Letters From An Admirer

Chapter | 01

01
_________________________________

"Riley, dinner's ready." Jane's slender figure appears behind my white bedroom door.

"I'll be down in a sec." I give her a genuine smile.

"Okay, but don't wait for the food to become cold." She says before leaving my sight, probably heading down to the dinner table to devour the usually delicious meal she had prepared.

I've spent the whole day in the shelter of my warm blankets, with a book safely secured in my hands. The world of books is what I call home. No harm can come to me, only to the characters dancing along the thin pages. Even if unwanted events take place, imagination is all it takes to change whatever bothers you into something pleasing. Too bad life is different. No amount of imagination can change a moment in life. The past cannot be erased or changed. It's inevitable. Even paint cannot replace the old peeling paint on the weary walls.

I place my book on my bed, and I swiftly stand up before stretching out every knot in my upper body. The sun has begun to say its farewell to the sky, welcoming the tiny balls of gas peeking out. The sun's sunset rays penetrate my window, and its reflection showers on the unfinished portrait in the far corner of my light blue room. Paint stands proudly on the floor, with paintbrushes sticking out of them.

I'll paint later.

A piano also stands proudly next to the window, waiting to played. Too bad no one has the courage to do so. I leave my room and trudge down the long flight of stairs, right to the kitchen. Jane has already set the dinner table, waiting for me to join her, so I take my seat on the cushioned antic wooden chairs, and wait for Jane to sit in her seat.

"Let's say grace." She says and we hold hands and close our eyes. "Thank you for the food, that you've blessed us with Lord. Continue to bless us so that we may bless others. In Your name, amen."

After opening our eyes, we dish out the freshly prepared lasagna onto our plates, leaving enough leftover for Dave, Jane's husband.

"So, I was promoted today." A shimmering smile spreads across her red painted lips, flashing a look of pride and excitement.

"That's wonderful. Is it the one you've been praying to get?" I ask. She works for a huge modelling company, Glam & Beauty Models, and they were offering a huge promotion-- the COO position-- to whoever worked harder than the others. Jane was adamant in showing dedication towards her job, making sure that everything was run smoothly. She never missed a day of work, except on her off days, and sometimes, she would even work for extra hours.

"Yes!" She screams excitedly, even forgetting about the plate of food in front of her. "The salary is amazing! It's a huge upgrade, and we can finally afford for you to go to that art school you always wanted."

"You mean J-Juilliard?" I choke out, and she nods fervently.

How huge is her promotion?

"Really?" My eyes widen in astonishment. "B-but I can't. I don't think I want to anymore." I glumly stare down at my food, absent-mindedly stabbing the lasagna with my fork.

"But why?" She's nonplussed, unable to fathom my sudden change of mind.

"It reminds me of her and I can't bare the thought." I sigh.

"B-But I thought therapy helped you." She says with her eyes oozing with concern.

"It did."

"But?"

"I still need time." By now tears have started to gather in my eyes, urging to flow down as streams. "Excuse me." I stand up from my seat, as my appetite suddenly disappears, and I speedily run up the stairs, skipping one step at a time. Shutting the door after I enter my room, I throw myself on my bed and bury my face in my arms, lying flat on my stomach.

The tears gush out, inevitably like a waterfall. A simple memory has the ability to suck out every bit of energy travelling in my body. A simple thought of her has the ability to send me crumbling down, crashing on the cold hard floor, with no one to lend me a hand. One night's events caused my life to take a horrifying turn. The picture is not blury at all, I just don't want to set my eyes on it. That picture caused me to be trapped in my own mind. I don't let anyone in, not even Jane.

Looking at the black instrument close to the window, my mind stumbles back to her. I remember the beautiful sound she used to create with only her fingers. She didn't need sheet music, nor did she have to look at the keys. The songs were written deep in her heart, every note in its rightful place. Her voice was soothing, matching the voice of an angel, as she sang the song she wrote for me. Every lyric was perfect, her voice not faltering for a second, everything about her was perfect.

But all perfection had been lost.

________________________________

Vote. Comment. Share. Fan.

-♥♥♥