New York, New York

April 2019

Emerald

The sun shines brightly on the white-as-snow canvas, mesmerizing me with its purity, and my hands twitch to destroy it with color.

Coming closer to the window, I open it up wide, and a strong wind almost knocks me on my ass, but thankfully I hold tightly to the windowsill. The nature is evidently in the middle of the storm, so rare for this time of year in New York, but it’s welcomed at the same time.

The rain pours loudly against the sidewalk. The fresh smell of concrete penetrates my nose, and I inhale it sharply, wishing I had grabbed that cup of mint tea back in the kitchen.

Studying the people rushing quickly seeking shelter, inspiration pops into my head, and I remove my jacket, roll up the sleeves of my sweater, and I’m about to grab the yellow brush ready to recreate the images around me.

Only instead, my fingers wrap around a single pencil with a sharp end lying on the corner of the painting kit.

In seconds, my hands, of their own accord, start to draw the bluest-like-the-ocean eyes, which gaze with mischief and love, light eyebrows that always give him a wistful expression, shoulder-length silky blond strands, dimples on the cheeks, and a five o'clock shadow, which adds to the wild yet sexy look that will drive girls crazy.

With a heavy sigh, I continue to draw all the details of the person until my arms grow numb and the pencil falls to the ground.

Stepping back, I study the drawing in front of me while the pain in my heart intensifies, though I can’t understand why.

The most handsome man looks straight at me with a happiness only real love can provide.

Different voices echo in my ears while my head starts to throb. Placing my fingers to my temples, I try to reach for something fleeting in my memory that nags at my mind, but at the same time doesn’t reveal its source.

Huffing in frustration, I wonder if there’s a cure for the insanity that has settled in my brain for the last several months and disturbs my life.

A loud knock on the door snaps my attention to it as Kaden enters, his eyes traveling to the drawing and turning darkish blue.

He hates when I do that, and my explanation doesn’t help soothe the inferno raging in him whenever I mention my problem.

I expect another lecture on focusing on my studies instead of this stupidity, as he calls it.

However, he exhales heavily instead, hooks his thumbs in his pants pockets, and asks, “What do you need, Emerald?”

My heart freezes but then speeds up again, while I search for the right words that will make him understand.

It’s vitally important to me. “I need to go to the island.” He looks to the side, and I see his hands squeeze into fists, so I quickly add, “This story won’t leave me alone, Kaden. I have to go there and give it justice.”

“You are a teacher. Painting is your fucking hobby. You are not a writer!” he shouts, but I shake my head, holding my chin high.

“That’s true. But this story in my head won’t go, doesn’t go away. And I think it’s because I’m hiding from it. I want to write it. But for that, I need to go there to feel it all.”

“It’s dangerous, and reckless.”

My brows furrow at his words while confusion spreads through me. How can going to the island for the summer and writing a romance book be dangerous?

“Kaden, I’ll go no matter what. But I would have preferred not to go with us fighting.”

I love and trust my big brother with all my heart. He never clipped my wings or restricted my freedom, instead giving me all the opportunities in the world to be myself.

He was there with me through it all. The broken bones. Loss of sixty percent of my sight. The reason I knew the drawing so well was because I drew it from my brain.

I understand his protectiveness due to all my conditions and the danger that might await me in an unknown place, but when it borders on insanity? No freaking way.

“You are not ready to face it, Emerald.”

Once again, the riddles that confuse me somehow make him furious at the possibility of me “discovering” something huge.

I lived as boring a life as I could. What could I possibly uncover?

“Kaden—” He raises his hand, and I shut up, waiting for him to process it all.

Finally he comes closer, palming my head and giving me a soft peck on my forehead. “Go. But always remember that sometimes there’s no choice in our actions.”

Before I can comment on that, he hugs me and presses my cheek to his shoulder as he rocks me in his arms. It feels like he’s giving me the last hug ever or is afraid he’ll never get this opportunity again.

Instead of dwelling on his weird state, I return the embrace and smile, because I can go there and finish this madness.

Two star-crossed lovers in my head will get their story told.

My life will go back to normal, and I’ll finally have peace.

Micaden

If madness has a name… it’s hers.