Shattered Dreams [EDITING] - Chapter 23: Chapter 23

NADIA'S POV:
Pain. All I feel right now is pain. It's like I'm drowning but I just can't fucking die; the suffering won't end.
I didn't sleep for long at all, maybe about an hour and then I got woken up by the shooting agony in my legs. It's like the blood rushing through my veins is a poison trying to debilitate me slowly day by day.
In my opinion, I need to sleep more than the average person but the thing is, I don't rest because I'm lazy; I rest because it's my medicine, yet it's also my kryptonite. When I sleep, it does nothing for me, it makes me feel worse somehow, like I needed sleep when I got back home from the rink but I soon got woken up by the pain, needing to sleep just as much as I did before my nap.
What hurts the most about this isn't the pain, it's the fact that I have to pretend that I'm fine long before I healed from it. When I sleep my parents expect that it will make me feel better than I did before, that's why they encourage it so much but how can I turn around and say to them that it doesn't do anything for me. There is no way I can escape the way I'm feeling, I'm trapped and I'm afraid this is all I'll ever be.
I shout out into the darkness and receive no response so my parents must be out. I'm not sure what time it is but I didn't sleep long enough for my parents to be asleep so I grab my phone from where my mum puts it under my pillow and reluctantly send a text to Willem saying that I need him. I don't want to bother my parents, they have to put up with me on a daily basis and I don't really want to bother Willem as he's with his friends, but I need someone.
I receive no reply from my brother, which is unusual, but I read nothing into it as he's with his friends and had better things to do than answer his sister's text messages. As I'm alone, I make an attempt to get up by myself. I lift my legs up with my arms and spin them round to the side of my bed and push myself up, using my arm strength yet again.
I take the two pain killers that were left on the tray next to my bed, as my parents don't trust me with the whole box, and down the rest of my lukewarm water with them, easing the scratchiness in my throat.
I use my arms to push myself up again and cling to the wall to help myself to the bathroom. Once I'm done I check my phone to see if I have a response from Willem, only to be met with nothing.
I understand why there is no reply but it doesn't stop the sting his absence brings me.
I make my way back to bed as there's no reason to be awake and I toss and turn for what feels like hours. I'm exhausted yet sleep doesn't seem to be coming to me. Today is one of those days where my heart is tired and all I want to do is hug my best friend. I think that no matter how much time passes with Archie gone, I will always be weak. Grief is all I have left of him, so yes, I cling to it. So, I will continue to remember him, even though he's gone.
I open my eyes to stop Archie invading my thoughts and I get up again, looking for something to take my mind off of everything. I would go up onto the roof to speak to Archie, but I don't want to risk hurting myself even more whilst I'm home alone and the fact that it's now started raining, it's too warm and dry in here to go outside.
I make my way to my dad's office, limping with each step to snoop around a little in search of something to occupy myself with and he has a little bit of everything in here. My dad doesn't really like any of us coming in here as this is his work space and a place where he can do what he loves doing the most all on his own, but I enjoy coming in here as I get to see the amazing world my dad comes up with. I don't come in here a lot at all but when I do, I'm amazed every time I look at the drawings hung up on the beige walls.
The room is about the same size as my room, to fit all of his canvases and technology and whatever else needed. Even though he is a graphic designer, he likes to physically paint and draw the works beforehand as he says he works better when the ideas can go straight from his head to the paper. It doesn't make sense to either Willem or I, but who are we to comment? It's his job not ours.
I'm not good at art by any means but I'm not the worst at it. It's something that comes naturally to me like skating does, but obviously not in the same capacity. I definitely got the art gene from my dad, I would be awful at it if it wasn't for him because my mum is shit too.
I've always liked art and the freedom of it, every painting an artist creates has a little piece of them brushed into it. Just like with my skating routines; my emotion in what I'm doing is what makes the piece significant.
What my dad taught me from a young age about paintings is that each person perceives it differently. One could see a happy painting, with a basic story and another could see a depressing world with a haunting tale. The art isn't about the painting, the art is the way you perceive it. There are endless possibilities and it's about what you want to see.
As all my thoughts are consumed by artwork, I decide to do some painting. I haven't really painted since getting tonsillitis so I'm not sure how well this will do on my body but I need to be doing something.
Painting won't be too energy consuming, right?
I have my own paints and colouring pencils but my dad's just hit differently and I'm pretty sure my paints are all dried out from lack of use. He's not in to notice they are gone anyway. I won't use much of the stuff and they will be put back in the exact same spot I found them in. He will be none the wiser.
I open his cupboard and search at the back for some old paints, getting a mix of different colours. I'll use my own paintbrushes as they are the same brand as my dad's so there is nothing wrong with them. They'll probably need to be reshaped a bit, but I can't be bothered since there is nothing wrong with an imperfect painting, it adds to the beauty of it as it makes it more personal.
I steal one of the sealed canvasses as he won't be getting that back, unless he wants to paint over it. I hobble back to my room slowly, as my balance is worse than usual and take a seat at my desk. I debated whether to paint in my bed but that would be more work than just sitting at my desk as I would have to set everything up there. I don't really have enough energy to paint, let alone doing all that.
I grab a bottle of water from my baby blue mini fridge that's under my desk so I can use that to clean my brushes. It's an easier way to do it, instead of getting up again and filling a cup. My legs tire out quicker the more I get up and down so I'm skipping all the extra steps I don't need to take.
I don't know exactly what I want to paint as my artistic abilities are lacking and I'm not really used to painting about my feelings. I usually write them down in my notebook as that is what I know best. I know how to use my words to write down my feelings just for my eyes, but anyone can see this painting and interpret it the way that I wanted it to be.
Paintings are a look inside of the artist's mind, a form of silent poetry. I want to paint this time, to branch out a little more, to have another way of learning how to cope with my pain and thoughts.
If someone opened my notebook and read just one page that was in there they would be concerned about me. Words tell too much, but if they saw my paintings then they won't appear as dark as they actually are. People can interpret them how they want to, so they may never know the true meaning behind them.
For me, painting is just another way of telling the world how I really feel.
I put a painting playlist on and play it in a low tone through my speakers. I put dollops of each colour of paint onto my mixing palette and just pick a colour at random and go from there. I don't know the image that I have in mind but it seems to be looking quite space-like.
I add bits of orange, purple and blue into the black and smudge them out to give it a messy and imperfect look. I then finish that part by dipping my paintbrush into the white and flicking it over the canvas to create a look of stars.
Painting the stars is what came as an instinct to me, I didn't even have to think about it even with how hard it is to paint the night time sky. I'm sure every person has a connection to the stars but each time I look up at the dark sky, filled with different constellations I am reminded that I need to live my life differently, not just for myself but for Archie too. It won't fix how anyone around me is feeling, or more importantly how I am feeling. But, when I look into infinity and remember that in reality my problems are infinitesimal. The stars show me that no matter what I am a part of this immeasurable universe and I need to learn to be okay with that. My time on this earth isn't endless, it's a small fraction of time.
I put the paintbrush down and stare at the painting, feeling underwhelmed with what had been provided as it looks empty and is lacking emotion. I ponder on what I could add and go with the thing that I love most but has been ripped away from me, skating. And get lost in what I am doing.