Torn

Chapter 1

{Only listen to the music for the first 2 paragraphs for the morning :)}

Love...what does it mean?

Passion? Desire? Mutual Respect? To me it's just one word, destroy.

Brooklyn, New York City 2010

It was a typical Monday morning. Rudely awoken by the alarm clock that chooses when it likes to wake me up, I pull myself out from what little bed cover hadn't managed to slither onto the wooden floor. 'What a wonderful day this is going to be' I thought. Did my sarcasm amuse you? No? Same.

Pulling my black silk dressing gown over my shoulders I wander into the kitchen and make my morning coffee. Black of course. I held the mug firmly in my freezing fingers and stared out onto the sunrise of Brooklyn's Borough. A morning breeze brushed past my cheeks coming through the window I had forgotten to close the night before. I took a deep breath in and my day began.

Antoine De Marseilles Studio, Crown Heights, Brooklyn

I worked in an Art Studio, about a fifteen minute taxi ride from my apartment in Halsey St, and I loved it there. Antoine was one of the most amazing French artists I had ever met and he took pride in my thought of that.

"Why are you always here so late Yasmin, you are what we French people call paresseux eh?" he exclaimed, walking in placing his coffee on his workspace.

"It's the getting up part of my day Ant, you should get that more than anyone after all that wine you had last night, yes you called me again to tell me how you were France's most 'desirable' man," I laughed dipping my paintbrush in my water I had left out.

"Well maybe you should join me one night, test out that theory." he chuckled taking another sip of coffee before making a deep red stroke of paint on his canvas.

If I was honest with him, I would have said yes but I was too afraid of the answer I might have been given, therefore I just smiled and began to paint what I felt like that day, exhausted.

7:58pm

"Yasmin, its almost 8 o'clock, you want to stay longer and lock up or leave with me?" he questioned.

"Um, I'll leave but...not with you," I smiled beating him to the doorway to escape the awkwardness of him holding the door open. He seemed somewhat disappointed.

"Of course, I didn't mean it in that way I just wanted to know," He hesitated before figuring out what he wanted to say, "if you were eh, coming or if you were leaving," he said almost as if he were embarrassed.

"Yes, well goodnight," I called back as I had already started to walk down the hall to the stairway.

"Bonsoir paresseux!" he called down the hall back at me.

Exiting the studio building I called a taxi and made my way back to my apartment through Albany Ave. I loved Brooklyn at night, the buildings came to life and greeted each other with music and laughter from the restaurants below. I never would have been here if it wasn't for my adoptive mother. My mother was known as Victoria White, one of the worlds leading fashion designers, and one of the most caring and creative people I had come to know. She found me crying on the steps of my orphanage back in London after a group of boys had ripped my teddybear in half. Sitting there holding the two pieces limply in my grazed hands she said almost mockingly;

"What sort of teddy bear is that," crouching down to meet my level, I replied,

"It's the only friend I've ever had," sniffling, looking down at the moss covered pavement,

"Well, we'll just have to get you a new one shan't we;" she laughed lifting my chin up with her freshly manicured fingers, she was beautiful in every way,

"I don't want a new one, I love this one, it's not perfect but it's all I have," I cried,

"Then we'll get it put back together won't we," she said triumphantly,

"We?" I replied,

"Well of course, I don't use up this much time for just anybody, you're special." she said looking deep into my eyes and smiling, before grabbing my hand and leading me away from the orphanage towards a limo with blacked out windows. She took me to one of her many designer friends who put my teddy back together while she called the orphanage to tell them that I was now in her full time care.

I became the most important person in her life, she spoilt me with fancy dresses, diamond jewellery and trips all over the globe. I met many famous artists which influenced my love of it in the future and even encouraged my mother to find love. She was then married to John Dante a month after my 17th birthday on March 22nd 2007 and she was never so full of radiance and joy. Part of me had never fully understood John, he was a rich man but also never settled for one job as mother had said, but I had every right to feel as if something was out of the ordinary. On October 31st 2009, John murdered my mother. I received a call saying that she had been stabbed in her home and was found by the caretaker who was returning her keys back to her. John confessed to the murder just hours after I had found out, saying that he thought it was perfect as it was halloween night. He was sentenced to 1 year and 2 months in jail without parol. I have never agreed with this sentence, it was as if someone had granted him the mercy that he will never deserve. I will never forgive him. He took the one person I had ever truly cared for.

Appearing to have gazed off into deep thought, the driver called for my reaction.
"Miss, Miss are you okay?" Clicking his fingers in my direction, perhaps not the most friendly way of getting my attention. I simply smiled at him, handing him a 20 dollar bill, twice as much than he really needed. Stepping out of the taxi making my way inside the man called asking if I needed my change. I chose to ignore him and kept on making my way to my apartment building. I didn't feel quite right.