Mafia Runner

Chapter Thirteen

13.

Five Point Five Months Later:

Biting my tongue in order to suppress the angry tears, I ripped the painted portrait in half. The two pieces of torn art fluttered to the ground and I buried my face in my hands. Another near-failing grade on my project.

Another hit to both my pride and my creativity.

I released a steadying breath.

I knew I wasn't that bad, but my professor proclaimed I did not step out of the box enough. I needed to 'expand my horizons and challenge myself'. Little did he know, every poor grade on a project just completely ruined and discouraged me.

How had my life taken such an abrupt turn?

Again?

When I first arrived in California, it had been a blast.

I met many people who shared my interests. The track team, especially, welcomed me to UCLA with open arms. We went to the beach countless of times before school started, and despite track not starting up until the end of January, we trained anyway.

But when school started, things didn't seem nearly as shiny and new.

The charm of California had dulled and I found myself missing New Jersey.

The freedom of college life was great, it really was, and yet, I found myself actually missing my parents, their expectations, and their faults. Even more so, I missed Nick. My brother emailed and called often, much to my surprise, but with finals approaching and track practice, we hadn't been able to keep in touch as often as we used to.

Tony was another person I missed like hell.

I met a lot of decent people here, but there was no Tony. No one to tell me I was taking myself too seriously. There wasn't an athlete on the track team who'd consider eating several pizzas with me until we vomited before choking down buffalo wings.

Like me, Tony wasn't fond of cellphones. It made staying in touch difficult.

He hated talking on the phone. Refused to email. And when I texted him, it would often be several hours until he responded. When I learned Emily wasn't doing well, Tony had distanced himself even further, barely acknowledging texts or emails.

And then there was Lucian.

I hadn't heard from him since we parted ways, and yet, I still thought about him constantly. I had believed the fascination I held for him would disappear with time and distance.

It hadn't. If anything, the distance only accentuated my yearning. With his knack of always showing up wherever I was, I had half-expected to see him on campus. There were days I found myself looking around for a tall man in a suit.

He would never be there. He'd probably moved on long ago.

It was pathetic, I was pathetic.

I came here to find myself but discovered myself more lost than before.

Dropping my hands from my face, I pulled myself on the park bench and sat on top the table. That wasn't entirely true, I suppose. I did learn a few things about myself, things I would have never discovered living under the same roof as my parents.

For one thing, I was doubting my pursuits in art. Not because of the professor, not because of the grades, but because I couldn't imagine doing it as a career.

In California, there was no disapproving father pulling me away from drawing or painting. In New Jersey, it was something to keep hidden. An escape. Evidently, forbidden fruit tasted better when it was forbidden and not when it was permitted.