Page 36 of The Blue Rose
Thinking back on our conversation, my stomach drops, as a wave of nausea crashes over me. The realization of when he decided to take me home, when he went quiet and changed his mind, right after I asked for his address. I did joke about him being a serial killer, but there’s no way. My joke must’ve upset him, and that’s why he changed his mind.
I was too upset in the moment to even think about his reason, I was too hurt that he rejected me, changing his mind so quickly after agreeing in the first place. When we got to my house, I was sure he was going to leave, but he didn’t. After I walked into the house and he didn’t follow, I wanted to scream, cry, break things. Then the banging started happening and my heart started racing, and when he pushed his way in, I let him.
I was still pissed, trying to get him to leave, but hoping he would stay. Instead he claimed me and consequences be damned, I reveled in every moment.
What was I thinking? I wasn't, and that was the problem. I wasn’t thinking with my head, my vagina was running the show, andfuckI don’t regret it.
Brushing off my fears as nothing more than self doubt at waking up alone, I begrudgingly get out of bed and head to the bathroom to shower and start my day.
After I get out of the shower, I swipe my hand over the steam in the mirror and my eyebrows raise at the damage on my neck. Erasing the fog, craning my neck, I push my hair back to see all the bruises not only from his mouth, but the mark his fingerprints left behind. Luckily, I’m not planning on seeing anyone in the near future or I’d need a lot of makeup to cover those up.
I put my overalls on and head to my art room, eager to start a personal piece for the first time.
Dipping my brush in the teal paint, trying to capture his eyes perfectly. There is something about his eyes. They’re guarded and when you look into them, you know he’s hiding something. We all have our skeletons in the closet, but I so badly want to know his.
I sit back and stare into the eyes I’ve captured with photo-like precision and smile.
How did a man who looks like this choose to be with a girl like me?He could have any girl he wanted, and he chose me. I’m not ugly by any means; no, I am rather beautiful. I know I’m no model, but both fireworks and flowers are beautiful despite looking nothing alike.I’m Aster’s firework.
With the eyes finished, and knowing I have a list of clients waiting for their art, I stare at his portrait for a few moments more. Then, get up to put it with my secret paintings.
For some reason I feel like this belongs with them, and I don’t want anyone, especially him, knowing I’m painting him. I’ve never felt so compelled to paint a man I was seeing, the way he looks at me, the way his eyes hide his secrets, I needed to get them onto my canvas. Capturing his photo would be creepy without permission, but painting it, knowing he won’t know or needing his permission, isn’t as creepy.Who am I kidding?I’ve gone full on stalker for this man.
I hear my phone ring and grab it off the windowsill by my easel, seeing it’s an unknown number. I don’t usually answer unknown numbers, but this one has called me twice. I was so lost in the portrait of Aster I didn’t hear it ring the first time.
Thinking better of myself I answer, “Hello?”
The voice on the other end is silent for a beat and then responds, “Serena?”
“Yes, this is her,” I say hesitantly. “May I ask who is calling?”
“Serena, it's me, your father.”
My hand tightens around the phone, and my head starts spinning. The last time I saw him was when he was driving away after our screaming match in his car.What does he want?I’ve been ignoring him for a reason. I have nothing to say to him. If he wants a relationship with me, he needs to apologize, and accept all of me, not just the pieces he approves of.
“Serena?” he says again, worried I hung up on him and cleared his throat to gather my attention.
“What do you want? How did you get my number?” I say dropping my voice and lacing it with annoyance.
“You haven’t been answering my emails, and I needed a way to contact you.”
“You didn’t answer my question, how did you get my number?”
After my mom passed away, our relationship turned sour fast. He started treating me differently, walking on eggshellsaround me, and not to mention, seeing another woman. I lost all contact with him, but he found my email, trying to reconnect. The hurt and pain I felt at his betrayal to my mother, his wife, hurt too much so I ignored his attempts.
Years passed and after my anger subsided some, he reached out again, and I told him about my life. I did miss my dad, no matter how upset I was with him and the whole situation, he was still my father. He seemed to be nicer, but then started insulting my way of living by saying he could get me a job at his company, I could make real money.
Anger coursed through me again, he tried to apologize but the match was lit. I agreed for him to come see me, and when everything happened, the fuse was blown.
“I have my ways.”
“Meaning you throw money at something to get what you want, like always?”
“Serena, I didn't call to argue,” he says in an exasperated voice. “I want a fresh start with you. I want to apologize for how last time went, and I want to see you.”
Tears start to threaten, and my voice cracks “Why?”
“Sharon thinks-”
