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CANVAS OF HEARTS

With a soft but possessive grip, he reached out and his hand gently curled around her neck. He turned her head to the side, exposing her neck to his searching gaze. His voice dripped with venom as he asked, "Why do you have a hickey on your neck?" "Canvas of Hearts" is a tale of passion, self-discovery, and the artistry of love. Eleanor must navigate the brushstrokes of desire on her canvas of life, making choices that will shape her art and her heart. Through triumphs and heartaches, she strives to find her true self and uncover the masterpiece hidden within her soul.

Bubugold · Urban
Not enough ratings
13 Chs

CHAPTER SEVEN

Thanksgiving had arrived, blanketing Charleston in a sense of gratitude and reflection. It had been some time since Eleanor's abrupt departure from her mother's house, and the strained atmosphere loomed heavily over their reunion.

Eleanor had returned home for the holiday, determined to bridge the gap between her dreams and her family's expectations. The scent of a roasting turkey filled the air as she sat at the dining table with her mother, their silences more potent than the words left unsaid.

Finally, her mother broke the heavy silence. "Eleanor, I'm just going to address the elephant in the room, we need to talk about your future. Your art, while it's a lovely hobby, won't sustain you. You need a stable career."

Eleanor tried to find the right words, her eyes filling with tears. "Mom, it's not just a hobby; it's my passion, my life. I want to be an artist more than anything."

Her mother's expression remained stern. "But passion doesn't pay the bills. You can't live on dreams alone. You need to think about your future, Eleanor. I wouldn't be a good mother if I let you go down this path, I'm trying to help you here. You need a secure job, a real career."

The conversation grew more heated, and Eleanor felt the weight of her family's expectations pressing down on her like a boulder. Her mother's words were a relentless tide crashing against her dreams, and she couldn't stand it any longer.

Her voice trembled with a mix of frustration and hurt. "You never supported my art, Mom! You've always wanted me to fit into this mold of what you think I should be. But I can't be something I'm not. I won't be miserable working a job I hate just to make you happy."

Her mother's eyes were filled with a mix of concern and disappointment. "Eleanor, I just want what's best for you. You have so much potential, and I don't want to see you waste it."

Eleanor's frustration reached its peak. She pushed her chair back with a loud scrape, her tears flowing freely, and she stood to her feet walking towards the door.

As she stormed out, Eleanor turned back one last time and said, "I'm sorry I can't be what you want."

In the crisp autumn air, Eleanor wiped away her tears as she walked aimlessly through the familiar streets of Charleston. Her heart ached, torn between her love for art and her desire to please her family. She felt adrift, like a ship lost at sea.

Eventually, Eleanor found herself at the school, her sanctuary. The silence of the campus provided a stark contrast to the tumult of her emotions. She sat on a bench in the courtyard, her tears subsiding but her inner turmoil still raging.

The path she had chosen was lonely, and the rift with her family was a painful reminder of the sacrifices she had made to chase her dreams. As she gazed at the campus buildings, her resolve was tested, and she wondered if her love for art was worth the pain it had caused.

Eleanor didn't notice someone else sit down beside her, her emotions still raw from the heated argument with her mother and honestly she didn't want company. The Thanksgiving dinner had become a battleground of opposing expectations.

As she gazed at the campus buildings, lost in thought, she was startled by a deep baritone voice. It was Professor Alexander Thornton, she might not be in need of company but she was secretly excited that it was him.

He asked softly, "Eleanor, why aren't you with your family on Thanksgiving?"

Eleanor sighed, feeling a sense of relief in his presence. "It's complicated."

The professor nodded, his voice gentle and understanding. "Holidays can be tricky for some. There's often a gap between what's expected and what we truly want."

Eleanor looked at him, feeling like he knows about the shit going on in her life and he understood how she felt. "Yes, it's like being pulled in different directions."

He offered a warm smile. "I understand, Eleanor. Sometimes, finding your own path means navigating through complicated moments. Your journey as an artist is uniquely yours, and it's worth every challenge."

She nods not really knowing what to say to him, They sat in companionable silence for a while, before the professor broke the silence.

"Would you be interested in seeing something I've been working on? I'm in the middle of a new painting, and I would love to hear your perspective as a fellow artist."

Eleanor's eyes lit up with curiosity. "I'd be honored, Professor."

He stood, extending a hand to help her up, "Please we're not in class, call me Alexander." He said with a smile that made her heart race.

As she took his hand she couldn't deny the tingling sensation she felt holding his hands briefly.

The way he his gaze turned dark and he looked at her in the same way he did in his studio the last time they were alone, She couldn't help but wonder if he also felt what she felt.

As he led her to his studio, he placed his hand at the small of her back and even small touches from him makes her body come alive in a way she hadn't felt before.

She followed him to his studio, leaving behind the complicated tensions of Thanksgiving, She couldn't help but think about what's to come and her chapters that are yet to be written.

AUTHORS NOTE: I've decided to start posting every single day to but at 4:00pm WAT❤️