Chapter 2

The overwhelming emotions made me feel suffocated. I gazed at the room filled with paintings of him, screaming as my emotions burst. I tore the papers and threw them on the floor, venting my feelings.

Sitting on the ground, I started crying, realizing that everything was ruined.

One painting remained, my favorite. It was hung on the wall but neglected by me. It was the first painting I did when I met Winston. I trembled, wanting to touch it, but it felt as if an electric shock stopped me.

Tears streamed down my face as I stood there, unable to move.

I wasn't as strong as I had thought.

Three days later, Winston found me at an art exhibition, furious, questioning me angrily. His eyes seemed like they could shoot flames: "Why didn't you participate in the competition? Do you know you had the best chance to win? Do you understand how important this competition is? You can't just throw a tantrum at any occasion!"

His relentless questions hit my already numb heart.

In that moment, I had many questions for him, but it all boiled down to one sentence: "Oh, congratulations on your win."

Winston's expression softened a bit: "You watched the competition. Why didn't I see you that day? You left so early without waiting for me."

I hadn't been there. It was a guess. With his abilities, winning the competition would have been easy for him.

I pointed at the room filled with my paintings and asked softly, "Do you like these paintings?"

My eyes held a trace of pity, and this art exhibition was likely the last time I displayed my past works. I looked quietly at the people passing by, stopping in front of a painting now and then to admire the artist's work.

One of the paintings was mine.

Winston rubbed his temples and held my hand.

"Summer, I've been busy the past few days and neglected you. But you also know that this competition is crucial to me. Dress up tonight and accompany me to the gathering."

"I don't have time."

I looked at him calmly. "Winston, let's break up."

He laughed as if he had heard a joke. "Break up?"

Then he spoke gently, "Summer, be good. After tonight's event, I'll spend time with you."

I tilted my head, thinking, "No, we're breaking up."

He took a step forward, wanting to hold me as he had countless times before. However, the moment he touched me, I let out a loud, piercing scream.

The entire room was drawn to my voice.

The fragile balance I had struggled to maintain was shattered in an instant.

I crouched, clutching my head, as a powerful surge of emotions flooded my mind: anger, bitterness, pain, disappointment, despair. All the efforts and pursuits of the first half of my life unraveled in a single night.

But I had a chance for rescue. Just a few hours earlier, if he had answered my call, if he had patiently listened to me.

He stood there, stunned, like a lost child, clueless about what had just happened.

"Summer, it's me. What's going on?" He looked bewildered, as if treading on eggshells, not comprehending the situation.

It took a great deal of effort to regain control of my emotions. I slowly walked out of the hall. Winston followed me outside. I turned my back to him and said, "I need some quiet time."

Back at home, I sat in my art studio, sometimes feeling like laughing and sometimes wanting to cry.

I had thought I was indifferent, but when I saw Winston, I was overwhelmed by a strong sense of grievance. The lights were on inside the house. During this period, I had been sleeping with the lights on because as soon as it got dark, I couldn't help but recall that pitch-black night, the intense pain that had consumed my entire body. I had tried to reach for a lifeline but ended up burying my artistic career.