𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 |𝟏𝟖+| Slow Updates

Chapter One

"We agreed. If I won, you'd marry me someday."

"Why'd you wanna marry me, anyhow?" I ask.

"So, I can do this for the rest of our lives," he stops walking with me in his arms, his radiant blue-green eyes flickering between my eyes and lips as the onslaught of rain comes down upon us harder.

I suck in a sharp breath as he leans in, pecking my lips.

A mass of butterflies erupts in my belly, my lips tingling against his puckered lips.

It feels like I'm floating.

Nope.

Falling.

It feels like I'm falling.

I crash to the ground, my eyes snapping open as I lie sprawled out over the off-white tiles in my dining room. The newspaper I was reading, is stuck to my forearm and I peel it from my skin, leaving an imprint of the inked words. The white lace curtain flutters in the dining room, my eyes adjusting to the light streaming in through the open window.

I was definitely falling.

The scar on my right hand emits a dull ache as I rub my head with a groan, removing strands of matted hair stuck to my forehead.

I run the back of my hand over my lips, rubbing away the wetness from my drool.

"What're you breaking now?" Nadia Iilah, my roommate and drop dead gorgeous best friend asks.

"I fell," I grumble, ignoring the hollowness in my chest from my crazy dream. "I didn't break anything."

"I can see that," she snorts, offering me her hand and I accept. "Are you okay?" She asks, trying her absolute best to conceal her amusement. I know what's coming.

"I am," I confirm, setting the chair right.

Nadia busts out laughing as she sinks into a chair by our dark wood dining table. She clutches at her stomach, tears welling in her doe brown eyes. The beauty of friendship. She always makes sure I'm okay first before busting out laughing after I've fallen.

At least, she asks first.

"I've...warned you...how many times...not to fall asleep...at the dining table," she says between her fits of laughter, her long, brown curls covering her face.

"I know," I laugh, half-heartedly. "I couldn't stop reading this damn review. I don't understand what he means about 'no life' present in any of my photography. There's nature, that's life. What more does he need?"

"Actual living, breathing, things. Like animals and people," she shrugs, drying the tears leaking from her almond shaped eyes. 

She bends, picking up the newspaper. "Donovan Smith is right about one thing though," she drops the newspaper on the table, walking into our open-floor plan kitchen.

"And that is?" I rub my right palm trying to soothe away the painful reminder of my dream.

"Your photography gets more ominous with each photograph," she fills her bowl with milk, adding Cheerios after. Like whom even does that? It should be illegal! The cereal goes first, not the milk. But I say nothing. It's one of the many quirks I grew to love.

"No, it doesn't. I just prefer my photographs to be in greyscales. It captures the perfect shot, highlighting my emotions in that moment," I explain, putting on some coffee.

"Your color shots are equally amazing, lovie."

"I know, but I don't understand his problem. My photography is hanging in one of the finest art galleries in New York because of a competition I won. He doesn't understand the struggles I faced for three years trying to win that damn spot."