"You never told me you're called The DICK," she said out of the blue.
He groaned. "It's just a stupid nickname."
"How did you get it?" Great curiosity appeared on her face, and he hated it because this was something he'd much rather erase in his pas...
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Trudy was relapsing.
She thought she could get better, she thought she had the will to do so, she thought she was determined enough, but as she stared at the high-priced oil painting, Trudy realized she wasn't getting any better but only living in illusions. According to Louis Green The Junior - her father - the oil painting was the closest thing to the masterpiece named The Scream by the undeniably talented artist Edvard Munch back in 1893. Despite the colored canvas staring back at her being a dupe for the real thing - which was a big no-go for Trudy - the delicately detailed art still moved the muscle in Trudy's chest that pumped her blood.
She refused to call it a heart, because Trudy was a bad bitch, she was immune to feelings, yet the random swirls of rusty orange, dark blue, and black made the tears build in her weakened, brown eyes. It could have something to do with the horrifyingly dark themed picture that described Trudy's panicked state perfectly, or how broken Trudy really was.
Trudy should be happy, she managed to finally end things with Justin The Wuss, but deep down, Trudy knew that if Justin were to leave her life, then no one was left to take care of her. Who else would bring her chocolate in the middle of the night? Who else would keep calling her pretty pet names and stick around even after her rudeness and bitchiness towards them? Who else would crave her company, or try so hard to be funny just to hear her laugh, or complement her dreamy eyes?
Trudy knew that her relationship with Justin wasn't healthy for the both of them. She did appreciate having Justin around her and him bringing joy and happiness into her depressed life, but it wasn't enough to overlook the clinginess, the racist jokes, and the concerning violence. She knew she needed to wrap things up with Justin, but not like that - with him openly admitting that she was done for, aka crazy. Justin must've realized what a piece of shit Trudy really was, which was the only reason he left her alone. Somehow, that was worse than harassing her.
"It's worth a lot of money, this painting," Paige said, standing next to Trudy in the spacious hallway and joining her appreciation to the art piece. Trudy's mother was so sophisticated and on point in a flared long sleeved See By Chloé blouse, its burgundy color complementing Paige's dark skin-tone so nicely that any words couldn't describe it to justice. Her black, short hair that barely reached her V-shaped jaw contrasted with her professional outfit, giving her a fun edge to her overall aura. "If I'm being honest, you're the last person I expected to show interest in it."
"Why is that?" Trudy glared at the plastic surgeon. "Just admit it, you think I'm dumb and stupid and shallow-"
"Woah, take it slow there," Paige tutted, clicking her Prada pumps against the marbled tiles. Paige eyed her daughter with an intense concern that Trudy couldn't tell if it was for her or about her. "Tell me, what's wrong?"
Trudy gulped, ripping her shattered eyes and focusing them on the painting, too week to maintain a gaze and too tired to make out the magnificent details of the art work. "I don't care about money or reputation or status when nobody really cares for me."
