Page 17 of The Loathing

CHAPTER SEVEN

AMORA

Sitting in the glass conservatory I stare at my blank canvas that sits on my easel. My father used to paint all the time when he was younger, but after his brother died… well, faked his death, he stopped. Grief became too overwhelming, but I seem to have been given his artistic streak.

Mixing up my pastel paints, I place my palette down on the windowsill for a moment whilst I pin my hair back with a clip. I hear footsteps behind me, and I instantly know it’s my father.

“Hey baby girl,” his hands wrap round my shoulders, his lips pressing to the top of my head. “What you going to paint?” he asks, looking at the blank canvas.

“I’m not sure yet,” I admit, and I feel the reassuring squeeze on my shoulders.

“Don’t force it, it’ll come to you,” he places another kiss on the top of my head and turns to walk out the room, but before he does, he stalls. “Oh, Titus is coming Sunday.”

“Sunday?” I repeat, that’s two days from now.

“Yup,” his voice is flat.

“Okay, might as well enjoy my last two days of freedom then.”

“Freedom,” he scoffs, “Darling, you’re not being kept prisoner.”

“Sort of feels that way.”

“Well, it’s not that way,” he gives me a stern nod then walks out of the room. Suddenly, I feel like I have lost the creative spark that was burning deep inside my belly and now nerves replace anything I did once feel.

Sighing, I stand from my easel and grab my palette. Floating towards the kitchen sink, I wash the paints off and watch as they melt away down the sink.

“Washing the paint off already?” my mother’s voice pulls me from my empty thoughts, and I turn to look at her smiling.

“Changed my mind,” I sort of shrug my shoulders up as I place the palette onto the draining board and let it dry.

“That’s a shame, you haven’t painted in so long, I was looking forward to seeing what you created.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” I give her a gentle nod, “I’m going to retire to my room.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

But I can’t even bring myself to mutter out the words, so I just give her a little mmhm before scarpering away and up to my room.

Pulling my floral sunflower dress from my body, I drop it to the floor as I walk into the bathroom. Turning on the tap, I let the hot water run and fill the tub. Tipping some salts into the bath, I watch as they dissolve into the water and all I can think about is sinking my body into the hot water and it washing away all the unwanted tension that I feel is slowly building inside of me.

Once the bath is filled, I pull my underwear from me and discard of it in the laundry basket. Letting my hair fall from its clip, it curls around my face, framing it. Dipping my toes into the water, goosebumps erupt as the hot water burns over my skin, warming my blood and making my body temperature spike, but I welcome it.

Slipping under the water, I finally feel myself relax a little, the salt instantly calming me.

I am nervous about what my life will be like when Titus gets here, but I need to remember it’s for my safety. Hopefully a few weeks and I’ll be able to get some sort of normal in my life. I had to quit my studies of Art when this situation kicked off. I work for my uncle Carter in the city and I love it. But it’s not what I want to do. I would love to be an artist, creating masterpieces from deep inside my heart and selling them to be hung in people’s homes and even maybe a museum one day. But I know that this is just a blip in my life that will soon be over with. The bath quickly gets cold and as much as I want to stay here and shrivel into a prune, I know I need to get out. I feel like I am just existing, I’m not living. Not at the moment. Not until all of this shit with my father is over. He will not rest until he knows that I am safe. And for me to be safe, I need Titus here to watch over me.

I need my father to agree that Titus does not need to show up like a knight in shining armour, I do not need him to ride in on a white horse and save me. I do not need saving. I just need protecting. Just until whatever shit my father has got himself into is sorted.

Walking into the room I smile when I see a single white rose laid on the bed with a note.

I promise this will all be over soon, just take each day as it comes.

I love you, always.

Dad x

I smile and pick up the rose, bringing the soft petals to my lips. How can one of the most vicious men become so soft.

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