I can feel my body shaking, my mind becoming foggy as I proceed to enter my favorite room in the whole mansion-- my art room.

Being around the art I managed to create makes me feel calm and proud. It makes me feel happy, and it also manages to distract me from the evil that truly surrounds me.

Creating art is a privilege that many don't have, and it is also a privilege that many can't understand.

Many can't understand how far an Artist's mind can go--whether the person is a painter, writer, dancer, or singer. An artist can look at a flower with kin interest, and in the end come up with millions of stories-- that only a few can understand.

I slowly begin to walk towards the window, my drawing board and art supplies not far from it. My mind keeps telling me to go towards the drawing board, trying to convince me that making art will help me feel better, like it always does.

However, I know that nothing will help me feel better at this moment. Nothing will help me forget about the lie I used to live with-- the lie that I thought was my future.

I know that I didn't love Bianca, but damn, does it hurt. It hurts to realize that I was going to trap myself in a loveless marriage. It hurts me to realize that I was going to end up like the people I swore to despise.

Love isn't something I believe in, but it's also something I wouldn't hate to discover. It's something I'm not afraid to experience-- even if it's once in my lifetime.

I want to experience what those people in movies seem to have. I want to know how it feels to have a lover. I want to know how it feels to smile at someone with compassion in my eyes, even when the person does something stupid. I want someone to hold me when I feel angry with myself-- to tell me that I'm not a failure.

Maybe that person will replace the bad memories I have with good and happy ones.

I would cherish the person that would make me feel whole, and nothing would stop me from treating them like royalty. Because I know how it feels to be treated like trash.

With a sigh, I walk out of the room and onto the balcony, the wind slapping my face as I hold onto the balustrade.

My head pounds as I look down, my eyes closing as I remember how messed up I truly am.

Life is indeed a bitch.

All my life I've felt nothing but emptiness, and nothing seems to change. It seems like the older I get, the more life gets messy.

"Why did you bring me in this world to suffer, Lord? Why do I pass through all this?" I can't help but ask, my shoulders slumping in defeat.

I know that I won't get any answers, but that won't stop my curiosity. I'm not a person that likes questioning life, and God. But sometimes I can't help but wonder why things happen the way they do.

I'm not a very religious person, but I believe in a higher power. I believe that God is real, and I know that nothing and nobody can convince me otherwise.

Being raised in a somewhat religious home made me question so many things, things that will be frowned on by saints. Being raised in a religious home made me have a bittersweet relationship with religion.

But it never made me stop believing, because I know that at the end of the day, everybody has to believe in something and someone.

"I need help. I need a miracle-- anything! I need something to help numb my pain," My eyes slowly open, a sigh leaving my mouth as I fist my hands.

I'm in desperate need of help, and heaven knows that I don't want to go back down the road I'm fighting so hard to leave.

"Honestly, I'm tired." I speak into thin air, wanting to let go of all the pain I have built up within myself. "I'm tired of the mess I call life. I'm tired of the heartaches. I'm tired of the sorrow. I'm tired of the hiccups of life. I'm tired of the neverending flashbacks. I'm tired of remembering my past. I'm tired of people-- I'm tired of everything, even myself." I add, and just like before, I hear no reply.

Sighing for the millionth time today, I lean forward, folding my hands together on the balustrade as I look at the many trees I had planted a few years back.

I'm one person that loves and appreciates nature, and that's something I never want to change about myself.

Nature is something that manages to calm me down, and I know that whenever I have a bad day I can always go out in the garden with a cup of coffee and a book, and reality will disappear for an hour or two.

Growing up with little to nothing, I've learnt to appreciate the small things in life. Not because I can't afford them, but because someone somewhere is praying to have the exact same thing-- be it peace, money, food, clothes, shelter.

"Life is so unfair. I'm here venting about shit, and thousands, if not millions, of people are having the time of their lives right now." I chuckle to myself, watching as one of the many guard dogs runs passed me.

My mind begins to wonder, my eyes not once moving from the trees. I'm a very conscious person, and even though my mind is occupied, I'm still alert.

If I concentrate too much on my problems, I'll fall back in the hole I once fell into. People will begin treating me like a puppet, just like Bianca did-- something that will never happen again.

I feel a droplet of what feels to be water land on my forehead, making me look at the clouds, which have began changing colors. I can see what looks to be thunder a mile away, making me slowly straighten up from my position.

With no hesitation, I turn around, my feet carrying me back inside the art room. I love the rains, but I don't like the fever I get when I get soaked, and I also don't plan on getting bedridden.

After making sure I've closed the balcony doors, I close the curtains, walking towards the coffee machine I had installed in here a few weeks ago.

My mood has improved a bit, and maybe, just maybe, I can paint the rest of my pain and heartache away.

After I'm done making my coffee, I walk towards my painting supplies, a growl of frustration leaving my mouth when I realize that I have no inspiration.

Nevertheless, I pick up one of my paint brushes-- my favorite paint brush, which was given to me by Hunter.

Thinking of Hunter makes me sulk, hating that I took out my frustration on him.

Hunter is my brother, a brother that has never once left my side. It was foolish of me to do what I did. I should have stopped myself from reacting the way I did.

We are both victims of Bianca's foolishness, and heaven knows I would strangle her back to her grave if she was to show up in front of me.

I begin breathing heavily, my breath hitching in my throat as I put the paint brush in its case. I begin walking towards one of the couches, sitting down on it as I begin counting-- hoping to distract myself from my thoughts.

Bianca's dead, and she won't get to ruin my life again. I have to forget everything she made me pass through if I really want to have a little peace in my life.

I take a sip from my cup of coffee, leaning back in my seat as my eyes begin to close-- opening only when I hear a knock.

"Come me," I respond to the knocking, confusion gracing my face when I see Ms. Rowlands.

I watch as she watches towards me, my eyebrows furrowing when I see how uncomfortable she is right now. "You can sit down," I tell her when I see that she has no plans of sitting down.

I nod when she thanks me, my heartbeat picking up a bit when I realize that I still have some humanity in me. I guess I'm not that evil.

Ms. Rowland sits besides me, nervousness clear on her face. "Can I help you with anything?" I ask, to which she shakes her head no.

"I came to check up on you... Hunter and I were worried about you," She says after a moment of silence, her reply making me feel... happy?

No one has ever worried about me, expect for Hunter, of course. Hearing that she also cares about my wellbeing makes heartbeat pick up-- in a good way.

'Thank you." I mumble to which she nods, muttering words I can't seem to understand under her breath.

We sit in silence for a little while longer, my eyes not once moving away from Ms. Rowland. I don't know why, but I'm just now noticing how beautiful she truly is.

I knew that she was beautiful before, but I'm just now paying close attention to her. Her thick long natural hair, her long gorgeous eyelashes, her plump lips, her beautiful hazel eyes, her freckles-- everything about her screams beauty.

"You're very beautiful," I confess to her, a look of surprise gracing her face when she hears me, her eyes widening as she blushes-- making her look more beautiful.

I'm about to compliment her again, when she stands up from her seat, making me furrow my eyebrows in confusion." I have to go," She says, rushing out of the room before I can give her a reply.