The sun peers through my blinds and I look at my phone seeing that it's past twelve. Sitting up, my body's sore, with white paint all over my pajamas and sheets. I get out and head downstairs, my cast heavily hanging at my side, which is exactly what the doctor told me not to do.

When I walk in the kitchen it's empty, I turn to the wall that I had destroyed and it's been fixed. Dad must've done it. Guilt slashes through me.

How many people are going to have to clean up my messes?

I start the coffee maker and stare blankly at it. Sighing, I move away and head to my makeshift art studio to find a massive canvas that's almost entirely white but painted different shades of it. Right at the heart of the canvas is the same blasted little finger that's in the painting on the wall. It's so realistic it looks 3D, like the finger is ripping out of the canvas causing cracks and tears, trying to touch me... again.

The sound of people parading into the house catches me off guard. I step away and go back in the house to find all the guys including Dad and Archie along with Amber and Lashes.

Before anyone can see me in my little, slightly inappropriate pajamas, Adonis appears next to me and ushers me past without anyone seeing me.

When we get to the hallway by the stairs, I push him off. "I didn't need your help."

He grabs my good arm pulling me into him. Glancing up I see he has horrible bags under his eyes. His usually perfectly messy dark gold locks are tousled, heavy, and pulled all over the place. His eyes are lined with the red heat of exhaustion I know all too well, that can't be cured with a simple good night's sleep.

He puts his finger in my face. "I didn't do it to help you. I did it because I don't want any of the guys seeing my girl like this."

I freeze at that.

"I'm not yours," I whisper.

He softly lifts my chin up and growls out, "Yes you are."

Whipping around, I stomp upstairs and awkwardly get dressed. My stupid cast causes me to rip an old favorite shirt of mine. I throw it off cursing and put on a new one then head back down.

Adonis stares at me looking all brooding and sexy, which is unfair because when I struggled with that I looked like crap. Amber and Lashes are sitting down with their laptops. When they see me Amber jumps up and gives me a gentle hug.

"Lashes and I just saw all of your work and we started Googling how much artists can make and for the most part nothing, but for you..." She bops my nose with her finger before she sits down in front of her laptop. "You could make big bucks."

"Yeah." Lashes jumps in. "We looked up artists similar to your work and they are like millionaire's.

"What? Buttercup can be a millionaire?" Ducky asks, putting his arm around me. "Marry me, my love. You be my sugar momma and I'll be your—"

"Don't finish that sentence." Adonis bites out.

Ducky falls back and I glare at Adonis. Amber rolls her eyes. "Geez, Duck, why are you so obsessed with hitting on my sister?"

He wiggles his brows. "I like getting under Adonis's skin and second she doesn't get snippy about it like you saucy ladies do."

Amber gives a bitter laugh. "Yeah, Duck, I can count on one hand how many times you've hit on me and it's..." She finishes her sentence with a fist indicating zero.

His brows raise. "Does that upset you? Because I can fix that right now if you'd—"

"Stop," she demands with a swipe of her hand. "Anyway, Georgie, before we were interrupted by a—"

"Lovable teddy bear." Ducky cuts off.

She shakes her head in exasperation. "Some of these artists made good money. You should try it."

Lashes beams. "Look, this one's a lot like what you do."

She turns her laptop around and time stops. A rage I never knew before fills me. The artist says anonymous but the piece is...

Mine.

In fact, it's the very one I did in front of Chip that got me sent to an insane asylum. It's also a very personal piece. This is why I've never wanted my artwork on display because then people would know exactly how dark and insane I truly am.

The title above it is

It fits perfectly, especially since it's of the very thing happens in my mind and body when I have an episode. It's almost all in black and white. Black is the dominant color showing the shadowed clouds that plague my mind when my episodes start. The darkness fills most of the empty space like the smoke of hell is tainting it. The middle is the fracture that splits my brain and inside of it is a tiny shape of a human being writhing in pain... me.

At the bottom, hands are painting on a canvas. The unsettling part is how each finger is nailed to it, soaking in blood so dark, you can barely see the red as it collides with the black paint. It signifies that no matter what I do. It controls me. Whether it symbolizes my insanity or my own personal demon? I don't know.

With no explanation. I leave the kitchen. Ripping my phone out of my pocket, I dial mom's old number, praying it's the same after six years.

"Lorelai Cooper." My veins surge with betrayal at the sound of her happy voice.

"You sold my painting."

There's silence on the other end but I know she's there because of her breathing. "How'd you get out."

I don't answer.

I honestly don't know why they released me but they did. "Not only did you send me to a mental institution but you sold something that belongs to me. Mine. Do you have any idea how violating this is? Illegal? Selling another artist's work without their consent?"

"It was Chip's idea."

Something unravels in me, something powerful and strong.

Hate.

"We were going to destroy it but he contacted a friend of his who's an art dealer and he came and..." She lets the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

My hushed conversation is about to end as I plow back to where everyone is and a bitter laugh busts out of me. "Are you kidding me?"

Amber, Dad, Adonis and everyone look up in shock at the venom laced in my voice. Amber stands. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

Mom's sickeningly reserved voice comes through the phone. "Sweetie."

"Don't you dare call me that!" I roar out. "Tell me, did you pay them to give me those 'sleeping pills'?"

She doesn't answer.

"I remember you know. It took a couple days, but you... you let Chip—"

"Georgie, now's not the right time."

I scream into the phone. "You let him throw me into a mental institution for six years you witch! Then you let him sell my artwork! You made a profit off the very thing you sent me to the loony bin for?"

"Please," she pleads with a shaky breath. "Don't sue us."

My phone is shaking in my hand and I can't pay attention to anyone in the room. It's just me and mom's voice. "You're worried about me suing you?"

Everything in me comes to a colossal breaking point.

"I hate you!" My window shattering screech rips my throat as I take my phone and chuck it at the wall so hard it breaks and makes a huge dent. I let out every single emotion I've been accumulating since my attack in one throat tearing, blood curdling, raw scream. My stitches stretch along with my mouth. I don't hear it. I hear nothing, but I feel it, like I'm a teapot that finally whistled after waiting to boil.

A body collides softly into mine.

It's not Adonis...

Not my dad... who wraps their arms around me.

It's Amber.

As soon as she embraces me my screaming stops. I pant so hard it's like I'm about to break the bones inside my chest.

"I love you, Georgie."

Tears brim my eyes and my panting turns into gut wrenching sobs that I've been holding in for years. Then, like a person who finally let go of their denial and grasped their grief full on, I give a deep tortuous wail.

I shatter.

Letting my sister hold me up as I do.