Page 23 of Shattered Echoes

I could paint this. Paint something colorful and beautiful for a change.

However, I have to admit that there’s a certain beauty to my current art. It almost feels like I transfer some of the pain and darkness out of my soul., unfortunately.

Suddenly, a sound shatters the tranquility–the unmistakable crunch of footsteps on dry leaves. My breath catches, my hand instinctively reaching for the pepper spray tucked away in my jacket pocket.

Reason tells me it's likely just a hiker or a hunter, but the remnants of the nightmare make me hyper vigilant. Then, he emerges from behind a cluster of trees–Antonio. His appearance fills me with a mixture of surprise and a strange sense of relief.

He's dressed casually, a worn leather jacket draped over a faded t-shirt, loose sweatpants, and white tennis shoes. His hair is windblown, and his hazel eyes flash in surprise when they meet mine.

For a moment, we simply stand there, a silent tableau in the forest's heart. The air crackles with a strange tension, a current of unspoken emotions running between us. He seems content with the silence.

"You're ruining my peace," I mumble, feeling a deep sense of relief. I hate how jumpy my nightmares have turned me, making me afraid of everything.

"Sorry, I didn't know you'd be here," he replies, his voice softer than I expected. "This spot wasn't exactly just for you, you know."

We lapse back into silence, the air thick with unspoken words. My gaze drifts over his features, taking in the way the years have etched lines around his eyes, the faint scar that bisects his eyebrow. It's a visible reminder of a fight he once got into, defending me against a group of bullies back in high school. The memory evokes a wave of warmth amidst the sea of melancholy.

Had he always been this hot? He was always charming, if somewhat withdrawn, and I’d found him interesting. I remember the playful banter we used to share, the carefree days of our youth when stealing away to this secluded spot was a regular occurrence.

"Want some?" I finally offer, impulsively pulling out the small flask from my pocket. "It might help with the…peace."

To my surprise, he hesitates for a moment, glancing at the tiny flask, almost looking… embarrassed? "I'm not allowed to drink," he mumbles, his gaze dropping to the ground.

My brow furrows as curiosity bubbles within me. "What happened to you, Antonio?" The words tumble out before I can stop them, echoing the question that has been gnawing at me since our encounter yesterday.

He doesn't answer right away, and for a moment, I think I've crossed a line. Then, he let out a heavy sigh, his voice taking on a somber tone. "You should never depend on alcohol or anything else to stop the pain," he says, his words laced with a weariness that belies his years. "Trust me on that."

His words are pregnant with a story left untold. A story of pain, of loss, of shadows chasing him down even in this peaceful clearing. I long to pry deeper, to understand what fractured him so badly, making him into the man he is today.

But something holds me back, a sense of respect for his boundaries. Instead, I settle for a quieter form of connection. "I should ask Henry what's going on with you," I muse aloud, studying his features for any flicker of reaction.

His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, but he offers no protest. We lapse back into silence, the weight of our respective pasts hanging like a veil between us. And yet, there's a strange sense of solace in his presence, in the realization that I'm not alone in carrying the burdens of a life marked by trauma and darkness.

“So, what are you up to these days?” I ask. “What do you do?”

He glances sideways at me. “I’m in a rock band. Well… I was in a rock band. Raging Thunder. I was the lead singer.”

I roll my eyes. Original. “Really? That’s… nice.”

He nods. “You?”

I think about it for a moment. “I’m a graphic artist.”

Neither of us are really eager to make conversation. What should we talk about? We didn’t particularly like each other growing up. Forced proximity made sure I always had to see him, though.

The sun climbs higher in the sky, hidden by the thick canopy of trees. I don’t particularly have anything else to do, but I realize that the combination of both of our pains is an absolute recipe for disaster.

I rise to my feet. "I should get going," I murmur, looking out over the town once more. It has woken up, although it’s too far to make out individuals.

"Stay strong, Colette," Antonio says quietly, his hazel eyes holding a depth that seems to pierce through my defenses. "The shadows can't haunt us forever."

What the fuck happened to you, Antonio??

I clench my jaw, remembering my latest nightmare. With a lingering look over my shoulder, I turn and make my way back down the hill, my steps a little heavier than before. So much for hoping for some respite from my troubles.

The walk back seems shorter, perhaps because I was replaying our encounter. What exactly happened to him? Why the secrecy surrounding the alcohol? His words held the weight of a lived experience, a darkness I couldn't even fathom.

I’m still feeling troubled when I arrive at my house, and I know the only thing that can ease me is my art. Unfortunately, the sheriff has made it his mission to catch the “vandal.” Painting within the town is not an option right now.

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