twenty.

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CHAPTER TWENTY:
STRANGERS.
EL'S POV.

two weeks.

that's how long it had been since el had seen mike and in all honestly... it felt like lifetime.

it's shouldn't come as a surprise that the successful writer boy didn't reach out the morning after that night, clearly she didn't expect him too. however, she didn't think that he would last not even trying to talk to her again throughout the rest of the week... especially considering the fact that he had to come back to her humble home every friday afternoon to speak with her father.

she'd be lying if she said there wasn't a part of her that still had hope in the idea that he would come around eventually. he was her writer boy after all... right?

but it was when he started purposely declining her phone calls, reading her texts and not responding, and even leaving the mansion before she got home from her studio... that she knew that what they once had was over.

it was undeniably all her fault.

her fault because she was too terrified to let someone love her, too selfish to allow someone into her broken little family and absolutely too ignorant to realize that her mother's mistakes weren't her own.

that was exactly the reason why she had always been so careful when it came to things like this, so intentional to avoid every ounce of affection people gave her in order to avoid those lusting, fibers of feelings that stick so easily and effortlessly.

love didn't exist in her world because she didn't allow it.

never in her life had she let it get that close to her before, quite literally inches away from her face. so close that she couldn't practically feel the heat radiating off his perfectly sculpted cheekbones, off of his kind gentle heart. and although it was mike and she knew he would never hurt her. she couldn't help that itching feeling in the back her head that told her that it was her that was capable of burning him all along.

and she did.

so now they were stuck, acting as strangers with memories, each of their hearts incapsulating tiny light blue memories of pure innocence and fluffy atmospheres that truly weren't the reality of their worlds anymore.

she had hurt him and for the first time in her life... she was afraid of losing the chance to finally love someone.

and to make matters worse?

the whole entire reason she was in new york was falling down on her and people were starting to get impatient. she had received a phone call about her piece that was supposed to be honored at the museum of modern art, basically telling her that if she didn't submit something by the end of next month they were going to have to give the exhibit to someone else.

truly, she had about four and a half completed versions of her friends painted in front of the indianapolis skyline, some of them were sloppier than others but technically they were showcase ready.

though "technically" wasn't exactly what she was going for in regards to having one of her pieces hanging next to monet or picasso.

the tiny artist's world had been lit on fire, crumbled up and spoiled by sweet stains of being quite frankly absolutely dazed about everything happening in her life.

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