CHAPTER 39

I inhaled and exhaled, but I didn't get the result I needed, so I inhaled and exhaled again. Turning around I saw Marcus standing far off with Adrian by his side. He was looking in my direction while Adrian was just staring into the space. He gestured to me to come back and I started walking briskly. Each step made me hate what I was doing more. When I was a few inches away from them, I stopped abruptly hoping he would just say whatever he wanted to say and get it done with.

“Huh, why are you standing there? You can come forward; I don't bite”. He said his voice loud and resounding.

I cursed him under my breath and surged a few more steps forward. When I got to where he stood, he opened his arms for a hug, but I turned it down by extending my right hand for a handshake. Adrian chuckled at what I did and I guess Marcus was ashamed.

“Good day, Jenny; how was your trip?” He asked with a weird smile.

“Fine,” I muttered.

“Ohh forgive my manners. I am Marcus Lopez Adrian's best friend.” He sang as if it were some line he rehearsed.

“I know,” I murmured.

“Alright, it's a pleasure meeting you.” He shuttered.

I replied with a nod.

“Adrian and I are hanging out now. Do you want to join us?” He asked casually.

I raised my eyes and watched Adrian trying to observe his reaction to his friend's question. He didn't do anything significant just playing a smirk with his lips pursed. I guess he knew my reply so he didn't want to help me decline the offer.

“No, I can't come, thank you,” I mumbled and turned around to leave. Adrian laughed scornfully and hopped into the car with Adrian and then drove off. I asked the maids to bring in my luggage and hurried back into the building. 

Once in my room, I felt more relaxed. After freshening up, I took a quick nap. On waking up a few hours later I was lighter. The house was just too quiet and lonely. The boredom was suffocating just a few hours back in America and I was like that. I picked up my phone and tried scrolling through social media, but I flung it away when the only thing the TikTok algorithm was giving me was romantic videos. I refused to be oppressed.

I went over to a mini bookshelf hung at the left-hand corner of the wall. I had never checked it since I started living in Adrian's house. When I glanced through, it was filled with books about success, productivity, leadership, and other bullshit that would only fuel my boredom. Nothing fun was on the shelf.

Fuming, I walked away and stood by the window. It was a nice view there because I could have an overview of the estate. But it wasn't attractive anymore, maybe because I had viewed it more often.

I turned around to leave but my eyes met something at the corner of the room. My paintbrush, what was it doing there? I didn't have the habit of throwing my painting stuff around. I moved to where it was, and as I picked it up, a thought crossed my mind. It's been a while since I painted and it was as if the consciousness that I was a painter was stolen from me. But at that time, seeing that paintbrush was the best thing that happened to me because nothing else seemed like the perfect escape from the pangs of boredom.

I strode out of my room dragging my feet through the hallways. My painting materials were in the last room in the hall. When I got there, I turned the doorknob clockwise. It let out a creaking sound before opening widely for me to walk in. I gave the room a quick scan and resolved to clean it up before doing anything further.

Heading to the laundry room, I picked up a few cleaning tools: a mop, a bucket, and a broom.

“Ma'am, please, where do you want to clean? We will take it from here.” A maid ran to me asking.

“No, don't worry, I just feel like doing it by myself,” I replied with a faint smile.

“Are you sure you don't need some help, ma'am?” She asked again, trying to collect the cleaning tools from my hands.

“I told you I'm fine with it,” I replied and she stepped aside.

Once back in the painting room, I set off to clean. To me, I thought it took a professional painter to have the ability to paint and clean up. Anything related to painting just gave me so much joy. Whether shopping to restock my exhausted materials or joining long painting tutorials. I just loved every second of it.

When I was done, I called the maid, who desperately wanted to do her job early to return the cleaning tools. I brought out my brushes, paints, and half-done canvas. It was a sunset scene I had left behind a while ago. It's been long, though, because I painted it at home with Mom. It looked faint and unappealing. I don't even remember where I got the inspiration from.

I shrugged and shoved it aside, resolving to kickstart something new. I loved starting from scratch. It gave me a sense of a new beginning. 

The first touch of paint on the canvas felt abstract but running through the surface made it feel natural again. I didn't like it, I vowed never to stay away from my paintings again. I started with blue; it was my best color, always depicting love, gentleness, and warmth. I spread it across the board, making it into layers to form waves. The repetitive process of dipping the brush into the paint and working it around the board began to soothe my nerves. The feeling was overwhelming. With time, my motion gained composure, the colors complimenting itself and the strokes smoothening.