Page 14 of Painting Her Fate

There’s no way I will be able to sleep right now. Oh, yes, Am I ever dog tired from jet lag and all the what-if’s I’ve concocted, but my mind is too chaotic to rest. I need to release pent up emotions, to get lost in what I love most. My canvases.

Like Gran, Tamara sometimes has to drag me away from my studio. A few times they have found me covered in paint and multiple works littering the floor around me. I was going on day three without sleep, delirious, dark circles under my eyes, and Tamara said I kept mumbling incoherent words. She thought I possessed which we laugh about now; joking she was about to send in the priest to perform an exorcism.

Another time she found me passed out, ‘off my rocker’ as she put it. She thought I took something or huffed too many paint fumes when I just happened to be zonked out. She carried me to my bed where I slept for two days straight. Patrick even came to check on me, making sure I hadn’t fallen ill.

When I have a vision in place nothing nor anyone can remove me from completing it. My worst fear is losing a mental picture and never for it to see a sketchbook or canvas. Makes me sick just thinking about it.

I go to the other side of my large open flat, my art space near the balcony area, the full bay of windows gives the perfect lighting during the day. This place is a shoe box in comparison to my flat back home in London, but it’s mine and I fell in love; I don’t need extensive space to be happy. It’s something about the view of the water that is calming, reminds me of the Thames outside my windows back home. The ribbons of shimmering glitter in the daytime, the hues of mystery in the night. It holds its own tales.

I open the door to the balcony to let in a sliver of the cool spring air then I sat on my stool and allowed the paint to fly.

Several hours later I looked over the canvas and the picture I created then gave a good stretch, finding the sun peeking over a few low-lying morning clouds.

Shite, what time is it?

I stumble off my stool and make my way to my bedroom to find my mobile. I pick it up and gasp at the time.How can it already be six in the bloody morning?Time rushes by when having fun.

I try waking up my jet lagged brain with a shower then a hot cup of coffee; there is no doubt that I will be a walking zombie the rest of the day. Well worth it to me at seeing my creation complete.

I sift through the clothing in my wardrobe. Tamara has purchased all the items I would need here, and maybe some items that could’ve been left out. For instance, the lace teddies, stockings, and garters, as well as the tube of jelly and condoms I found in my nightside drawer. I cannot believe she did that! -Scratch that.Yes, I can.It’s exactly like Tamara to be prepared for anything and everything.

This place holds nothing of what atrocities I’ve done back home. Here I am in this whole other world- the innocent little girl I’ve always wanted to be. No one knows of my past. No one can judge me for things they have no knowledge of. I’m that eleven-year-old again, stomping in puddles around the garden, laughing and joking with Patrick, strumming my guitar and singingHeyJudeby the Beatles.

Whilst here I am free from the burdens of my past.

London is the place where my cracks extend to more than just the surface. They run everlasting deep, never to find the bottom of the chasm.

Think of me as a porcelain doll- broken beyond repair- the masterful paint is dull and chipped, fragments missing, the fragility running to its core and forever changing the authenticity. There’s no innocence left of me in London.

Now running behind schedule, I dress in a pair of leggings, open toe flats, and a long light-yellow tunic with a crochet trim. I keep my hair simple, using a barrette to keep the hair from intruding into my face then swipe on some chapstick. I check my mobile and find a message from Claire saying she is at the hospital and will meet me in the waiting area. I let her know I’m on my way, then open the car service app and order a ride.

Twenty minutes later I thank the driver, exit, then stare at the door to the entrance of the hospital. My hands instantly go clammy.

You can do this Lili, just breathe.

Taking a deep breath, I ball my shaky fists then make my way through the sliding double doors.

_CHAPTER 3 - LILI_

“Even people who claim that we can do nothing to change our destiny, look before crossing the street.” – Stephen Hawking

Trigger warning! This short scene involves a mild child abuse situation and a hospital stay that may not be suitable for some readers.

*Please look for the *Present day* page*

_Lili – Age thirteen_

In my room where the moonlight shines on the glittering stars hanging from my ceiling, it’s anything but soothing as screams emanate from the darkest of places. My screams.

*Drunkenmale* Be a quiet little flower. You know what happens when you misbehave.The monster croons- boastful as it pins me to the bed.

“Please, no!” Knowing I just made a terrible mistake, I clamp my eyes and lips tight, but my whimpers still sound. The smell of stale ale fills the room and is soon paired with heavy cigar smoke, making my stomach roll. I’ve learned not to cough, no matter how terrible it is.

The monster does as it pleases. There is no saving me now.

*triumphantly* Being rather rebellious tonight, are we? I’ve told you to keep your eyes open, little flower.

I open my tear-filled eyes as searing pain strikes my ribcage; the cigar now extinguished there. With a flick of the lighter, a flash of flame brightens the room and the tip of the cigar glows in the darkness once more. My monster will wait until the end to give me more of these, whether I misbehave or not.

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