Fear of the unknown. It was a heart-wrenching longing, like a song half-remembered, its melody fading into the depths of her mind.
CHAPTER 9
The next few days blurred into one another, like watercolor strokes blending on a canvas.
Amara found peace in the simplicity of her days, losing herself in the vibrant swirls of paint she spent hours on and the comforting presence of Martha. Her emotions remained stormy, but amidst the chaos, she was slowly discovering ways to piece herself back together.
Sometimes he’d wake up and find herself in an unfamiliar room, strange and lonely. Yet, as the days passed, she started relying more on her conscience than her fears.
And strangely, whenever Kaelith was home, the nightmares were less frequent. She’d feel someone beside her bed every night, dreamily stroking her hair, running their gentle fingers on her delicate skin. But when she’d open her eyes, the bedside would be empty. There would be lingering coldness left on her skin. She’d wonder if she once again imagined things.
But the wrinkled sheets on the other side, how could she possibly imagine them? Moreover, the chilling sensations in her heart were still there.
Another day passed. Amara would paint for hours in her room, and in the afternoon, she’d join Martha. They’d spend hours chatting and making cookies, sometimes baking cake.
Amara realized she had a sweet tooth. She enjoyed sweets and the crunchiness of cookies more than the softness of cakes. She was slowly finding her likes and dislikes.
As the day descended towards the night, the evening sun casted a warm, golden glow through the window, Amara sat in her room, surrounded by canvases and paints. The room was infused with the gentle scent of acrylics.
Martha had been quietly observing Amara for a while now. With a soft smile, she broke the silence. "The way you paint is mesmerizing."
Amara paused, her brush hovering over the canvas, the tip of it dripping with deep red color. She turned to look at Martha, a mix of surprise and gratitude in her eyes. "You think so? I don’t even know how… I am doing this. This seems natural… like the desire to paint is infused in my veins.” Amara was aware she lost her memories, but there were some things that came naturally to her. Like how she liked peonies, the sweets, desire to paint even though she didn’t know how to, her hands moved on their own. Even the books she read, she felt like she had read them before. There were several gaps, but memories could be forgotten but the habits could not.
Martha nodded earnestly, her eyes fixated on the canvas as she spoke. "Absolutely. Your brush strokes are like a dance, a beautiful blend of colors and emotions." Martha watched the way Amara paint. The painting was still half-down, but Martha could tell what she was painting.
Rafael’s portrait.
Amara's cheeks flushed with a hint of modesty, but she couldn't help but be touched by Martha's compliment. "Thank you. I guess it’s my way of coping with all that's missing in my life.” She slowly and carefully stroked the brush across the edges blurring out the imperfections.
Martha's gaze remained gentle and understanding as she peeled apples.“Well, you’ll find yourself soon."
Amara returned to her canvas with renewed inspiration. As she continued to paint, the room filled with the rhythmic melody of brush against canvas.
As the days passed, the days became shorter, and the frigid nights grew longer. Sleep became evasive, and Amara would often find herself tangled in the sheets, her restless thoughts. She yearned for the peaceful embrace of sleep but sleep was nowhere near. The nightmares were frequent, and so were the haunting flashbacks with them. Amara wondered if her past was as horrifying as those nightmares.
But she tried to feign ignorance. Whatever the past was, she couldn’t possibly change it, but she could change her present.
Now that she was getting better, the doctor advised the use of crutches. She was slowly getting back on her feet. Though she still felt ache in her legs, but she pushed herself move.
At this moment, Amara was in the kitchen clutching onto the counter as she breathed deeply. Martha stood on other side near the couch, looking at her with encouraging eyes and worried expressions.
Amara took a deep breath before letting go of the counter, she counted to three, before lifting her trembling leg and placing it on the ground. She took another breathless breath before she was pushing her feet against the floor, and taking unsteady but confident steps forward.
Martha couldn't contain her excitement as she watched Amara walk from the kitchen to the sofa on her own feet, without crutches, though the steps were slow and painful.
"Come on! Come on! Come on! YAY!!" Martha cheered, clapping her hands with enthusiasm.“I’mtired.” Amara groaned slipping down on the sofa. Her face was red, and herbreaths coming as pants. Her legs aching but the pain was sweet and victorious. Martha quickly had her a glass of water, and a bowl of fruits she decorated with chocolate syrup.
Martha grabbed the smaller bowl for her herself and sat next to Amara.
“Is Kaelith home?” Amara asked munching on the apples. She tried not to sound like she missed him. But Martha read through her.
She shook her head.
“No, Mr. Luca left earlier this morning.” Leaving early and coming back late. Amara wondered if she did something wrong for him to not show his face to her.
Amara sighed. What did it feel like he was ignoring her? Or was he seriously busy? It had been several days since she had breakfast with him. Sighing to herself, she tried not to think about him, but the more she tried, the more it became harder for her do so.
Finishing the fruits, she sat on the ground with Martha on the couch as the latter braided Amara’ s hair in French tails. Amara grabbed the remote and turned on the television.
