Made Of Steele

Chapter 23

ᴊᴀᴍɪᴇ ᴘᴏᴠ

Three years later

"Happy 21st birthday, Jamie!" My friends scream and throw their glasses filled with champagne into the air.

The DJ had started playing music, and just like that, my friends, and family started to come up to me and congratulate me, whilst they all asked how my trip had been to Europe.

As much as I wanted to avoid a birthday in the States this year, I'm somewhat thankful I won't be spending another birthday alone, after travelling for the past three years.

Three years ago... I felt lost.

I don't know if it was Kit and him leaving, or my loss of purpose in the world, but I just couldn't stay in one place anymore, I wanted to leave and experience something else other than what I felt at that time.

It's been three years, and I've been to twelve countries in Europe, and every single time I hopped from one place to another, I couldn't help but think of home, and what I was leaving behind.

Just as my friends and some relatives congratulated me, I made a quiet exit through the sea of people that were currently inside the photo studio that my party was currently being thrown in, with my paintings on the walls.

I felt like I was suffocating, to see my work on the walls should make me happy, but if anything, I felt more alone than usual.

I made it outside the studio and into a staircase, and once the doors closed behind me, I felt like I could breathe again.

I went into my back pocket and grabbed my cigarettes, and when I was sure nobody followed me out there, I lit one up and then sat down on the steps of the stairs.

Once I inhaled the toxic fumes, a sense of calm washed over me, and only then did I feel completely at peace.

This disgusting smell, and the taste on my tongue... I didn't know what it was about, or why I needed to do it just to get through the day, but since leaving, I can't go a day without smoking one of these things.

The past three years have felt like a blur, and within these three years, I've stuck to what makes me feel human, and that would be art.

I travelled, I painted, and sometimes, I would fuck strangers on these art pieces, that would probably go for thousands if I sold them.

There was something satisfying about ruining something I spent a lot of time, and patience on, so satisfying that it had become somewhat of a need, for when I'm low.

Almost done with my smoke, someone opens the doors to the stairwell and makes me almost jump out of my skin, a part of me hoped that it wasn't my dad.

"There you are." My best friend, Hanna, said, closing the door behind her.

Her face crinkles in disgust once she smells the smoke, and notices what I was doing, as I currently put out the rest of my cigarette.

"Ugh." She gagged. "Jamie, it stinks!"

"It's not that bad." I rolled my eyes, getting up from the steps.

"Tell that to your dad." She huffed, making me snap my eyes towards hers.

"He's here?"

Hanna nodded her head, making me frown and move forward towards the door, to peek through the glass and look inside the studio room.

I eventually spotted him, he was alone and looking around the room.

No doubt, looking for me.

What was he doing here?