Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter #2) - Melanie Martins Page 0,84
session is finally over.
Manhattan, September 26, 2020
My new painting has been progressing well. It’s dark, melancholic, and… well, a bit depressing. A reflection of my own self, like Dr. Nel suggested. At least I’ve managed to keep myself busy and, most importantly, isolated from Janine and Dad, who’ve been pretty vocal about my eating habits.
“Petra, get out of here.” Dad keeps knocking impatiently on the locked door of my atelier. “You’re gonna have dinner with me whether you want to or not. Enough is enough!”
“I’m not hungry,” I shout once more as I remain focused on the canvas in front of me. “Leave me alone.”
But Dad doesn’t give up. “Very well. Janine will lock the kitchen door and there will be nothing for you to eat,” he threatens. I shrug my shoulders. If I want to eat, I will order something. “And no food delivery will be allowed to come in.”
I turn my gaze to the door at his serious tone, but knowing him as I do, I’m gonna guess he’s just bluffing. “Good…” I answer. And my attention goes back to the panting.
I hear an exasperated exhale from him. “Is this some sort of punishment toward me?” His question makes me stop for a second, my heart squeezing a bit at his concern. He sounds worried and genuinely saddened at not seeing me for the past few days. But I kill those thoughts just as fast. Dad is always bluffing, and at this point, I should know better. “Please open the door,” he insists, his tone laced with frustration as he keeps pushing on the handle in some hope that it’ll magically unlock itself. “I’ve been very patient with you, Petra. Why are you doing this?”
I ignore his second question just like I did the first one, and, picking up another brush, I take a bit more black oil paint from the palette and softly stroke it onto the canvas.
“Very well, I won’t leave until you open this door.” He’s so pushy, my goodness! “I just want to talk…” And it’s either me, or I just heard a quick sob coming from behind the door. “I haven’t seen you in days. Is it asking too much to have dinner with you?”
Closing my eyes, I blow out a breath in exasperation. I won’t be able to manage remaining focused if he keeps insisting and pushing me emotionally to the edge. It’s better to talk to him once and for all, and then come back later to paint. I put my brush and wooden palette down, clean my hands, and go to open the door. “Alright,” I mumble as I unlock it.
And to my surprise, his eyes widen in shock upon seeing me. “You are so…” He lets his words trail off as he observes me from top to bottom, disappointment laced in his gaze. “Skinny.” I can’t help but lower my head, ashamed in some way by what I’ve been doing to myself. I’ve been avoiding Janine and Dad like the plague for the past few days and pretending either to be asleep or to be too busy here to go down and eat. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” His voice is filled with a sadness that tightens my heart even more. “I don’t want to send you to the hospital because you are not eating.” I see his eyes water, and he rubs them before continuing. “You are way below your normal weight. You know that, right?”
I nod, not looking at him.
“This hunger strike has got to stop.” Dad pushes my chin up, forcing my eyes to meet his. “I won’t let this depression kill my daughter.”
Tears leak out of the corner of my eyes and roll down my cheeks, and, with a sob of despair, I sniffle them back, forcing myself to behave. I don’t want to show him how much this whole situation has affected me, but my expression must have betrayed me a long time ago. “I’m sorry. I just…” I sniffle once more, and my hands go to my cheeks to dry them. “I just can’t find the will to get better.”
“I’m sorry too,” he whispers as he brings me into his embrace. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.” And while Dad squeezes me tight in his arms, a hug is something I’d have welcomed from a friend—not from a traitor.
And as he releases me, I remind him just as fast, “I will never forgive you.”