Two years.
Two worlds apart.
Second the chance.
He wasn't returning to just play, this time around he was there to stay.
And she could do nothing, but let him have his way.
•••Sequel to Toxic Innocence•••
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They say when you get past a difficult period of your life, you are credible enough to gain yourself back with a dose of strength to tackle such obstacles in regard to your previous experience with tragedy.
Now that I seem to be past through those enormous script mentioned above, I could hence conclude the statement to be nothing more than a virtuous bullshit.
As I picked the paint brush for the fourth wise, gritting my harmless teeth as I did so- seated on a wooden stool facing a virgin canvas-untainted and in submission to my unwilling streaks of colourful assault as I angrily stroked the bristles across the white waxed expanse.
Alas, suffering as I succeed.
With the lively pulse of heart that throbbed even through with my skin gathering a layer of sweat by the neck as it acted stubbornly I realised the more I continued my painting the farther I was from the clutch of anxiety. The activity I sure thought of to be a chore soon dissolved my biggest fear to the corner.
The fear of losing passion.
Chuckling faintly at the Encaustic details I had done with the wax- deciding on one of the most excruciating form of art after so long of not being able to doodle a decent one, I gave an imaginary pat on my back. Then laughed hysterically as Emily walked in- wasn't a surprise since it was her studio.
"You bitch" she grinned, her blue bright gaze rounded at my work "you did it" she lets out a breathy laugh as I shrugged happily. But how could happiness look so uncomfortable on me worried the heck out of my sanity?
Then I realised that being lightheadedly drunk in afternoon and sanity just don't fit right. So I sighed.
"You look pale" she glanced at me softly. I brought the flask of lemonade to my lips- preference had been hot not cold. So when the citrus tea steamed by the crook of my sensitive teeth, i scrunched my nose up and left the ware on table.
"I am good" I assured.
"You are not a convincing liar"
"I am, only if you weren't so psychologically gifted" huffing the strand of hair from my face I walked to the kitchen counter and sat by the steaming pot of brewing coffee. Just something warm to stop the cold from freezing my bones.
"Turn the heat on Emily" even my voice trembled as I spoke looking around and then accusingly at her "your home if freezing" while I adjusted the cardigan I saw a confused frown wave by her feature.
"It's ON and working just fine. I am sweating actually"
As she said I looked down to inspect, so was I. My hem was soaked with a thin line of perspiration. But my sweat was less profound. It was chilling to be precise. Stealing my gaze away sniffing, I blinked in hasty to wind up my hazy gestures-
"Thea" Emily began, the nostalgic sympathy and tender concern in her utterance was reserved for her once- the person who often carried out the act of consoling had always been me . But days change and tables turn. So I turned to stare at her with a willing smile.
