Read Online Coming Home (Only Time Will Tell #1) by Caroline Spencer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline Spencer
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like old times. Me and you dressed up like adults aren't going to cut it,” he says, well, whines.
I look into his eyes, remembering all the fun times we had, sometimes, like now, not doing anything of great importance, just-us. I miss that; I've missed a lot. Do I really want to try and fight this when I know I'll regret it? No, no I don't. I flick my heels off and kick them into the side of the couch. With the roll of the eyes and a flick of the hand, I give him the go ahead to get me out of my adult clothes.
He leads me down a long corridor, to the room right at the end. When he opens it, I'm surprised to actually feel warmth and homeliness.
The pale brown walls, somehow, make you feel like you’re being cuddled the moment you walk in. There's a large blue rug that covers most of the limestone floor and a bed that takes center stage.
Kyle starts digging through the dresser, searching for “crashing clothes.” I take a seat on the brown, leather chair that sits in front of the French doors that lead to the balcony and stunning sea view. I'm lazily swiveling side-to-side when he flicks on the bedside lamp. The night sky has slowly taken over all natural light in here and the hallway light isn't cutting it for his search.
The image of some blue daisies catches my eyes, a gasp escaping my lips before I can stop it. “Oh. My. God. You kept that? All these years?” I ask as I walk over to the black and white canvas of the sea, with three large daisies that sit on a branch, their bright blue petals standing out.
I always imagined it was the moon that made them shine in color. To me it said, “No matter how black and white your life can be, it's the simple things that add the color.” I can't believe that it's still living, and sitting pride of place above his bed.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It wasn't one of life's great memories, but, it was still a memory. It was being sold in a gallery, one of the local artists had painted it and was asking for more than I could possibly give. Every day I walked past it, and every day it caught my eye and I fell in love with it even more.
After a couple of months, I walked past and noticed that the painting was gone. It had been sold and I felt stupidly upset and angry. It was ridiculous because it was just a painting and it was something I never owned.
After that, I stormed back home, extremely pissed off that someone out there had something I wanted. I stomped up the stairs, irritated that I didn't have it, even after walking five blocks. I was irritated that I was still irritated.
I walked into my room and crapped myself. Kyle was sitting on the bed looking like a smiling idiot. I snapped at him for being in such a good mood, when all I wanted to do was hit some unknown person for buying something they didn't know I wanted.
I think he realized why I was pissed because he didn't beat around the bush. He spun me around to face the wall that I had my back too and found the painting hung on my wall. I burst into tears of happiness and then shouted at him for spending a stupid amount of money on a painting for me.
The day we left, I said my goodbyes to Kyle, giving him the painting back. Not because I didn't want it, like it or appreciate it, but because I wanted him to see that there's always color in the world, even when the sky feels gray. At that point in my life, though, the sky felt pitch black. There were times I used to think of that painting and remember what I thought about it, but it didn’t always cut it. Sometimes a world is meant to be dark for a reason.
Throwing something on the bed, he comes to stand beside me, admiring the picture with his arms crossed over his chest. “You think I'd get rid of it? After how much it cost? You must be joking,” he laughs. “Besides, I always hoped that one day you'd show up to take it back.”
I offer him a weak smile, because really I didn't turn back up for it. Shit just happened. “You keep it, it goes with
I look into his eyes, remembering all the fun times we had, sometimes, like now, not doing anything of great importance, just-us. I miss that; I've missed a lot. Do I really want to try and fight this when I know I'll regret it? No, no I don't. I flick my heels off and kick them into the side of the couch. With the roll of the eyes and a flick of the hand, I give him the go ahead to get me out of my adult clothes.
He leads me down a long corridor, to the room right at the end. When he opens it, I'm surprised to actually feel warmth and homeliness.
The pale brown walls, somehow, make you feel like you’re being cuddled the moment you walk in. There's a large blue rug that covers most of the limestone floor and a bed that takes center stage.
Kyle starts digging through the dresser, searching for “crashing clothes.” I take a seat on the brown, leather chair that sits in front of the French doors that lead to the balcony and stunning sea view. I'm lazily swiveling side-to-side when he flicks on the bedside lamp. The night sky has slowly taken over all natural light in here and the hallway light isn't cutting it for his search.
The image of some blue daisies catches my eyes, a gasp escaping my lips before I can stop it. “Oh. My. God. You kept that? All these years?” I ask as I walk over to the black and white canvas of the sea, with three large daisies that sit on a branch, their bright blue petals standing out.
I always imagined it was the moon that made them shine in color. To me it said, “No matter how black and white your life can be, it's the simple things that add the color.” I can't believe that it's still living, and sitting pride of place above his bed.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It wasn't one of life's great memories, but, it was still a memory. It was being sold in a gallery, one of the local artists had painted it and was asking for more than I could possibly give. Every day I walked past it, and every day it caught my eye and I fell in love with it even more.
After a couple of months, I walked past and noticed that the painting was gone. It had been sold and I felt stupidly upset and angry. It was ridiculous because it was just a painting and it was something I never owned.
After that, I stormed back home, extremely pissed off that someone out there had something I wanted. I stomped up the stairs, irritated that I didn't have it, even after walking five blocks. I was irritated that I was still irritated.
I walked into my room and crapped myself. Kyle was sitting on the bed looking like a smiling idiot. I snapped at him for being in such a good mood, when all I wanted to do was hit some unknown person for buying something they didn't know I wanted.
I think he realized why I was pissed because he didn't beat around the bush. He spun me around to face the wall that I had my back too and found the painting hung on my wall. I burst into tears of happiness and then shouted at him for spending a stupid amount of money on a painting for me.
The day we left, I said my goodbyes to Kyle, giving him the painting back. Not because I didn't want it, like it or appreciate it, but because I wanted him to see that there's always color in the world, even when the sky feels gray. At that point in my life, though, the sky felt pitch black. There were times I used to think of that painting and remember what I thought about it, but it didn’t always cut it. Sometimes a world is meant to be dark for a reason.
Throwing something on the bed, he comes to stand beside me, admiring the picture with his arms crossed over his chest. “You think I'd get rid of it? After how much it cost? You must be joking,” he laughs. “Besides, I always hoped that one day you'd show up to take it back.”
I offer him a weak smile, because really I didn't turn back up for it. Shit just happened. “You keep it, it goes with
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