My Dad's Bestfriend novel Chapter 165

Evelyn

I shouldn't have done that. It was the only sentence that echoed in my mind. Nearly four hours had passed since that kiss, and the sounds of birds starting to chirp outside my window in the garden didn't escape my ears. Morning.

I shouldn't have done that.

As I landed strokes on the canvas, the beauty of his mesmerizing green eyes slowly came to life. Each detail made them look more real, weakening me with every passing second. But I kept painting. Even though I didn't want to feel close to him, painting him was doing exactly that. Yet, I knew I needed it—I needed to feel close to him. Because that kiss, though I told him it meant nothing, meant everything to me.

A kiss that lasted only a minute, yet with a few strokes of his tongue, our fingers tangling in each other's hair, our heartbeats syncing, our bodies melting, worlds colliding, winds stopping inches from our skin because of the sudden heat radiating from our lips touching, all that happened at once... could never mean nothing.

It meant everything—everything we once were, everything we once experienced, and everything we have become now.

Fuck! The kiss was a bad idea. I couldn’t speak for Jacob's state, but it had put me in a tough situation. I couldn’t get it out of my head—the kiss, the way his lips felt against mine, the way his hands gripped my hair as he pulled me closer. It now felt like he was in my goddamn lungs!

And then came the sting. I had to pull away, despite every fiber of my body, every inch of my being, every fraction of my soul begging me to embrace him and never let go. But I pulled away. Without turning around, I walked back into the house, not daring to glimpse his face because I knew I’d lose it if I did.

Since then, after walking back into my room and slamming the door shut, I had gathered my art supplies and began painting him. I felt numb after breaking the kiss, and I needed to feel something. Only Jacob, in this entire world, had the power to make me feel alive.

I laid more paint on the canvas, blending the shades to create his perfect skin tone. God, his skin... I missed the warmth of it, the way it felt so perfect against mine.

My throat tightened as I painted him. My eyes started burning, my chest constricted, and my breathing grew heavier—it became hard to move my hands and even harder to stop the sobs crawling up the back of my throat, trying to escape.

Slowly, tears gathered in my eyes. My legs started giving out, but I continued. I painted him, laying the details of Jacob Adriano that always remained wide awake in my mind, forever etched there, onto the canvas.

As I reached his lips, detailing them, my hands trembled even more, reminding me how much I actually wanted them against mine. How badly I wanted to kiss him despite everything he had done, knowingly or unknowingly, to hurt me beyond measure.

"I hate you!" I muttered, the tears blurring my vision as I angrily laid strokes all over the painting, smearing everything with black marks. "I fucking hate you!" I shouted, dropping the palette and throwing the brush against the canvas.

Yet, as I looked at the painting, he looked as ethereal as ever. The image of him, how I saw him tonight under the moonlight—his skin glowing, his frame as tall and broad as ever, his eyes ever so beautiful and captivating, never failing to mesmerize me. Those few scribbles of black didn’t make him hideous or lessen how ethereal he looked, how damaging he was to my heart, how dangerous he was to my resolve. If anything, I might have just discovered another form of art—painting heaven and adding scars to it.

Slowly, I dropped to my knees in front of the painting, tears gliding down my cheeks, the first sob slipping past my lips.

"Why did you do it, Jacob?" I cried, staring at his likeness. "We were so fucking perfect. Why did you let your demons ruin all of it? Why?!"

I grabbed the freshly painted canvas off the frame, holding it close to me. "God, I fucking miss you," I whispered, tracing my fingers over his cheek. The half-dried paint covered my fingers. "But I can't risk being broken again," I sobbed, tears falling onto the moonlight painted behind him and slowly gliding down his broad arm. "I never wanted us to end like this. But this has to end."

And then I cried—just cried, sobbed, and mourned. Probably for the entire night, until my eyes finally closed on their own. I lay there, sleeping in my own tears beside the painting of my heartbreaker, my ruin.

***

"Why are your eyes so puffy?" Nancy asked, munching on a packet of chips as she sat across from me, leaning against my bed's headboard. "And you refused to join anyone for breakfast. So that means..."

"This bitch cried the whole night," Mason scoffed, rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed. "I can't fucking believe you're still not over that asshole!"

"Mason, I don't want to talk about it now," I sighed, hugging my knees and resting my chin on them. "I just need some time alone."

"So that you can cry some more?" Jennie spoke up, rifling through my book rack along with Mason. "No, thanks."

"Honestly, I still can't believe you had the audacity to paint that asshole!" Nancy gave me a condescending stare. "Are you even alright? He broke your heart. End of the chapter. Why are you so fucking persistent on going back to that asshole?"

"I am..." My voice came out more like a shout, but then I controlled myself. "I am not planning to go back to him," I said gently this time. "That painting means nothing. It's just something I did to keep myself sane. There's nothing else going on."

"Then what about these new books, huh? I bet most of them are about heartbreak, rebound, and love renewed," Mason, who was going through my books, popped the question out of the blue. "Are you shameless? That piece of garbage put you through shit, and yet you're still mourning for that good-for-nothing relationship?!"

Good-for-nothing relationship?

This bastard...