Chapter Three

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The next morning when I woke up, I stood in front of the window for a good 10 minutes, deciding if I should open the curtains or not. On one hand, Isobel did tell me last night that I should, and she'd probably think it was really weird if I didn't. 

We essentially became friends yesterday so it shouldn't be awkward or weird between us anymore, anyway. On the other hand, did I really want to risk being self conscious all day with her literally just there a few feet away?

In the end I scolded myself for wasting so much time over nothing and yanked them open. She was bent over one of the few boxes that remained, and was pulling out books and stacking them on a bookshelf that wasn't there yesterday. 

There was now a black duvet was thrown over the bed, and a wooden desk to the right. It was certainly significantly cleaner and tidier. It definitely looked more inhabitable than the day before yesterday.

I must have stood there lost in my own thoughts for a while because a sudden movement caught my eye and I realized she was waving and trying to catch my attention, a strange smirk on her face. She mouthed 'good morning' to me, and I mouthed it back in reply with a thumbs up and she turned back to her box. I face palmed. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Thumbs up? Seriously?

With a sigh I turned around, and my eyes found the giant box of paints sitting in the corner and I grinned. I knew how I was spending the rest of my day. I put on my favorite pair of paint splattered over-alls and my apron. I also grabbed a bandana to hold back my hair and set up a canvas.

I pulled up a stool and sat down, studying the blank canvas. Inspiration was hard to come by some days, and I felt stuck and defeated without it. Today however, was not one of those days. An image quickly began to form in my mind and I picked up a paintbrush.

I finally put it down several hours later when mom came home at 7 pm. She popped into my room, still in her scrubs, to remind me to eat something before I starved to death. She knew me too well. Sometimes I'd get so preoccupied I'd completely forget the rest of the world even existed.

I rolled my stiff shoulders and smiled at her. "I'll be down in a second."

She didn't leave though. She walked forwards and came around to look at what I had been creating. I waited for a compliment or something but her reaction was not what I expected at all.

She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. I frowned, looking towards my painting again. I had painted a vibrant sunset on a rocky beach. More of a cove than a beach to be honest, backed by cliffs and dense woods, with white sands and pebbles and clear blue waters. 

As far as I was concerned, there was nothing too spectacular or alarming about it. The image had just formed in my mind, I had no idea where from and the lines just started flowing out of the paintbrush.

When I looked up at her I realized she was crying. Alarmed, I stood up quickly, my frown deepening. "Mom, what's wrong?"

She smiled through her tears. "This is Fakistra, Greece." She stated simply. "This is where we went for vacation when you were 5, just a few months before your dad-" She broke off, unable to continue. 

My eyes widened and snapped back to the beach painting. I had no recollection of the place at all, and yet somehow this image had floated into my mind. Clearly my subconscious had somehow remembered it. I tried to say something but I was utterly speechless.

Mom reached out with her fingers as if to touch the painting, but stopped a few inches away. "Oh, it's so beautiful. I wish you could have been old enough to remember it properly." She sighed, turning to me. "I don't know how you're so talented. It isn't from me, and you certainly didn't get it from your father either. He couldn't even draw a stick figure properly." 

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