The Boy Who Paints Me (SAMPLE OF PUBLISHED BOOK)

The Boy Who Paints Me - Chapter 1 (SAMPLE)

Chapter 1

TWO WEEKS EARLIER...

Many of us come to a point in our childhood when we think about running away. We dream of disappearing, and living life our own way. We get to a point where we think that our parents are too overbearing, too strict, or they don’t care enough; they don’t think that you’re good enough, and they just don’t seem to understand you. We think that if we run away, we can escape all of those problems. What if I told you that there were bigger problems? What if the parents that you want to run away from are the ones that I wish that I could run towards? What if I told you that there was a world so twisted, so dark, and so painful that running into the arms of an overbearing, frustrating parent would be the perfect safe haven for someone like me? Would you still run?

Life was good for me, once upon a time. Perfect doesn’t exist but my life was the closest that I think you could get. I didn’t have a father around when I was growing up. I never really knew him. My longest conversation about him was the one where my mother told me that he was young, and didn’t want to be a parent; I never asked again. I never felt like I missed out though because my mom more than made up for my absent father. She was a mother and so much more. She was a father too and for the most part of my life, she was my best friend. She never seemed interested in dating or replacing my father, and I was ok with that. I didn’t need a father, I didn’t miss having one. It’s actually impossible to miss something that you’ve never had. Well, that’s how I felt anyway.

I was fourteen when my mom introduced me to Mitch. He was the first man that she had ever introduced me to, so, I knew that things were about to change. I just didn’t know how much. He was a tall man. His dark hair - that spent more time in his eyes than anywhere else - shone brightly whenever I would see him. His teeth were straight and perfectly white although I doubt that they were the set that he has had his entire life. His blue eyes were not bright and sparkly like you may expect but instead, they were icy and filled with secrets that one day, I would come to know; secrets that I would wish that I didn’t know.

His skin was smooth with the exception of the thin scar that took residence in his left brow. His pale skin was probably a direct result of the time that he spent hidden away from the world, and any warmth that the sun could provide him, had he have just settled for a normal nine to five job. Mitch was nice – according to my mom – but I saw past his facade. I was only fourteen and every bone in my body told me that he was bad news but she didn’t see it. She thought that I was jealous, upset that she was splitting her attention. He changed our relationship – that’s true – but it wasn’t that. Everything about Mitch seemed dangerous to me, he was like two people; the one that he pretended to be and the real him. It didn’t come as a surprise, the first time that he hit her. What surprised me was that she stayed. I knew that it was my fault. I knew that she stayed with him to prove me wrong, to show me that despite it all, he still loved her. I was young but I recognised one thing very early; that that wasn’t love. Not real love because real love doesn’t hurt.

It wasn’t until three years ago – a week after my fifteenth birthday – that I got dragged into a world that forced me to give up my childhood and everything that came with it. Mitch did that to me, and so did she. That’s why I ran. I didn’t run because of overbearing, strict parents who wanted so badly to protect me. I ran because they were the kind of people that parents like that, would protect you from. That’s why I ran.

I had spent the three hour, bus journey to my aunt’s house with my head pressed firmly against the glass window. Sleep was burning my eyes but I had to stay alert. I wasn’t safe yet, maybe I would never be. I knew that I had limited time here but without her, it would take him a lot longer to figure out where I was, and by then, I would be gone. If there was one good thing that my mother ever did for me - since Mitch became a part of our lives - it was cutting all ties with our family and friends. It meant that he had no trail, no quick way of tracking me down, not without trying really hard anyway. With my mom gone, it would take him a lot longer to find me.