Page 8 of My Demon Neighbor
Some red and black snuck in, like I couldn't make a painting work without those colors. Was I really so lost in the darkness that even my art wasn't spared?
All because I'd had the gall to say no to someone I shouldn't have. Not for the first time, I wondered what would've happened if I hadn't. If I'd said yes. What would my life be like right now?
Would I be back in the gallery for another opening, another display of my paintings? Would I be happy?
Or would I be trapped in a different kind of hell?
Sighing, I forced myself to think only of the work in front of me, to follow each stroke of the paintbrush.
It didn't take me long to find my center, to forget everything except the colors that slowly covered the white of the canvas, telling my story in the only way I knew how to share it.
I didn't know if the person who ended up buying it would ever realize what it said, or if it would remain a secret displayed on their wall for all to see but none to understand, but I didn't care.
Every time I painted, I felt just a little lighter. I didn't think it would ever be enough to free me of the darkness dragging me down, but as long as I had my colors and my canvas, I was sure I could keep my head above the water and stop myself from submerging completely.
