each chapter will have at least one special memory or flashback! those are italicized !!

song: i loved you - sarah fisher

. . .

Everly Clark

     I PLACED my paintbrush down, sighing softly at my work. I was twenty-six years old, living alone is a small little cottage in the woods, single, and my job was a complete flop.

I was a painter, or well attempting to be one. Ever since my first day in art class, I had decided that I would be an artist. I used to draw the most positive paintings, the key word being here is used to. Now all my paintings looked depressing, which is most probably why no one bought them.

I tilted my head to the side, a few strands of my hair falling from my bun onto the side of my face. I crossed my arms over my chest, examining the painting in front of me. The girl in the painting looked so sad.

I sighed again, this time frowning at my work. Who would want a painting of a sad girl hanging on their wall?

Another flop.

I walked out of the art room, and into my backyard. I let out a deep breath, a hint of a smile playing on my lips as I remembered some memories from my old house. The air was nice and warm, as I sat down comfortably in my lawn chair. I watched as kids were splashing and giggling in a small lake not to far away from me. I watched with envy as a family was happily laughing without a care in the world.

The warm wind brushed off the strands of hair on my face, making them float behind my ear. I looked at the small watch on my wrist and quickly stood up. I had decided that every day at around six thirty pm, I would go to the town square and display all my paintings in one small spot.

Usually, no one bought anything. Sometimes people would toss me a penny or two because they felt pitiful for me. Who wouldn't?

I wasn't pretty. Or not anymore, because it sure didn't feel like it. My eyes were always emotionless and dark. I never smiled at anyone and I could care less about my hair and clothing.

Packing up my paintings, I walked out the door and began walking down the street. It was about a ten to fifteen walk, but I didn't mind at all. I walked silently the whole time, my thoughts filling up my head. It was such a beautiful day, the flowers were dancing along to the melody of the wind. Such graceful movements.

I still missed him. God, I missed him every day, I thought about him every day. I thought about his boyish grins and small kisses he would steal from me whenever he had the chance.

"Ricky! I'm trying to study here!" I squealed, as he showered me with kisses. I laughed as he never once stopped showering me with those cute little kisses.

"Whatever, study later," he mumbled into my hair, wrapping both of his hands around me. I laughed once again and placed my things on the side.

"When we graduate, I'm going to buy a house for us," he revealed quietly.

"Oh really? Can we buy one in Florida?" I asked, looking at him happily. He smiled and closed his eyes, pulling me closer to him.

"I've always wanted to live by the ocean," I continued.

"Anything you want," he responded softly.

"All I know now is that I will have a future with you," he revealed quietly,  "You're all I see ten years from now."

"Everly Clark, I want to be smelly and one hundred and two years old laying in your arms in front of the fireplace," Ricky revealed, looking at me with love.

My heart warmed and I smiled, "That makes two of us,"

"We might just be kids," he said, "But I don't think I've ever been so sure for anything or anyone.

Funny, isn't it, the way the human memory works? The things you can't remember and then the things you can just never forget.

I bit my lip and blinked furiously, trying to hide away my tears. I silently set up my paintings in the same spot and took a seat. I frowned and looked at the ground, hugging my knees to my chest. God, I looked so pathetic.

I was so pathetic.

"Those are some damn good paintings,"

I jumped and looked up to see a man around my age observing my paintings. He had platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that looked at my paintings with great interest. I tilted my head to the side, glancing at him with confusion.

"O-Oh, um thank you?" I said, or actually, it sounded more so like a question. He smiled and turned to look at me.

"Can I have one?" he asked tapping his pointer finger on his chin, looking at the variety of paintings.

"You want my paintings? Like actually buy it with actual dollar bills?" I asked in pure shock.

It was his turn to look confused, "Well yeah? Why are they not for sale?"

"They are for sale, it's just no one buys them," I revealed quietly, looking at the ground in shame.

He raised an eyebrow, "Yeah I know, I see you come every day sitting all by yourself,"

I looked up at him with wide eyes, "Uh, what?"

He rolled his eyes, "Relax, I just always go to that coffee shop across the street and see you from the window,"

"Oh," I whispered. I looked at the ground once again, not feeling in the mood for eye contact.

He cleared his throat, "So uh, can I like have one?"

Flustered, I stood up and nodded, "Yeah, yeah go ahead,"

He looked satisfied and picked up the one I drew this morning. The one with the sad girl.

"How much is this one?" he asked, looking at it in awe.

"Ten dollars,"

He frowned and looked at me, placing the painting down, "Then I don't want it,"

My eyes widened and I quickly shook my head, "No please, I'm sorry how about five dollars?"

His frown deepens, "The least I'm paying is a hundred,"

My jaw dropped. There was no way that this man was sane, he was going to give me a hundred dollars for that little of a painting?

"B-But, what?"

He rolled his eyes, "Listen here, I am running late so I have to run, but here's a hundred, you deserve it. You don't have to give me the painting,"

I shook my head and stared at the money he put in my hand, "No, God, I can't, you can't! At least for this little of a painting,"

"Just accept it," he smiled goofily at me, winking at me.

"B-But," I stuttered lamely, helplessly looking at the hundred dollar bill.

"Listen. you're talented and these people are way too blind to see that. You have to stand up, brush off the dust on your pants and show the hell off. It's sad that people can't see the real beauty, the pure kind of beauty," he paused, taking a quick glance over my paintings.

"I mean who get's to decide when the old ends and the new begins? It's not marked on the calendar in red pen, but it's there. It's an event, not nearly big or small. But it changes us, gives us even the smallest ray of hope," the man revealed loudly, looking intensely into my eyes.

That shut me up instantly.

"Start new and show off your work. I mean I know that you are a complete stranger to me, but I know real talent when I see it," he finished, holding my painting.

With that, he signaled with two of his fingers as in a way of saying farewell and walked away. I watched in pure awe and shock as he walked away, a small bounce in his steps.

Who the heck is this man?

. . .

My hands trembled as I read the newspaper that had been left outside my house. My heart thumping loudly in my chest.

THE HANS FAMILY

Nine years ago, the Hans family business went bankrupt, taking along their entire business. The family had shared nothing about any suspects and had disappeared for several years. There are many theories that have been shared across the press, but the family had never confirmed any of them.

Jesus Christ. The only suspect was me. I'm completely sure they had figured that part out, but not sure on why they hadn't come after me. Filed a case, or even went to court. I skimmed through a couple other paragraphs before stopping on a specific one.

Ricardo Hans, son of Enzo and Jessica Hans had just recently brought the business back up to the top. Even now, the Ricardo and his family refuse to talk about what had exactly happened to them nine years ago. However, now the business is back and better than ever, creating millions.

Shit. I felt a sharp pang in my chest, as I stared at the paper. Tears rolled down my cheeks, falling onto the paper. One even fell right on Ricky's name, making the ink smear.

God, who knew seeing your ex-boyfriends name in the newspaper could have such a big impact on someone?

I felt hatred, not for Scottie. Not for my parents. But for me.

I hated myself.

I loathed myself.

I am a terrible human being, who was nothing but a waste of space.

. . .

a/n: ah am i doing good with the sad feelings? i am not the best at writing deep stuff, but sad songs help a lot :((

the first chapter is out, whats your prediction for the next chapter?

have a lovely day, my beautiful people!

xoxo,