Amelia looked at me. Her light hair fell down into her face. She was worried about me. I had spent more and more time locked up in this room. I rarely left it, only to go to school, do homework, go to bed or eat. I was a living dead. I just wanted to die, then I'd be able to see Trevor again.
"Mom says dinner is ready." She said.
"Tell her not to wait for me, I'll join you, when I finish my painting." I snapped. The concern in Amelias face was clear. I didn't need her concern, I didn't need it from anyone. I just wanted to be left alone. Amelia glanced over at my canvas, which was still empty. I allowed my nails to dig even deeper. Soon blood would gently escape the four wounds in each of my hands.
"Well, good luck with that painting, Candace." It was hard for me to understand that my nine year old sister understood, when to leave me alone. I wouldn't have thought she would, but she did have a habit of surprising me. The door closed behind me, and I was left alone once more. The room was silent. I enjoyed being left in a room of silence, being able to let my sorrow and pain escpae, without looks of concern being sent my way. It was Heaven, well at least to me.
I got up, dried away the tears and looked at my palms. Blood hadn't escaped yet, but it wouldn't have been long. I walked over and picked up my paintbrush and palette. I pursed my lips and looked down at the colors. I let the hairs at the tip of the brush turn blue. I stroked the canvas with tip of the brush over and over again. Sometimes I'd pick a new color. I let the painting take life. I was oblivious to everything that happened around. The only thing I was concious about was the paintbrush tip and the canvas. Everything else was a blur of colors.