're lucky I'm forgiving, God! I should've left you on the streets!" Jessie's silence throughout his fathers rant is harrowing. "If only it weren't for your mother!"
After a minute of burning silence, I wipe the fallen tear away with my sleeve and pull down the ladder to the attic.
I wait for a while, observing Jessie's artwork. He puts his everything into his art, every emotion he's ever felt.
One stands out in particular, the ocean blue surrounding golden locks of hair on a young and healthy woman contrasted with the reds and oranges of a man, between them sits a small swirl of green, a baby filled with joy.
But the picture next to it only brings me sorrow. It is the golden woman again, only this time the blues are darker, sadder then before. She is floating on a pond of water, hair now dull and her skin pale. She does not glow like the picture before.
The golden woman is dead.
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Teen FictionPART 1: COMPLETED PART 2 (chapter 40 onwards) INCOMPLETE *** Maddie Henderson is a bookaholic who doesn't live but survives. School is a prison and at home she might as well be a ghost. Social anxiety separates her from the world. Isolates...
