A Deathly Cry for Help

Chapter 4: The painting

Recap

Pretty sure I passed out on the very comfy bed.

I was in a bedroom. A really rich bedroom. The walls were a dark-light shade of gray. There was one completely white wall that had dozens of paintings. I love art. I love drawing painting and all that shit but art is fucking hard. Whoever did this was a professional. They probably paid someone but the paintings were beautiful. Most of them were scenery and one of the scenery ones it looked like a boy and he was slowly melting into the background. 

Then...I saw one painting. There was again the same boy he looked like a teen and what looked like a kid who was roughly three. The teen was holding the child's hand, their faces turned towards each other with smiles. The teen side was dark and the child's hand looked like the light. I wish I had someone who looked at me the way the teen looked at the kid. Why c—

"Hey you're awake—Oh you like the painting?" Ezra; Mr. Boring said

"Yes. Who made it?" I was curious this had to be a professional artist the way the brushstrokes were so fine and detailed that to in an oil painting. The artist's signature was just Nyx it was written beautifully the artist loved the night most of their paintings were based on it 

Ezra ignored my question. Rude

"Which one is your favorite?" I pointed to the child and teen one.

Ezra chuckled and gave me a sad smile

"I figured that one... it's special" Interesting...

"Why?" 

"I think the artist would be able to answer that question better than me. Anyway are you hungry?"

As much as I wanted to say no so that Mr. Boring could leave me alone. My stomach had other plans

I nodded

"Okay. Do you want me to get the food up?"

I nodded 

"Only this once we don't want ants or cockroaches in your room" I have had worse things in my closet/room.

"Wait did you say my room?" Ezra swallowed a lump in his throat. Is he choking? Why the hell does he look sad?

"I meant it used to be yours and his never mind" He left the room I think he was...crying? Idk Im bad at feelings. Fuck Feelings.

I was looking at the paintings for a long time but then I saw the other side. Whoever lived here was a neat freak but not at the same time.

One side of the desk was clear and all the papers were neatly organized, but the other side was cluttered with scattered sheets, as if someone had abruptly abandoned their work.

Me being the grandmother and nosy bitch wanted to read what was in those papers. Of course, I would I am living with a bunch of strangers I don't know I need answers.

The unorganized papers were sketches of the same painting on the wall (the child holding hands one) only the sketches were like a zoomed-in version and the background looked a lot like this room. In fact it looked exactly like this room. So the paintings were never bought. Whose room is this? And what did Ezra mean by my room I had never been here. There were printed papers and they had MY name on them.

I wanted to read them but I heard footsteps so I quickly lay down on the black bed. not going to lie this room didn't scream rich at all. The walls were painted and personalized with painting and there weren't any of those fancy clean rooms. I kinda liked the vibe. Someone knocked.
 
"Come in" I tried not to make my voice to emotional. This was the first time someone valued my privacy. Now I feel guilty for looking at the papers They respected my privacy and I didn't