Never Seen Anything Quite Like You Too (A The Script Fan-fiction)

21) Get Lost

Never Seen Anything Quite Like You Too.

21) Get Lost.

'You have twenty four missed calls...' The automated voice said.

I had to listen through each and every one of them so that I could delete them all after.

'I'm sorry Siena'

'I've been a prick please forgive me.'

'I know I'm a git. You have every right to hate me'

'I never meant to ruin your painting'

'I want to make things better but I don't know how. Please. Help me out here. Tell me how'

I listened to them all and most of them were the same in content. Whining and moaning about his incompetence. Apologising for something he can't change and something he shouldn't have done.

Glen had stopped for the time being and that was causing some relief if I am honest. Try painting when you have your phone going off every ten seconds. It is practically impossible.

He's almost as annoying as Danny and that is saying something. That dick head with his so called perfect hair in that quiff which he must spend ages on every single fucking morning. How he holds himself in that arrogant manner and walks in the same way. How he walks with his head bowed like he doesn't want to notice what is happening around him or like he doesn't want to take responsibility for what he did. It pisses me off completely.

I dipped my paint brush into the pink and dabbed it onto the canvas along the branches and above them too. I then rinsed my brush off and then went for the white. I dabbed the white amongst the pink and the brown of the tree branches. There. The spring part of the canvas done. I have the branches and the sky.

There came a knock on the door and I grumbled but got up anyway. It could be my manager for all I know and if I don't answer him then he could kick me out of my hut and then what would I do?

So I walked out of the studio area and into the hall. I unlocked the door and opened it. What happened next went by in a flash and all I remember is seeing a rush of colours and hitting the brown carpeted floors. Thank god I didn't have wooden flooring, otherwise I dread to imagine the consequences of the fall.

I arched my back up backwards and draw my knees under my stomach whilst gripping the carpet with my fingertips. I finally managed to get up and drag my sorry ass into the studio wondering what on earth had happened to me. I walked straight back into the studio but halted in my tracks when I saw who was sat in front of the canvas.

Danny.

"So. Siena. How are you doing?" He asked politely.

"I never told you my name Danny," I said.

"I never told you mine,"

"Glen said it in our first meeting,"

"So he did. How are you getting on with my Glen?"

"I'm not. He's a bastard,"

"Really? So... That's why he thinks that you're a complete bitch who went bat shit crazy. He's like me now. He has seen you for what you are. A crazed lunatic woman with nothing better to do than to waste her sorrows in an artist's pallet. Their fucking shit anyway. Did you know that? You know the reason that you're standing there in your hut every day all alone? It's because you're not good enough. My band and I are climbing the charts and where are you? Alone in some shitty little hut away from everyone else. Why is that? Siena do tell me why it is that you can't please the people around you?" Danny said. The way he said it made it seem like he had meticulously planned it. He had planned everything. From what he was going to say to the emphasis on 'you're not good enough'. Everything was thoroughly planned and thought out. I despise him for it.