CHAPTER 22
Paint was splashingon the floor and the walls and possibly even the ceiling, but Harper didn’t care. This was her studio, she could do what she wanted with it.
“I was willing to give up my business for you.” A streak of red went across the canvas. “I sacrificed my time and energy!” A clash of purple mixed into the fray. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to live up to a mother's expectations?” she yelled, dipping her already dirty brush in yellow and smearing the colors across the fabric.
Exhausted, she fell back into her seat, slumping against the hard back. “What’s wrong with me?” she whispered into her quiet room. “Why can’t I ever be enough?”
Her drive home hadn’t been as cathartic as she’d hoped. Instead of feeling ready to push ahead, Harper had dragged herself into the house like a zombie. Her body ached almost as badly as her heart and all she had wanted to do was lie down and sleep.
A couple hours later, her emotions had moved on and now Harper was angry. She couldn’t even quite explain the sudden shift, but instead of wanting to cry, she found herself wanting to scream. She was so tired of giving everything and still coming up short. With her mother, with her painting...with Mason.
Her paintbrush fell from her hands. The harsh colors and slashes were nothing like her usual calming work. But it had felt good coming together.
Harper closed her eyes. She could still see Layla reaching for her, stretching...that bloody cut on her forehead and Mason turning to keep them apart. Harper’s hand clutched at her chest. How did emotions hurt so much? They weren’t a physical thing yet it affected her body as if it were tangible.
She let her head flop to the side and spotted her sketchbook. Her fingers twitched. Groaning, Harper stood and walked over, grabbing a handful of pencils and the tablet. Instead of going back to her work chair, however, she headed to the backyard. It wasn’t much, but it was quiet and the setting sun made a beautiful backdrop. Harper, however, wasn’t interested in nature at the moment. Instead, her fingers began to move in large strokes across the pristine, white paper.
Over and over she drew, erasing, smudging, shading. Dark black curls emerged in a round, baby face. A pert nose and perfect set of pouty lips. The eyes twinkled with joy despite the lack of color. Anyone could see how happy this child was. How happy Layla had been during their time together.
Another scene emerged and Harper tore the page out, setting it aside. She was surrounded by darkness now, the light only behind her from inside the house. Her skin was covered in goosebumps from the cool evening air, but Harper couldn’t stop. These pictures were doing so much more for her state of mind than the angry painting ever could. She had to get them out of her head and into something tangible.
“If I can’t paint the bad,” she murmured, “I might as well remember the good.” She turned her pencil at just the right angle in order to shade the side of Layla’s face as it peeked over Mason’s shoulder.
His broad back was more than enough to identify who was holding the little girl. Harper smiled softly. Layla really was tiny compared to her uncle, making his nickname a little too on-the-nose.
Harper frowned, her eyebrows pulling together. Was Crew just as big? Harper hadn’t met him yet, though Mason said he was in town. It doesn’t matter now anyway, she scolded herself. This is all you’ll have. Deal with it.
Harper paused, running a finger down Layla’s cheek that would have been soft and plump in real life. Flat, dull paper was nothing like the vibrant toddler Harper had fallen in love with.
The hours flew and eventually Harper grew so cold she had to come back inside, but that didn’t stop her from sketching. Picture after picture littered her floor. Layla by herself. Layla knocking down blocks. Mason kissing Layla’s head. Mason playing peek-a-boo. Mason eating a stack of pancakes.
Every good memory from their couple of weeks together manifested itself through her paper and through the long night.
By the time Harper had spent all her creative energy, the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. She stood and yawned. Her floor was completely covered with papers, but she didn’t have the energy to pick them up.
Finally, Harper knew she’d be able to sleep. She could be honest enough with herself at this point to realize that the next few days would be hard. The first time she ran into Mason in town would be hard. When she saw him at functions with their friends, it would be hard.
“When he dates someone else...it’ll be hard.” The words caused bile to rise through her throat and Harper swallowed convulsively to push it back down.
But she had survived hard things before. And that was going to be the key. Harper knew she would never quite be the same. Mason and Layla had changed her and taken a piece of her that Harper would never get back. “That’s okay,” Harper told herself, though the words were like pieces of glass. “They probably need it more than I do.”
Padding down the hall, she walked into her room and didn’t bother to change, simply fell into bed face first. She eventually managed to crawl up and cover herself with a blanket, but after that, Harper was done.
She breathed slowly, allowing the darkness to claim her. When she eventually felt like rising again, she’d figure out how to pick up the pieces of her life both figuratively and literally, but right now she wanted enough of a break in order to breathe. A dreamless sleep should absolutely do the trick, so despite the nightmare she seemed to be living, Harper sent up a prayer for her rest to be as uninterrupted as possible.
Sleep wouldn’t make her whole, but at least it would help her build a little strength and maybe even a bit of courage. Because when Harper faced the world again, it would be a completely different place and she would have to change with it.
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