The Painter's Amour

His Bleeding Heart

Chapter 30: His Bleeding Heart

"The heart that bleeds, knows true heartache." – Nina Jean Slack

Dante Scarfone

The warm sunlight from the window kissed my skin soothingly however I hid my sore eyes under my pillow from its bitterness. Discomfort from last night coated my legs again but still I tried to sit upright from the bed. This fatigue in my body was nothing compare to what I had deep in me, my heart was still dying from its lost.

Pain throbbed in my head as the alcohol slowly deluged my senses. "Sir, your breakfast is here," a sincere voice came from the outside the bedroom.

"I'm not hungry, Emily." I groaned, still morbidly depressed.

I didn't hear her shoes fading along the corridor because of the immense dizziness I felt and then a sour feeling stirred my stomach like a spinning spiral – nausea overwhelmed me that I immediately disappear to the bathroom in order to ease my still pitiful self.

After relieving all of the bile content from my body, I left the bathroom a little sober and I hated it. I didn't want to feel alright because it will only make me remember all the anguish of last night and if that happens, I might do something worse than getting wasted.

If only I could forget it...

"I need wine." I mumbled to myself as I felt the grief starting to ache in my heart once more. I knew well that going on like this will not be good for my health but it didn't matter to me, it really didn't matter to me as long as I can tolerate the heartbreak and pretend that things will be alright the next day.

Indeed, I was beyond hopeless.

I walked to the wine cabinet in my room before grabbing a bottle of whatever wine was available. I opened it and I downed it in haste, it wasn't as strong as the cheap wine I had last night but it was enough for me to not shed a sea of tears again.

Is this how you felt when I left you, Julian, I wonder. The apple flavor of the wine calmed my burning throat but it didn't appease the hundred words I had been holding back.

Hundred words of love for him and it hurt me to know it still wasn't enough.

I dismissed the thoughts at once since it was all useless after all. I headed towards my personal art room afterwards while carrying the bottle of champagne with me.

Then a tall four-sided painted canvas caught my jaded attention the moment I entered the room, it was proportional in all measurements and it was the biggest canvas I had ever painted in my years of painting. It stood idle on the floor and was slanted against the wall – the scent of dried oil paints seared my sensitive nose but I rubbed it away because I needed to finish this one.

This painting and these feelings of love which I told Julian I'll paint for him.

I stared at the almost completed picture; it was beautiful, no doubt, since I put all of my best skills and practices to create this splendid art. I also put trust on my painting expertise however a part of me doubted that this was useless for him to notice me again – to love me again.

The painting itself brought back so many memories to me, pleasing memories of our first meeting and the night that changed my life forever. If only I could go back in time and if only I could change everything that I did to him then I'll gladly do it without a second thought but unfortunately, life was unfair and it was more unfair knowing that I caused it myself.

I created my own hardships and it was too late for regret.

It was simply too late for everything.