Author's note: A victim with a vendetta, a bully with a conscious, and the degenerates that want it all. Part one of a new series.
Her hair was shorter now. Lighter. She'd grown a little taller too. It was starting to feel like something new.
Charlie flipped on the lights in a large dimly lit room and watched as shimmering clouds of dust settled across the various art supplies and equipment laid strewn everywhere. The studio was empty save for the comforting early morning light that snaked down from the skylights above. It covered the studio in a creamy haze.
Charlie set her things down at a table nearby and began the routine she'd made up for herself since final projects had been posted months ago.
Bright and early, day in and day out and, most importantly, ALWAYS before any other students would show up - she was working. Something Charlie had always done her whole life. However, this time, it was different. This time she was working for herself.
It'd already been a year and a half since Charlie got accepted into the art school of her dreams - far away from anything resembling her old life. It was almost hard to believe. She let out a contented sigh and pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail and set to work.
Among the clutter of murky palettes, glass jars, weathered brushes, and the various projects of other students in the grand studio, Charlie pulled down a sheet; unveiling a large canvas in the back corner. She eyed at its center, glancing over each stroke, and criticizing every weight of color on the smooth surface. Months of work and sleepless nights presented itself to Charlie, and even still, she felt it wasn't ready.
It was still missing something...but she didn't know what. She felt she was nearly on the cusp of a breakthrough, and yet, stuck halfway. It was only a matter of time, though. She was on a roll.
There was nothing in her way now. Nobody to stop her or tell her what to do. She was free.
Charlie grimaced before she could stop herself. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of something else. Things she thought she buried began to swell up from the dirt again. Even now, she was still affected.
Memories can be so cruel, sometimes.
It frustrated her how much emotion she still had whenever she thought about it. Why couldn't she have just left it behind along with everything else? At this point, the power it had over her was starting to become annoying.
Even when she drowned herself in school and work, it wouldn't go away.
Suddenly, a soft sound from behind her snapped her out of her thoughts and she quickly turned. She saw an unfamiliar face at the door. A girl.
"Wow, I'm pretty sure I was being extra quiet, too. You got elephant ears underneath that paint brush?" The stranger called out to her.
Charlie's ear instinctively perked up against the paint brush she had perched above it. She squinted and gave the stranger a once over and wondered why she looked so familiar, considering she'd never spoken to the girl before. Probably. Charlie had a bad memory.
"Or do you have a reason to be looking over your shoulder?"
Charlie snapped her eyes back up to the strangers when she spoke again - taken aback by the remark - and found them staring right back at her. "What did you say?"
The girl let out a light chuckle, "not a fan of jokes, I see. Only kidding. I'm just here for my pen," she reached over a pile of papers and picked up something off one of the tables. "Charlie, right?"
"Do I know you?"
"Diane Sumner. You're a little bit of a giant in the art department. I hear the paint guys hate you."
"Right," Charlie trailed off unamused, "I'm sorry, I'm kind of in the middle of something."
"Oh, don't mind me. Didn't mean to disturb you. Is that one yours?" Diane carried on, pointing at the canvas behind Charlie.
Charlie glanced at her painting and then back to Diane; floored by the girl's blatant disregard for anything she was saying. "...Yeah."
"It's beautiful," she lifted up her pen in front of her face and squinted an eye as if she was measuring the canvas from where she stood, "too bad, though."
"What is?"
Diane smiled, "it's boring."
Charlie was stunned. Then she felt the anger next. "What the hell would you know?"
"Oh c'mon, don't tell me it's finished then?"
"Of course no-"
"And it won't be," Diane interrupted, "if you keep lying to yourself. It's why you're stuck, right? You can't move forward and you obviously can't go back. Maybe you should be more honest. I think that painting would appreciate it."
Was she really getting unsolicited advice from a stranger at 5 in the morning?
"I'm fine, thanks for the concern." Charlie tried her best not to get too carried away with her emotions and to brush her off firmly. Truth be told, her words were hitting too close to home. What the hell did she even know, anyway?
Diane just smiled. "Looking forward to the final product. See ya around, Charlie."
And just like that, the strange girl was gone just as quickly as she showed up. Charlie hoped immersing herself in her work for the next couple hours would put her in a better mood after whatever...that was.
Now that she thought about it, she had seen that girl before. Only in passing, however. They weren't even in the same class. After today though, she planned on steering clear.
It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her when she walked off campus after classes ended, still unsettled. Not because of that girl, but because of what she said. She wasn't lying to herself. Everything she felt and everything she worked hard for was as real and sincere as the damn ground she walked on. She fled away from the lies a long time ago.
And yet, why?
Why didn't she believe it herself?
