Chapter 111: Inner Turmoil

The paintbrush trembled in Olivia's hand, mere millimeters from the canvas. Her studio, usually a place of creative security, felt claustrophobic. The blank white space in front of her sneered at her uselessness to just put the turmoil in her head into coherent color strokes. Olivia growled in frustration and swept the brush across the room, clattering against the far wall with a smear of crimson paint—an accusation. "Damn it," she grumbled, collapsing to the floor and hiding her face in her paint-stained hands. For weeks, Olivia tried to wrap her head around the riot of emotions in her. Her feelings toward Nathan were intricate and strong and not susceptible to compartmentalization or dismissal. Mark, too, a relationship of three steady, dependable years. Guilt now weighed heavily on her confused heart. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, jolting her out of her thoughts. A text from Sophia: "Hey girl, haven't heard from you in a while. Everything okay?" Staring at the message, she was torn between an urge to unburden herself and the fear of the turmoil inside her. At length and with one deep breath, she replied: "Not exactly. Can we meet?" An hour later, Olivia sat in their favourite café, a steaming latte warming her hands. Sophia slid into the seat opposite; concern was etched on her face. "Alright, spill," said Sophia, ever to the point. "What's going on?" Olivia took a sip of her latte in a bid to buy time. "I. I'm a mess, Soph. I can't stop thinking about Nathan." Sophia raised a querying eyebrow. "Nathan? Didn't you two fix it up? Set boundaries and all that shit?" "We did. Well, we tried." Olivia's fingers drew patterns in the condensation on her cup. "But it's not that easy. Every time I think I've finally got my feelings under control, something happens. He'll send a text, or I'll see something that reminds me of him, and it's like. like I'm right back where I started." "And what about Mark?" Sophia inquired softly. Tears began to flourish in the pools of Olivia's gaze. "And that's the thing about this whole mess, isn't it? Mark is. Mark is everything I should want. He's gentle, he's kind, he's supportive, and he loves me. But whenever I'm with him, there's always this voice at the back of my head, wondering 'what if?'" Sophia reached across the table and squeezed Olivia's hand. "Oh, honey. That sounds really tough." Olivia continued, "I've tried to understand it through my art," she whispered. "But with every painting that I start, it just becomes another big mess of conflicting colors and shapes. The canvas just doesn't make any sense, and neither does my head." "Have you talked to Mark about any of this?" Olivia shook her head like it was completely obvious. "' Hey, honey, just wanted to let you know I'm having feelings for another man.' Yeah, that'll go over well." Sophia sighed. "I know, but Liv, you can't keep bottling this all up. It's eating you alive." "I know," Olivia agreed. "But I'm scared, Soph. I am so scared. Because if I start talking about it, everything could fall apart. And the more scared I am of possibly making the wrong choice and maybe regretting it forever." Sophie hesitated for a long moment, and the buzz of the café washed over them. Finally, she spoke. "Can I offer some advice?" Olivia politely, but gratefully, nodded at that lifeline. "I think you have to take a step back from both of them. Not permanently, but just. Give yourself a chance to be able to decide what you really want. Not what you think you should want or what anyone else wants for you. But what Olivia wants." The words bombarded Olivia like a physical force. She had been so preoccupied with her feelings toward Nathan and her thoughts that she had to push back against Mark that she had lost herself. "But how do I do that?" she asked, her voice small. Sophia felt pure gentleness in her smile. "Start with your art," she said. "You said your painting is all one big mess right now. So, well, maybe that's exactly how it has to be. Stop knowing it all and just. Let it all out. Everything. Put the good, put the bad, and put whatever's confusing. Just throw it all up on canvas." With this, Olivia paid for the session, and for the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of excitement. "You really think that will help?" "I suppose it's a start," replied Sophia, "but, honestly, you should be frank with Mark. Not everything, but he really should know you're having some difficulty. You might also be surprised at the way he'll cut you some slack." Olivia nodded slowly, the start of a plan beginning to kick in her mind. "You're right. I can't be going like this. Something has to change." As Olivia came out of the café, there was a blend of trepidation and determination following her. She had a long way to go, but for the first time in months, she did feel she had a bearing. Olivia stood in front of a new canvas, perhaps in her studio, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let all those clashing emotions wash over her. She started to paint without thinking too much. Colors busted on the canvas, stormy reds against chill blues, streaks of passionate purple to steady cleaner greens. She just painted and painted for hours until the act of painting was almost another subconscious state. At last, she stepped back from her work, panting and speckled in paint. Vegetation drooled over her canvas in verdant massiveness. Yes, the painting before her was chaotic, but it was also somehow beautiful. It was the image of the storm in her mind, yet when it was represented on a canvas, it felt like a relief. Olivia sank onto her stool, looking at her canvas. It was the first time in weeks that she felt clarity slowly reinstating inside. The painting did not give her solace from her problems, but it showed her something very important. As painful as it was, the inner turmoil was indeed a part of her journey. It was valid, it was real, and it deserved to be acknowledged. She reached for her phone with trembling fingers and texted Mark, Can we talk? There is something I need to share with you. As she pressed send, the load Oliva had been carrying off of her shoulders had lightened. She didn't have all the answers yet, but for the first time, she was asking the right questions. She was going to be okay, no matter what came next. Most importantly, she was going to put herself first and try to find her own way again. The path was not entirely clear, but Olivia felt a strength that had been absent from her for a long time—it was as if, for the first time in far too long, she was ready to conquer what came at her.