Citrus

epilogue

Bisola

I stared ahead, a bright cheerful smile on my face as I gazed at my new home.

It felt surreal and at the same time hard to believe. Like a dream come true.

Some boys I had hired went in and out of the apartment, carrying chairs and other items I had purchased to furnish the house. After over six months of searching I had finally, finally found a place to stay.

And it was perfect.

My heart thudded against my chest as I stared up at it, some sense of achievement flowing into me. It wasn't that huge, nor was it even a mansion. A little bungalow, painted in yellow and accommodative enough for me to stay. The walls shone in the dim sunlight, and although the grasses that surrounded the small lawn were overgrown and needed trimming, and the windows looked old and dusty, I couldn't ask for anything much better than this.

"It looks...great," John said beside me, dissatisfaction still etched in his voice due to our little talk this morning. He held a large parcel in his hand. A gift, he'd called it, and although I had been pressuring him to tell me what it was I couldn't make any open guesses.

It has been two weeks since the start of our relationship. The best two weeks of my life. Last Monday we had gone to officially announce it to my mother, who almost tore off my head to the fact that I had been lying to her before. We had only gone due to John pressuring me to do so and although I still felt it was a little hasty, I was fine with it.

"So." I began, turning to face my handsome boyfriend, and then my gaze shifted to the parcel in his hands. "Are you going to tell me what that is?"

He sent me a dashing grin. "Let's go inside first."

I rolled my eyes then nodded my head, walking to the front door, John trailing behind me. It was left slightly ajar due to the coming and going of the boys.  I stepped in, and no matter how many times I entered my new home, it still managed to knock some air out of me.

The walls were painted pure white, and cream tiles lined the floor. A white bulb stood above illuminating the room and adding some eccentric brightness to it. Although it was still airy and dusty, needing a little furnishing, it looked flawless.

It was certainly the house of my dreams.

I had been smiling so much my mouth was already aching.

"Okay." John breathed beside me, and I inclined my head in his direction, my gaze falling as he handed the parcel to me. I took it in my arms, my eyes flashing with wonder and his with mischief.

"I hope you like it, honestly I didn't know what I was thinking when I made this but—" he sucked in a breath. "I just hope you like it."

I nodded, then slowly unravelled the brown parcel, tearing through the tapes with my nails, my heart skipping a beat as it opened and I peered my hand inside to see what it was.

My breath stilled.

It was a painting. Of me.

I didn't know what expression to make, but I felt my mouth slacken as I gazed at the painting in utter shock.

It was bonded in a wooden frame, the painting so real it could be mistaken for an actual picture. In the painting I was smiling brightly, my hair draped at my sides. He had gotten every detail, every curve of my lips, every strand of hair, the twinkling of my dark eyes. I remembered when he told me that he could paint but this was—

This was—

I couldn't even find the perfect word.

"You don't like it?" John asked, his brow squeezed together. Before I could interject he cursed. "I should have gotten you something better, sorry—"