Chapter 43

"I can't breath."

George Floyd

I feel like I'm slipping away, that the fires and riots inside my mind are coming to life. I feel like my rights have been taken away, that my personality is a skin that can easily be shed. If only skin could be shed, if only it were that easy to look past the colours and see the origin and pure sentiment. If only we could reveal the emotions withheld, the emotions that have submitted to society's norms.

Sorry if I haven't been myself lately, if all I produce is utter rubbish compared to my previous accomplishments. Yet so much has been bottle up inside, that I need a release. I need to express how the world is adapting to these sudden changes.

What is our coping mechanism? What is our freedom in the grande scheme of things? Why are beings of authority and power, using that to degrade the vulnerable? Why are beings of trust, using their advantageous position, to harm those in a disposition?

I have so much to explain.

So much to paint on the little, white canvas I possess.

Unfortunately, time has never been on my side.

...

"Valentines Day's tomorrow, huh?"

The auburn coloured clouds hover in the apricot-orange sky, the wind rustling the lime-green leaves. Gradually, rain begins to fall, the miniature droplets grazing my skin and Red's sky-blue hoodie. Puddles ripple, the circles emerging on the surface soothes me, the nonchalance leaving my heart at ease. Tugging a strand of raven-black hair behind my ear, I open my pastel-pink umbrella, observing how the world seems so bleak and mundane. Grey and drained.

Beside me, Wyatt whistles an upbeat tune, tapping his foot and causing a splash every time he does so. Glancing at him, a smile tugs at my lips as his emerald-green eyes dazzle, refining the scenery and creating life, the life that runs between him and I. A shiver travels down my spine whilst I proceed to witness the perfect boy's demeanour, the subtle imperfections that I quietly obsess over. The way the dark-brow curls of his hair rest on his forehead, some occasionally falling into his eyes.

Looking closer, I notice that he's blushing.

Because from the corner of his eye, Wyatt sees me staring at him.

Briskly and of course, quite embarrassed, I direct my attention somewhere else. Heat rising in my cheeks, I keep my head down, wanting to avoid any confrontation or questioning from my friends. Biting my lip, my mind wanders, letting imagination be my distraction.

"I hope I'm not acting weird," I think.

"You're totally acting weird," my inner voice says, laughing hysterically.

"Yeah," Wyatt answers. "I can't wait to get it over with."

"Really?" Red asks, eye brows raised as the rains patters harder, "you seem to enjoy the attention you get."

"Yeah," I say, kinda confused. "All the girls are literally competing for your affection."

Giggling, Red pats my back before grabbing me and ruffling my hair. Grinning, I give him a gentle shove and he puts his hands up in mock surrender.

"It's not all that," Wyatt admits.

Red tuts, shaking his head.

"You sound so petty!" He exclaims. "Live in the moment. Not every guy is getting at least thirty gifts tomorrow!"

"I know right! Be thankful, Wyatt! It's like your missing something."

In the blink of an eye, a shadow casts upon his face. The wind stills, the leaves' peaceful swaying comes to a pause. The rain falls harder, echoing throughout the street until it seems as if all sounds are muted.

Until it seems as if we are buried under the ocean.

"You know what?! I am missing something! I'm missing a gift from the one girl I actually-"

Voice trailing away, Wyatt glances at me.

"I'm taking a different route home," he announces, turning on his heel and darting away. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait!"

Sighing, Wyatt walks back, giving me a side hug.

"See you later, Val."

And he leaves my grasp before I can even say goodbye.

"What do you even see in him?" Red asks, disgusted.

Surprised, I whip round to make eye contact with him.

"A good person? That's what I see in him," I state firmly.

"Not to be that guy, but he's constantly flaking out on you. What's the deal with him? I mean, I get that he's been in a toxic relationship. However, that's no excuse to just keep leaving you in the dark..."

"Red, stop it," I plead.

Momentarily, he looks hurt. Nevertheless, he complies, understanding that there's no use opposing my feelings and getting me to change my mind.

Red also knows, that I never talk badly behind my friends' back. Ever.

...

Bursting through the front door, I drop my bag and sprint to the kitchen. I scan the cupboards for anything remotely useful, praying that I don't have to make a quick trip to the store. Grabbing my ingredients, I set for work after thoroughly washing my hands and tightening the bun on my head. Putting on an apron, I sigh, satisfied and relaxed.

"I think I can do this," I whisper aloud.

I do everything for myself. If I work, it's for me, if I sing, it's for me. If I write, if I dance, it's for me. If feel I motivated, humiliated, frustrated, it's for me. If I want to become an achiever, if I see myself as a believer, if I'm eager to prove that imagination start within the mind of a dreamer, it's for me.

If I have to face the facts, if I have to struggle to keep myself intact, if I'm putting on an act, it's for me. If I have to oblige to your rules, if I have to comply to those who are cruel, if I have to take the initiative to arise and surpass the fools, it's for me.  If I cry, if I try, if I make an attempt to defy authority, it's for me.

However, today my actions aren't for me.

There for him.

So today, I submit.