Forgotten Scars by Natalie J. Reddy

Author:Natalie J. Reddy [Reddy, Natalie J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Natalie J. Reddy

It was almost a month before Darshan let me back out into the garden again. The wolf hadn’t tried to come back, and there hadn’t been any reports of giant wolves roaming the city. I’d asked Darshan if there was a chance it was something ‘not normal’ like him, but he insisted the only thing abnormal about it was its size. So I stopped asking. But there was something in the way Alessia and Darshan had acted that made me think he was hiding something.

What else is new?

The house was dark, and it seemed like everyone else was asleep. No one had been left guarding me for a couple of weeks. They knew I had nowhere to go, and I didn’t really want to run anymore. They were trying to give me what no one else could.

I slipped outside and headed to the bench under the willow tree. I had my sketchbook and pencil in one hand and a knitted blanket in the other. Wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, I eased down onto the bench.

The garden was too dark to draw anything, but my sketchbook had become like a security blanket. A month of being stuck inside meant that when I wasn’t working with Wesley, I had plenty of time for drawing.

My sketchbook always brought me comfort in the past, but now it was like I couldn’t process anything without it. The sessions with Wesley were intense, and with each session, my mental focus seemed to change. I felt like I couldn’t just sit and think things through the way I once would have. Journaling was out of the question. Anytime I tried to write, the words would become jumbled on the page.

But art didn’t require the same mental focus; it flowed from me. My sketchbook was almost full. Loose pages were stuffed inside of it, and the whole thing was held together by a giant elastic band. The tips of my fingers were constantly smudged with grey from blending pencil and charcoal.

While I was able to work with a lot of different mediums, my favorite was charcoal. The dark lines and smudges could bring my work to life in a way that I never seemed to accomplish in other forms of art.

My head jerked up as the lights flicked on, bathing the yard in a dim glow. I heard the click of the French doors opening and looked over to see Darshan standing a few feet away. He held a mug in one hand with his other shoved in his pocket, his head cocked in a silent question.

I nodded for him to sit next to me.

He sauntered over in that way that only a man of his confidence and good looks could, and sat down. “What are you doing out here on your own?” He asked. He didn’t look pleased.

I rolled my eyes. “You said I could come to the garden again just this morning, or did you forget already?”

“I meant in the daylight, Wren. Not in the middle of the night.

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