The Man in the Painting Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Romance Tags Authors: Flora Ferrari Advertisement

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“Bye, Mel,” Brenda says with a meaningful smile. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”

I flex my shoulders tiredly as I fight the urge to place my head on the seat in front of me and sleep. It seems like my bones are finally protesting against overuse.

I’d thrown myself into work today, deliberately pushing every other thought away from my mind.

What are you running so desperately from, Mel?

Brenda’s words struck a chord.

She reminded me of the past I've tried so hard to forget.

I left home the moment I could and ran so fast without looking back until I finally found a sense of normalcy here in Hudson.

A home.

I don’t want to go back to that place, not even in my memories.

You fat ugly bitch. You shouldn’t have been born.

My chest begins to close up as my Mama’s shrill voice slips into my memory. I clutch at my chest, glancing around desperately, my breathing ragged.

I shake my head as if to stop the onslaught of memories, pushing insistently against the wall I’ve built around my sanity.

I grapple around blindly for the bell pull until my fingers come in contact with the cord. I pull, and the bus comes to a halt.

I’m not yet at my stop, but I desperately need some air.

As I get off the bus, I clutch at my bag, keeping my head to the ground. Beads of sweat form on my forehead even as a shiver racks my body.

I walk over to a closed shop and rest heavily against the wall. The light flickers up ahead, preying on my anxiety.

I shut my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing.

“Breath, Melody. Remember to breathe,” I mutter to myself over and over again until I feel the pressing in my chest start to decrease.

My breathing slows down to an almost normal pace.

I push away from the wall, swaying unsteadily on my feet. I take a deep breath and start my long walk home, slow but steady.

I intentionally keep my mind blank, just enjoying the feel of the cool night breeze against my skin.

I must walk for about an hour before I catch sight of my apartment building. I increase my pace, eager to take my anxiety pills, and hit my bed.

Another long dreamless night.

I start to fish inside my bag for my keys even before I reach my door.

I freeze in shock.

The lock is broken.

My breath hitches, and sweat immediately breaks out on my forehead again. My heart starts a low thud in my chest.

I slowly push the door open, my handbag raising in defense. The room is pitch black and frighteningly silent.

A thousand thoughts, jumbled and incomprehensible, run through my head all at once.

I tiptoe around the dark room, fumbling along the wall. I reach for the light switch.

I let out a loud, shaking breath when I feel the cool, familiar switch beneath my fingers and flip the switch.

Strong hands come around my neck just as light floods into the room. I scream, and a large palm covers my mouth, stifling my cry for help.

“Hush, Mel,” comes a familiar raspy voice. “It’s just me.”

Jack!

My head is starting to spin from the tightness of his arms around my neck.

I struggle against his vice grip, desperately turning my head from side to side to shake off his hand from my mouth.

I bite down on his palm.

Jack lets out a yell of pain, letting go of me to tend to his offended hand.

I promptly turn around and jam my knee into his crotch with as much force as I can. Jack falls to the ground, groaning in pain.

“You bitch!” he yells at me through gritted teeth. “This is my house, dammit! I can come and go as I please!”

I grab my bag from the ground and break into a run.

I run as far as my legs can carry me, tears streaming down my face. I don’t know where I’m going, but I keep running.

The only thought in my mind is that I have to get as far away as possible.

CHAPTER FOUR

Abram

I dump my duffel bag on the living room couch with a tired sigh.

I still can’t believe that I let June manipulate me into coming to Hudson.

And this house.

After her damn press release, the reporters had gone wild. They’d release articles about my mysterious new artwork. They’d even given it a title “The Unveiling.”

My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. There were reporters everywhere I turned, so I had no choice at the moment but to take that damn plane she’d booked.

I’ve made up my mind, though. I’d stay here a few days and return to New York to debunk the news.

I made it clear to all of them that I would never paint again.

It’s annoying that I have to drive home that point again.

I let out a loud scoff as I open the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water and chug it down. I dump the empty bottle on the dining table and head toward my bedroom, pulling at my tie in frustration.

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