"Well...Well...If it isn't the wh*re of Western Village" I'm greeted by Roy who's enters the elevator with a girl.
"I think you mean 'Harlot of Revelation" I correct him.
The girl snakes his arm around Roy possessively "What's that?" She asks me.
"B...
"Jade you are going to love your new apartment. It has those huge bay windows in every room that you like and a studio. You can work all you want; I know you must be itching to get your hands on that canvas again." Carla smiled.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eyes; she looks for the most part oblivious. After being in induced coma for about a month and another attending to countless brooding physical and mental exercises, therapy sessions and unimaginable delimitation on my own freedom I'd gladly take the her ranting if it means at the end of the day I get to be alone with my own thoughts in an apartment she's so excited about. I still can't bring myself to call them mom and dad, it feels forced.
They say it's all right, they don't mind as long as I'm getting well, but I see a tiny glint of pain that washes over their face every time I tell them that I don't remember them. But they're happy nonetheless; I've made, as the doctor said, significant progress over the course of four weeks since I have woken up. I'm familiar with painting; it comes naturally to me as if embedded in my own skin. And yet somehow, it feels like there's a substance that's missing. But it helps, painting helps. I remember fragments of my memory; it comes and goes like enchantment. It feels like necromancy, it doesn't come downright at me all at once but as someone mentions something related it sparks my awareness. I remember reading books, full moon nights that I've painted countless times, something with a vatic vision but clearly misunderstood.
When I asked David why I didn't accepted the scholarship for the Art College, he told me that I'm quite revolutionary in terms of working with the norms of the society, those were his exact words. I've driven my mother crazy to the point that she decided to send to military school but was not successful.
"You were inspired" says he. "Since you were a child, you had a strange kinship with your grandfather something none of us understood. You grew up under his influence as much as your mother could fight against it. My dad, you see Jade, is a quintessence. I didn't turn out like him but you did. And in a way it makes me very happy but also very worried about you as well."
I didn't talk about the tattoo or uttered the word Jasper, since I sensed that it might be something David and Carla are uncomfortable talking about. It's more than that, they're not uncomfortable; they're hiding something. I wouldn't have picked it up, but I've noticed how careful they are with every little detail about my life. Even if I don't remember, I know it in my heart that they're leaving something behind. Covering it up as an excuse that they don't want me to stress too much about it, that they'll tell when the time is right.
"We're here" David said.
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I jerked my attention towards the posh building that stood tall. As I entered into the apartment I saw Megan, my childhood friend that I recognized from the pictures standing with a lady.
She approached me carefully "Jade...Oh my god. I'm so sorry." She mumbled and gave me a side hug. I stared at her long enough to make her feel like she's talking to a stranger.
