The Bar and the Butterfly [BWWM]

Chapter 12

I didn't know if I should be pissed or patient, annoyed or assured, uncomfortable, or understanding. I didn't know where we stood. And I stared at him, plucking the strings of his guitar as he performed his new single for me with that amazingly bright smile of his, I didn't know what to feel. Who am I even directing these feelings towards? Rowan, for possibly lying to me that Ezra was locking lips with another person? Ezra, for possibly being unfaithful and dishonest in our relationship? Myself, for not being able to see the truth as clearly as I thought? And as I watched Ezra perform for me, I couldn't help but let my mind wander.

There were so many things going through me that I was afraid I would crash from the anticipation of something going wrong again. To think, I thought things were finally going my way for once in my life like I finally had some control over my life to the point where I thought I could finally have a life I've always dreamed of. I thought I was ready.

Seeing Rowan for the first time just a few days back after two years of silence was enough to keep my heart rate up out of pure anxiety, yet curiosity. Sure, he looked different since the last time I saw him; put together, fairly well mannered until the whole debacle with Ezra went down. His once handsomely hushed yet rugged voice was now smooth and saturated in confidence. He was a lot more confident than he was two years ago, and that made me nervous. Why? His words I refuse to believe.

What was all of that crap about how he loved me and still loved me? Bullshit.

I couldn't help but think back to the first time I met him. I remember that rainy night all too well. Mama was downstairs peeling some potatoes to cook up some potato porridge when she called for me to come down and help her, interrupting me from my shenanigans. It almost felt like it was yesterday. That was the day I decided to take a break from sketching so much and pick up a paint canister. In my mind, I wanted to learn how to paint from studying the art of Bob Ross to impulsively purchasing a whole paint set from Amazon using whatever little money I was able to gather, I was determined to teach myself how to paint.

"Coming mama!" Though I wasn't coming, I was covered in paint. My first disaster on a canvas was radiating to me how much of a bad painter I was. Sure, I could draw pretty fine, but this was a whole nother ball game. My attempts at painting the bowl of fruit situated on my bed, in which mama would be very mad I took from the kitchen, was dreadful. Not only did it not look like fruit, but it was a dripping mess. I'd managed to get paint on the floors, mama would probably scream at me for that, green and yellow paint dried from my arms to my hands, somehow blue paint got dried in my hair. I don't even know where that came from, I didn't even have the color blue. What fruit is blue?

Knowing mama would yell for me again, I decided to book it, leaving the mess as it was in my room and snuck towards the bathroom so she couldn't hear me moving around. I didn't want her to think I was coming right away. I turned on the water as I stared at the mirror, almost breaking out in a fit of laughter as I stared at my reflection.

Jumbo messy braids I did myself covered in blue paint dangled against my shoulders, staining my shoulders with the same blue paint I still didn't know I had. I was scrubbing my hands like crazy when I heard the doorbell causing me to halt.

That's funny, we don't usually have people ring our doorbell. Usually we didn't get visitors or whoever was coming didn't bother to ring the bell since they already knew mama. Not even the mailman rang the doorbell.

"Dallia!" I heard mama yell again and I responded with a yell back, she huffed and advanced towards the door. I was taking my time, pulling on a loose-fitting shirt as I slowly made my way down the stairs where I could hear mama's faint voice from the doorway along with a strange voice I didn't recognize. I then ducked my head from the stairs to get a better look at the scene.