The Dark of You - S01 E51

Story 6 months ago

The Dark of You - S01 E51

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 51

My heart can't take it!

Most people fear thunder, a sound that brings its lighting or a quake where your feet would lose balance. It's something that we can't control. However, they seem to forget the silence. A quietness that brings its darkness as it lurks in the background. Hidden behind all the sounds that you use to turn away from the shadows. At some point, all that noise is not loud enough and that is when the shadow feeds your soul, eating away at everything the light touches. That light is the only thing you have left, but once the fire has run out, where do you go? Where do you turn? How do you ignite an ember that has burned out? Do we simply let it die? Or do we keep on going for the fire to rise, but only for it to burn down once more? And do we keep on repeating this foolish circle? Am I just a fire that keeps on burning down and search every day for something so it won't die out? What if I can't shuffle my feet anymore? What then?

I stepped back from the canvas to peer at the product I had created. My hand clutched onto the paintbrush so tight it hurt. My jaw clenched so hard that my teeth could have shattered. In a rush, I reached for the panting and threw it across the room. It landed perfectly among the pile of the rest of them. There are too many to count. Every single one is flawed and inaccurate. I can't capture Rylan's perfection. Her eyes, jaw, and cheekbones, each time I make a mistake. I am always at fault.

Days, weeks, and a month has passed and I'm stuck, trapped like a rock at the bottom of the ocean in a madness that I, myself, have created. Truly this is insanity. I don't know what's the worst part that I am aware that I am grounded or that I want to stay. Do I want to stay because I feel like I deserve to drown, or do I actually like the feeling? I can't tell the difference anymore.

A knock on the door made me jump. I lingered as I stared at the door that I do not want to open. Mario comes to check on me every other day. The constant worry on his face makes me ashamed and avoid letting him in. But, he knows I'm here anyway as he has a view of everything outside my door.

As the knocking on the door wouldn't stop, I gave in.

Tumbling through the maze of broken brushes, empty containers of paint and failed paintings on the way. Once I opened the door, it was not the face I expected it to be.

"Dad," He watched me, close to offended as I was so surprised to see him. He pressed his lips together and walked inside my apartment.

"You have paint all over your face," He said and I rolled my eyes, not bothered by his comment. However, when he gazed over the apartment, his face turned into horror. I closed my eyes to the humiliation. It looks like a hurricane and a tornado mixed together in a fight to create a masterpiece of a mess.

"Mario called. He said he was, um, worried," My father sounded speechless and shocked before he turned to face me.

"How long has this been going on?" He stumbled through carefully to not get paint on his expensive shoes and black suit. I didn't answer as he picked up a canvas from the floor. He watched it for a while in curiosity. Then, he looked all over the living room again and his mouth moved as if he couldn't comprehend it.

"How many are there?" He asked, astonished as if frozen by bewilderment.

"I-I don't know," I shrugged and shook my head in shame. He looked over the sea of paintings again and sometimes picked up one after the other to study them. I don't know what to say. Because clearly, I do not have to say it. I have lost my mind. The proof is swimming all around me like sharks. Once my father looked back at me, I gazed away. I do not wish to see the judgment, the conviction that is always in his eyes when he watches me. I am a failure. I have been told that my entire life. I can't do anything right in anyone's eyes.

"I don't understand the need for so many," He said and I clenched my jaw because I know the flood will come.

"You have such an amazing talent," I raised my head to see my father watch over my work, not in outrage or disgust but with pride.

"They are all so marvelous, incredible,"

"No, they are not," I disagreed and trembled with anger. Not to my father, no, towards myself to be such a disappointment.

"It's not right. There is always something wrong," I explained and my father shook his head in amazement, then found his way to me.

"Your art is as great as your mother was,"

"No. I'm not even worthy of being compared to her," I rubbed my forehead where a headache had taken over. A hand under my chin raises my head and I'm forced to look into my father's brown eyes.

"Of course, you are, Hadley. You are just like her in every way possible," He smiled warmly.

"And I think that is what hurts me the most," A sadness crossed his eyes.

"You are just as hardheaded, fierce and proud on the outside. But inside, you are soft and sensitive," he sounded so content.

"It's that part I keep on forgetting as I rarely see it from you. Rarely saw it from your mother," He licked his lips.

"I have been too harsh on you and I won't even ask for forgiveness because I know I don't deserve it. You, Hadley, are the most precious thing I have left and I chose to hide you away and ignore you," He shook his head off himself.

"This way, I could keep you, but each time I am in the same room as you, I am reminded of what I lost. It feels like a curse. But in this way, I punish you for something you didn't do," My father looked around for a while before his brown eyes met my own.

"And this punishment that I placed you in has left you believing you deserve nothing more than exactly that," He closed his eyes in torment.

"Before Rylan left, she sent me a letter. She told me what she had done and resigned because of how she felt for you. At first, I thought it was one-sided, but Mario told me how you were. It was then clear to me now that it was not just her," He tilted his head as if waiting for an answer, an agreement. But my vision blurred as tears stained my face and I struggled for a breath. Finally, I took a step back from him. It felt as if the crack at my center broke. That minor fracture that I spent so much time holding close opened up. A tear that I thought with time I could close, but instead, it burst out like flames.

"I can't take it anymore!" I cried as I've bent for so long to the point I can't withstand it any longer.

"Mom is gone and you left me to grief, to disintegrate all on my own," I reached for air."Then Rylan came," I closed my eyes and a storm of tears rained down my face. "She did what I couldn't. She brought life back to everything. Then just like that, she slipped through my hands like everything else around me," I dried the wetness of my cheeks. "I can't take it!" Anger twisted and turned itself in my stomach, grabbing a hold that won't let go.

"My heart can't take it!" Finally, my legs gave in and I fell to my knees. My father bent down and through the blur, I could see the pain on his face.

"I can't do anything right. I can't even paint her," I indicated at the mess all around us. A pair of hands were laid on my shoulders.

"I remember a time back," My father spoke.

"Where this, the same exact thing happened to you. You were lost, so far gone to paint your mother. You told me you couldn't do it. Yet, you did. I even took one of your paintings. I still have it," He smiled slightly.

"They were all perfect, Hadley. Just like all of these are perfect," He took a breath as I sniffed and felt some of the anguish fade away.

"I think the problem doesn't lay in your skill. I believe it lies in the fact that no matter how much you try to recreate them, they are still not here with you, " I narrowed my eyes at his words.

"This, what you are doing is not bringing you what you need. It won't take away the pain. It won't bring you your mother back or Rylan," He explained and I nodded as I finally understood. The feeling I long for won't come back through a painting. Perhaps it never will.