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He wouldn't go away. Wouldn't let me sleep. It was like I was stuck on a carousel of dreams only I was awake and felt everything as if they were nightmares.
I looked over at my digital clock, the bright neon numbers blinking back at me. I suppressed a groan. It was nearly two in the morning.
Giving up on sleep I yank the sheets off my body, blindly reaching for the black cotton robe at the end of my bed before pulling it over my pajamas. My apartment always got too cold at night. My landlord content to ignore the multiple requests I had sent down about getting the heater fixed.
Sighing I listen to my bare feet echo as I walk along my scratched wooden floors. It was quiet in my apartment. The city for once fast asleep while I plucked through my broken dreams like I was deciding which record to replay. Which memory to choose to relive until the pain became too much and I ended up crying myself to sleep. Never truly knowing the real reason why the fat tears trailed down my cheeks.
Blindly I make my way to my paints. They were the only thing that seemed to help with the pain. If I was lucky, sometimes they helped me sleep. I hoped tonight I was lucky. I was exhausted and yearned for sleep desperately, but of course, it wouldn't come.
Nothing ever came to me when I wanted it to. I was always forced to wait. To be patient until it was taken from me or placed above my grasp. Before my dreams evolved into something so far away I couldn't even imagine why I had thought they were mine to begin with.
I curse, almost tripping over my now ruined combat boots in the darkness. That boy was raking up quite the tab with me, first my ballet tights and now my favorite boots. At the rate he was going, he was going to owe me a whole new wardrobe, plus interest.
The thought makes me smirk.
My fingers reach for the oil paints, wanting to smear my restless on the canvas until I can't think. Until I couldn't remember the hands controlling the strings that made up my life.
I squirt some royal blue onto my forearm like I’m about to apply my morning makeup. Blending it along with some silver and gunmetal until all I see is the makeup that makes up his eyes, his face, his touch. Spreading the paint onto the canvas, I let my emotions consume me. Feast on me like a roasted pig skewered with an apple between its teeth. It tears through me until there is nothing but paint dripping down my arm like tears. Staining me. Until the only sensation I am aware of is that of the rough canvas beneath my hands.
I feel everything, all at once, my heart pounding like I can't breathe as I relive the memories. My past comes up to haunt me as I grab for one of the paintbrushes next to me. I shove it down, I shove it all down, building up my mental walls until they are impenetrable and still the memories find me.
I am defenseless. They wound me, tear me apart and I fight them. The only weapon in my arsenal is my paint, my hands fighting to capture everything on the canvas. And I see him haunting me. A new face. A new memory threatening to tear apart all the rest. Breaking through my storm like a flash of lightning.
I paint and I paint and I paint. Not even noticing the tears streaming down my face. They mix with the shimmery blue until all my thoughts come to focus. Until I finally see what it is my mind is guiding me to.
A picture I would never let him see. A canvas I would never reveal.
Hours flow through me like water and I don't even notice how much time has passed by. My arms are stained with oil paint, the ends of my hair turning a faint blue. I look back at my work shocked at what I see staring back at me. My fingers hover over the lines, tracing their black depths.
But most of all I stare. Stare at them. Stare into them. The very eyes that haunt my every waking thought. Those eyes that are the focal point of all my dreams, all my nightmares. I stare until tiredness possesses me.
Exhausted, I finally close my eyes and let sleep take me.
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My eyes are groggy when they are pulled open by muffled voices. Whispers assault my eardrums and I jolt awake.
I hear something smash in the background and I jump. My hand covering my mouth as a small sound of fear escapes me. Slowly I set my paintbrush down, the paint having made my fingers sticky, and try to calm my breathing as I sit up. My back aches and I think distantly that I must have fallen asleep on the floor as I make my way into a seated position.
The voices are closer now and I hear more shuffling as the intruders continue to roam around. Cabinets slam open and shut and my body starts to shake. I risk a glance over the back of the couch and spot a total of three men crammed in my pathetic kitchen. Their hands shifting through drawers, tossing the contents out on the floor.
What the heck were they looking for?
My eyes narrow on the bigger of the two men, a tattoo of a lion's head peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt. I rack my brain trying to see if I had ever seen him before and come up with nothing.
He is a stranger to me.
The thought only makes me more empty inside. I glance briefly at the other two men. One wore a black hoodie, his face hidden, while the other sported a faded black tee and a shiner beneath his left eye. Both were unrecognizable to my eyes. My stomach clenches with panic and I hate the feeling of fear that settles there. I was tired of feeling useless. Tired of feeling helpless in my own fragile home.
Risking another glance I turn my head towards my bedroom. My thoughts drift briefly to the phone I left on my nightstand. If I could just get to my room I could call for help. My stomach clenches further as I realize I have no one left to call.
My mother was in the hospital and my dad was gone. That left a heaping pile of no one. Not unless I wanted to call Uncle John, and that was out of the question.
Desperate, I slowly start to get up anyways, my paint-stained hair sticking to the sweat dripping down my back, and accidentally make direct eye contact with lion tattoos. His eyes widen as he takes me in before nudging the other two guys.
Shit.
My feet make a desperate move for my bedroom and I make it all of two steps before they’re upon me. Trapping me with my arms above my head and my feet weighed down by lion tattoos knees. His breath creeps onto my neck and I recoil, a scream lodged in my throat.
