I looked at the painting in front of me.
A thousand white glass orbs started right back at me, paint still swirling in them, pulling me deep in it. I could see my reflection, and I was certain if I brought any light, they'd be enough to brighten up the entire room.
There were identical black spots in them, that could do nothing to dimmish the beauty of the painting. But they made the glass orbs look upset, sad, and yet scary.
There was just something about those moons, something unnerving. They looked as if they awaited something deadly, something lethal.
The sky was too quiet; like the calm before a storm. There was just something off, something wrong. It looked as if something big was about to go off.
And if you looked closely, you could see the hint of a thunder in the reflection in the windows of a building. It was like the sky was splitting open, like there was a portal opening, a portal that led to only destruction.
The thousand moons remained displayed in the building. The building had a unique shape, and so, it's every window reflected the moon. But there was just something about how the moons stared right back at the viewer, as if preparing him or her for the worst.
It was one of the scariest paintings I had ever drawn.
You could hear the eerie silence in the painting, the whistling of the winds, the boring of demons. It had me want to fold my legs in the fear of a monster being there under my bed.
Letting it dry, I stayed inside my den, too scared to go all the way to my room. The cricket's chirpings matched the melancholy of the melody inside my heart. It was like my heart was weeping beautifully, and they were adding the music.
Like a sad opera.
I didn't let myself cry, no, I just couldn't do that. I had cried too much over him. It was time to embrace the fact that we were never getting back together. I had to move on, but in a way that didn't involved me going out with other guys.
I had to move on in a way that didn't involve me getting hurt again.
I remembered the time when I had so much self-confidence, that looking at me could boast your self-esteem. And I looked at myself now and all I saw was a miserable girl with no faith in herself much less in anyone.
I couldn't look in the mirror and believe that I was the prettiest there was.
I couldn't catch a guy staring at me and wonder if he liked me.
I couldn't believe my voice to be enchanting.
I couldn't believe my intellect to be attractive.
I couldn't trust any guy to like me in any way.
They all either used me or needed me. I felt pathetic.
Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
You must think I know no other word.
But the truth was that it was the only word that could describe how I thought of myself. But I wanted out. I wanted to love myself again, and no one else.
Boys come and go, so do friends. You only have yourself to rely on. I had learnt to not change myself into someone I would hate for a third person who would eventually leave me too.
I didn't want to become something I would hate in the future like the person I had currently become for Reece.
I had thought he would like a weak, submissive, sweet and kind girl.
So I had become that.
And now, every time a person would look at me as I was a weaklings, I would regret everything. And the thing was that I hated being called delicate or treated as such. I thought of myself as strong, but I no longer believed that. Maybe they were right, maybe I was weak.
YOU ARE READING
The Fourth Boy
Romance"A thanks to all my tears Who were always there in my darkest times when I was alone." This book is not about my pathetic pitied self. Perhaps that's all they'll ever see me as, perhaps they'll always assume that I was the victim. Perhaps this will...
