Professor C (camren)

27 - Gray

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There is something about the night that calms the soul; the opulence of beauty and the pacific stillness, a distinct divergence of silhouettes basked in the pale glow of the distant moon and an effervescent sky dusted with the sparkle of stars.

Perhaps, it is the promise of tomorrow; that nothing would be worth losing sleep over as there'd be plenty of daylight to sort out snags, to iron the wrinkles the following day. And while in those hours, amidst the shroud of darkness blanketing the sleeping world, beauty is magnified, beauty shines.

As for Luca, a faint trail of smoke led him to a melancholic canvas out in the spacious balcony. Through the small crack of the French sliding door buried in white, heavy drapes, he raptly watched the woman leaning against the middle rounded iron railing like it was a rare privilege.

She was a beauty to behold, painted in hues of gray, in brushes of torment, in strokes of pain.

Her chin was tipped down but Luca could clearly see the arch in her tensed brows above a pair of dreary brown eyes, bound with despair. An arm across her midsection, her paling hand tightly clung to her silk robe to keep it tight around her body while the other cradled her phone, pressed against her ear. Her shoulders were slumped, weighed down by defeat and she was so small, heartbreakingly small.

Blue was an odd word to describe gloom. In the absence of light, color is obscured by darkness.

It should have been gray, Luca concluded and gray hadn't looked as painfully beautiful.

He never expected to find color, and he didn't want there to be any when he found the unmistakable orange ember at the tip of a white stick wedged between her fingers, exacerbating the heaviness in his chest. It appeared bright and taunting, no matter how miniscule it was and Luca wanted to extinguish it or give caution as it was too close to her robe.

As he stood there, seeking refuge behind the drapes, he'd have no idea nicotine had become her lifeline yet again, which was ironically killing her slowly.

Although, sleep seemed to be a fleeting dream since Matilda showed up. The entire house was in a constant state of unrest and Luca was certain even the walls trembled like a frightened child. He'd never been as exhausted and as restless as he was and it should bother him that he likened his mother to the boogeyman. Still, nightmares were supposed to stay in another plane and would disappear as soon as his eyes were open but his coexisted with his little family, and apparently, he wasn't the only person succumbing to the woman's unavoidable plague.

Luca couldn't remember having had a full, uninterrupted six-hour sleep in the last few days. That was not the first time he found the other side of their bed empty or the first time he awoke to heavy, urgent breaths until the woman next to him shot up from her bed, eyes riddled with horror. It wasn't the first time he sought for her; he'd found her in Elf's room, her office, in that very balcony and just the night before, at three forty-one in the morning, in the kitchen, drinking coffee.

He never stayed long enough to pry, and would head back to bed and pretend to be asleep but that early morning, it would be the first time he had an intention of making himself known.

"I'm really sorry I can't make it again tonight. Please don't b-" Camila puffed a heavy, frustrated breath as she took an abrupt pause, apparently interrupted by the person on the other line. In mere seconds, the cigarette was between her lips and she was inhaling deeply. Her actions were urgent, like she would suffocate without it. "Yeah, but I miss you and I like...I like sleeping next to you, and-and you shouldn't just be this indulgent of me." Disbelief drifted along with the white smoke shooting out of her parted lips as the very hand holding the lit stick raked through her hair and then settled on the railing. "But this...this is what happened-"