blue ✓

twenty four

My eyes graze across the freshly painted canvas, the luminous black and shadows of the moon illustrated our first night on the beach perfectly, our silhouettes against the stars in a passionate hold. I blink my eyes, resting back to admire it with Z, for the first time in a year I was proud of what I created with that excitement bubbling inside my stomach.

"She did, again." I smile.

Z chuckles. "You've found the perfect muse there, H."

His presence lingers for a few seconds but fades away as he goes to another painter across from me, commenting on their creation with a sweet tone. I dip my brush in the paint below, adding touch ups to the canvas I created this evening. When I mark the bottom with my initials, I feel so professional in doing so and a lingering feeling of proud ambition runs through my veins.

"Leave it here to dry overnight," Z speaks as I grab my coat, nearing the front door. "I have an idea for what you can do with your art now, H."

I blink once, twice. "Yeah?"

"You're going to college in only a few months, right?"

"If I get in, yeah."

Z smiles. "You'll get in." I roll my eyes but smile nonetheless. "We can start selling your pieces, you'll get money and it'll help a lot when you head to college."

I lean against the wall behind me, contemplating his words. "How so?"

"You'll have more money, for one." he says. "And it'll get your name out there, create a status for you and your art."

Z's words made my mind run wild, the idea excited me but anxiety still lingered in the depth of my bones and I hated that gut wrenching feeling. I look out the window of his studio, the calm silence was a newly found atmosphere and I liked the aura of it. I sigh out a worried breath, Z lingers with hopeful eyes.

"No one in town is going to buy my art, that's crazy." I state.

he sighs. "We'll sell it online."

I give him a look. "You think it'll sell?"

"I do."

After a long hug and a few words of wisdom, I agreed to sell my art online for profit and see where it leads me. As I walk out of the apartment building I feel optimistic about the idea, a smile lacing my lips as I dig my hands into the pockets of my coat, beginning my walk home.

The cicadas and fireflies came upon the evening shift, the skies painted in darkness as the stars peak their bright faces beyond the clouds. I walk with a hum in my throat, my eyes glimmering against the landscape of the town as the buildings lights illuminate my surroundings. The roads were damp from the rain earlier in the day, the tall bricks of a building ahead reflected off the puddles and as I stare into the luminous reflection I adhere to the surroundings and realise what was ahead.

Michael Tomlinson owned a few buildings around town, the casino his price possession—and Louis' second home. I look at the darkness of the building, seeing the name flashing ahead like headlights on a busy highway. A feeling buzzes through me as anxiety shoots up my spine. I stand still for a moment before turning left down another street, leaving all thoughts of the blue eyed boy behind.

I arrive home before nine, my mother greeting me with unenthusiastic eyes.

"Where were you?" She questions, I walk into the kitchen with a fading smile.

"Studio,"

"You're always at that place, I don't like it."

My mothers green eyes linger on me at the doorway, her busy hands digging around the counter to prepare what I assume is her famous blueberry pie. She had flour scattered over her work shirt, dark hair frizzy and her red lips faded from hours of biting into them.

I take a seat at the counter, ignoring her earlier statement. "I'm going to start selling my art, online."

"Oh," her hands dig into the bowl, pulling out a large blob of dough. "That's nice."

"Yeah, it's going to help with college." I state and she hums in agreement.

As hardworking as my mother is, I ached to have her interest in my art. She had her moments, praising my portraits from time to time, or attending a few exhibits with me. It was a bitter-sweet energy, she worked until she couldn't stand but in all the irony of financially supporting me and my sister, she never seemed to have the energy to do so with our passions. I praise her efforts, but the lack of interest makes for a disappointing ending. But, raising us both on her own always came with its challenges and I must give her points for dealing with that every single day.

"Who's the pie for?" I question, popping a stray blueberry in my mouth.

"A client of mine," she sighs. "He's coming for dinner tomorrow night and I want it to be perfect."

"Dinner? Why would a client of yours being coming to dinner?" I question.

My mothers cheeks blush and I find myself sinking at the realisation. "A dinner—date?"

"Yes," my mother smiles. "I want you on your best behaviour, Harry."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not eight anymore, mother."

As she ignores my comment and continues kneading the dough, a hum under her breath, I find myself feeling oddly uncomfortable. The idea of my mother dating had always been a bad thought I pushed away, mainly because she never had time to sit and watch her to shows, let alone have a date.

I couldn't shake the terrible anxiety in my stomach, something that ate at me all night.

***

authors note;

Weooww we hit 5.5k reads, that's a freaking achievement wow thank you all so much. And thank you all to the readers who have stuck by me with this story, no matter how crap it can be haha. Thank you so much.

Votes and comments are amazing, thank you again guys.

-A