nefelibata (n.) | ✔️

twenty-five.

Present. December 14th, 2018.

When you're a kid, everything seems so black and white. Plain and simple, no questions asked. It's when you grow up that you become confused about every little thing, insecurities arise and the people you loved become strangers. The stuff you loved become competitions. The things you thought you wanted to change and become unbearable.

The truth is, growing up sucks, and if I could stay as an immature, oblivious child, I would.

I'm currently staring blankly at my phone, the phone that is presently shinning an art contest to my face, offering a place at Clark's gallery. Not just the piece you enter, but a whole damn collection. Ten pieces to be exact.

I put my phone down with a huff. "I'm not good enough," I said while tying on my work apron. I was in the kitchen, getting ready for my shift while listening to Carson nagging at me to enter. He texted it to me in the first place.

"Shut the hell up. You're so talented, Lena. Don't try to tell me you aren't." He retorted, a slightly angry look on his face.

"Carson, Clark's gallery has beautiful, expensive, glorious work. I could never compare. Besides, all their artists are much older and much more talented." I tried to walk him through all the reasons I shouldn't even be considered, but he wasn't hearing me because he just rolled his eyes.

"You have more talent in your 17 years of life than any old ass artist in that gallery, and yes, I've been there." He held his hand to my face when I opened my mouth to argue. "I splashed a red line on your canvas, and you turned it into raw and beautiful artwork, and you're trying to tell me you don't have talent? Nice try."

I just crossed my arms over my body and shook my head, grabbing my notepad shortly after. I'm not typically self-conscious about my work, but there hasn't been an art contest in Freeport since I was nine, and I lost.

"He's right," a voice pitches in from the window connecting the cashier counter to the kitchen. "you don't have to listen to me, but your artwork is incredible." Violet finishes.

I give her my most convincing smile while tying my hair up into a top-not, huffing a breath of air to push a loose strand out of my face. "Thank you, guys." I turn to Carson. "I'll think about it, okay? I don't even know if I'll have enough time to make a new piece."

"You have till late January. I think the twenty-ninth, but the winners aren't announced until even later." He shrugs, and I squint.

"And how do you know so much about this?"

"I wanted to look into it and make sure it was legit before showing it to you. I wanted to make sure I could give you all the details." It was a simple gesture, but it still made my lips lift, and my shoulders lose a bit of weight.

I sigh. "Well thank you," I pause, taking in Carson's features, observing. "It means a lot."

"No problem, Bright Eyes." He gives me a swift kiss on the cheek and shoves me to work, laughing softly. I groan in return.

Ever since we kissed, he'd been such a gentleman. Although his ego rose a bit, Carson was who he always was. Kind, considerate, but most of all, cautious. He didn't bring it up, I knew he wanted to talk about it, but I didn't know what to say. He always made sure that I was okay. Even after the kiss, he had tried to apologize on the drive home, but I shook my head reminding him that I didn't look at it as a mistake.

Eventually, we will talk about it. I'm not sure what to make of it just yet. The worst part is thinking that maybe Carson regrets it, perhaps he sees it as a mistake. I try to have hope that he is just as confused as I am and that the farthest word from his mind is regret.