He was looking for himself...But found her instead.
A hard-headed drama queen striving for freedom from her overprotective mother.
A smart alcoholic searching for a part of himself that is lost.
Rachel Morgan and Richard Davis have nothing in common...
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My brain still hadn't recovered from the shock of what unfolded a few minutes ago. My mind was still in denial.
No… I couldn't believe it.
I couldn't believe that my fingers would no longer feel the soft wood of a painting brush. Or that I would no longer be able to bask in the comforting scent of my oil paints.
I couldn't believe that I would never be able to paint again.
This had to be one of my nightmares. That was what I chose to believe. Nightmares couldn't last forever. Come morning, I would awake and everything would go back to normal—a different type of normal that I've always wanted.
You're not deceiving anyone but yourself Rachel. This is your reality! Normal now equals no painting, don't you get it?!
My inner voice was right. There was no waking up from this type of nightmare. It was a different one—very different.
It was my reality.
This realisation forced even more tears flooding my cheeks and pushed me to remember who exactly caused everything; the person who had placed me in such a dilemma—my very own Papa James.
How could he do this to me?
My stepfather understood me more than anyone else in the family. He knew just how important painting was to me. He was the only one who supported my passion; the person who would happily buy me art materials just so I could paint.
He was the only one I told about my dream to attend the prestigious New York School of Art. He knew that I was meant to create magic on the body of a canvas. That was the sole reason for my existence.
I slept, ate, and breathed art.
How in the world was I supposed give up something that made me feel so fufilled?
No…
My life would become meaningless— more meaningless than it already was.
How am I going to survive?
For as long as I could remember, Mum had always pushed me to study medicine, even though I never showed any interest towards it. I couldn't even bear the sight of blood and this woman wanted me to become a freaking doctor.
She was out of this world!
Although I knew just how adamant she was regarding my career choice, there’s always been this strong belief that one day, she would understand my love for art. One day she would be able to support my passion and encourage my efforts.
This hope had always remained strong in my heart. Nothing had managed to make it waver.
Until now…
Still sobbing profusely, I crawled from where I laid on the floor to a corner of the room between the bed and wall, attempting to make myself as small as possible while crying into my knees.
