Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I had buried myself in books pried open at the spine, pages and pages of ink on cream paper covering me from toe to nose. The only part of me that peeked through the books were my hands wrapped around a camera and my eyes.
And at the time, that was exactly the right image to depict.
I was the shy girl, the quiet girl, the one with her nose stuck in a book or a camera covering her face. I was an observer, which was why I left only my eyes and my camera visible in the self-portrait. The rest of me didn’t need to be seen. I was not the object of art — I was the creator of it, the one sent to Earth to take the photographs, not be in them.
I wondered what my self-portrait would be now.
And the more I wondered, the less I held onto hope that I would sleep.
I pictured myself on the top deck of the boat, eyes cast toward the ocean, wind whipping through my hair. There would be a storm off to my left, broody black clouds whispering of destruction. And to my right, a gorgeous sunset, with pink and orange clouds much like the ones I’d seen off the coast of Positano.
My hands would be on the railing, except to my left, toward the storm, there would be no railing at all.
My hand would be suspended, toes just off the edge of the teak, as if to show the viewer that just one tiny inch of movement would push me over the precipice and into that storm.
But I couldn’t capture that with a photograph — not without manipulation in post. So, I wondered what it would be like to be a painter, to be able to just create what you saw in your mind at any given moment with a brush stroke.
My eyes were bloodshot when Joel’s alarm clock went off, and I swallowed back the guilt I felt as I watched him get ready for work. He still looked miserable, but I didn’t even bother to try to get him to rest another day. One day had been victory enough.
He didn’t say a word to me as he dressed, but he did stop by the edge of the bed and kiss my cheek before he walked out the door. When he was gone, I pressed my fingertips to where his lips had touched my skin, and tears welled in my eyes.
I’m a monster.
It was as if that realization drained all the energy I had left, and I slumped down into the sheets, succumbing to sleep after viciously fighting it all night long.
I woke after noon, sweaty and with my head swimming like I was hungover. I groaned and kicked the covers off, reaching for my phone next and frowning when there was nothing more to look at on the screen than my background photo — one of me and Joel hanging out in his dorm room last semester. We were both wearing CU hoodies, and he sat between my legs while I draped my arms over his shoulder. Our smiles were the kind you couldn’t fake, the kind only true affection can beget.
Where are those smiles now?
I wasn’t sure why my stomach plummeted at the fact that Theo hadn’t texted me, especially since I knew after yesterday that I needed to disconnect. I needed to stay away from him, because any time I made the mistake of being near him, I crossed lines so much that my feet were beginning to erase the pencil mark they were drawn in.
After lying in bed for another twenty minutes, I dragged myself into the shower and then up on deck to work. I needed something to distract me from my thoughts, and so I begged Emma to give me a task, and though she looked at me with a cocked brow like she knew something was off, she didn’t press. Instead, she set me to work doing the crew laundry and polishing tableware, and I lost myself in those mundane tasks for the rest of the day, retreating to my room around dinnertime.
When I did, my sister called.
“Hey, sis, how’s life of the rich and famous going?”
Just hearing her voice broke the last twig of self-control I had, and I sucked in a sob, trying to hold myself together.
“Oh, Aspen,” Juniper said softly. “Are you okay?”
I laughed through the next wave of emotion that hit me, shaking my head as I leaned back against the headboard of our bed. “Just peachy.”
“What happened?”
My eyes welled with tears again. “I’m afraid to tell you.”
“Why would you ever be afraid of telling me anything? I’m your sister — if anyone has your back, it’s me.”
I sniffed. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
“Not possible. Now, answer my video call request and tell me everything.”