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    Unrequited
    Unrequited
    Unrequited
    Ebook146 pages1 hour

    Unrequited

    By Paige Romero

    ()

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    About this ebook

    (Center) Another sad heartbroken man.

    He was the man with sad eyes.
    Living as a supreme artist in the drizzly city of Portland Oregon, twenty-two year old John Watson is a man who wants to believe that one can be truly happy. Due to his ugly history and sudden break-up with the love of his life, he is left hopeless and finds himself sinking back into depression.
    But its not long until John discovers someone who could turn his lonely little world upside down. Although the newly found feeling is electrifying and real, the cold dark past still leaves scars on his heart, causing him not to get too close, for John knows that love in return is impossible.
    People eventually give up sooner or later, right?
    As John slowly begins to recollect the fragments of his old, happy self, disaster strikes, and he reaches his breaking point. When it seems as if Johns whole world is crumbling to pieces, he is doing his best to hold it together.
    But when life gets heavy, things will fall apart.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateJun 25, 2013
    ISBN9781481770781
    Unrequited
    Author

    Paige Romero

    Paige Romero, is a 16 year old blogger and writer from a small suburb in Illinois who has a love for creativity and of course, her cat. Paige has written short novels ever since the age of nine and continues to write every day, proving her passion for the art. In her stories, Paige writes in order to connect with the reader, through realistic life situations.

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      Book preview

      Unrequited - Paige Romero

      © 2013 Paige Romero. All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

      Published by AuthorHouse 10/01/2013

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-7080-4 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-7079-8 (hc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-7078-1 (e)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911464

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

      The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Table of Contents

      (Prologue)

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      un·re·quit·ed

      /-ənri-kwītid/

      adjective

      adjective: unrequited

      1. (of a feeling, esp. love) not returned or rewarded.

      A special thanks to my super-hero father who can make my dreams become reality

      My magnificent bloggers, who gave me the inspiration and courage to publish this novel

      And lastly, to the writers who are hidden among us

      Do what you love and forget the rest

      On the back of the book/summary:

      He was the man with sad eyes.

      Living as a supreme artist in the drizzly city of Portland Oregon, twenty-two year old John Watson is a man who wants to believe that one can be truly happy. Due to his ugly past and sudden break-up with the love of his life, John is left hopeless and finds himself sinking back into depression.

      But it’s not long until John discovers someone who could turn his lonely little world upside down. Although the newly found feeling is electrifying and real, the cold dark past still leaves scars on his heart, causing him not to get too close, for John knows that love in return is impossible.

      As John slowly begins to recollect the fragments of his old, happy self, disaster strikes, and he reaches his breaking point. When it seems as if John’s whole world is crumbling to pieces, he is doing his best to hold it together.

      But when life gets heavy, things fall apart.

      It is far more difficult to murder a phantom than a reality.

      —Virginia Woolf

      (Prologue)

      July 8th 2013 10:23 PM

      It was a looming summer night; the air was warm and the breezes came in patterns. It was the kind of night where one could stroll lazily down the sidewalks and watch as innocent children catch fireflies in their tiny hands—the kind of night where gazing up into the big, deep sky could put one into an everlasting trance.

      The streets of Portland, Oregon were close to empty and tall lamp posts glowed weakly as they stood alone and proud. It was a peaceful evening, a seamless one.

      John Watson, a profound artist and loving boyfriend was sitting on the damp grass in a small park in Portland Oregon with the love of his life, Laura Hampton.

      John looked into Laura’s glittering blue eyes; he stared at her in awe as the shiny moon hovered over them. Laura smiled at him and cocked her head to the side with a playful look in her eye.

      What is it, John? she asked, her cheek bones high and taut above her precious grin.

      John gazed over her silhouette and shook his head slowly. A smile peeled through his lips, You’re so beautiful.

      Laura kissed him gently on the nose, And you’re so damn charming.

      I love you, he said, tasting the cliché of words that fell off of his tongue.

      I love you too, John. Laura replied, reaching for his fingers.

      The sensitive palms of their hands touched and John could feel his insides melting with every breath he took. He stared down at the curved ridges of Laura’s taunting smile and went in for a rich, ripe kiss.

      They laid there for a while, lost in a beautiful mess of whispered words and lasting gazes.

      John was in love. He was happy. But the world is a cruel place and deep down, in the pit of his stomach; John knew that happiness didn’t last forever.

      Chapter 1

      November 6th 2013 8:45 AM

      A man looked at himself in the dust-stained mirror hanging in his gloomy apartment building. He stared at the reflection of a person so entirely different than the one he had been familiar with before. This man appeared lifeless, heartbroken and shattered; his eyes were filled with a swarming sea of regret and confusion.

      This man was John Watson.

      The thought of Laura had been floating around his mind non-stop, the kind of thought that stung constantly and wouldn’t leave.

      He thought of her big blue eyes, pale China skin, and short blonde hair. He thought of her long lengthy body—the way she moved when she walked, the way she’d talk about life and how they would be together forever.

      John wanted every single bit of her back.

      What was she doing? Who was she doing it with? Did she miss him? Did she think about him?

      He didn’t know.

      As John stared at himself in utter shame, he could hear the constant hum of rain pounding outside onto the cold concrete city. Hearing it felt strangely soothing to him. He sensed a slight connection with the free-falling raindrops. John felt that he, too, had hit the ground and was drowning in a deep black puddle of his own insecurities. The thought comforted him to an extent; he was learning that clinging onto such connections helped him to make it through the day to day struggle of life.

      John ran his fingers through his long brown hair and sighed deeply as he placed his glasses over his sunken green eyes. He wiped his hand down his face and looked more tired than ever.

      Laura had not called him for a whole month since they split. She disappeared—vanished. He felt as if whatever they may have had was all made up in his head—that whatever they had was never even real.

      John flicked his cigarette and a small clump of ashes plunged onto the cold ground. He looked around him; the brick walls of his apartment engulfed him in his own apathetic thoughts, all swarming over his head—feeding off of one another like some morbid mosh pit.

      Covering the walls were small and large abstract paintings he had done along with a few others done by his long-gone mother. A large king-sized bed lay in another corner of the place, its tussled bed-sheets remained un-made and reminded John of his tossing and turning at night, unable to sleep due to the vivid dreams that would trick his mind so easily. Sitting on a small coffee table next to the bed was an array of short novels and small unscented candles that glowed in the darkness of the shadowy apartment.

      Suddenly, John’s phone rang and he answered it with haste.

      Hello?

      Yo, asshole. Where the hell are you? spoke a familiar voice.

      It was Lucy, John’s best friend since grade school. She and John worked at the local art studio located in the Portland Art Museum. Every morning before work, they would get a coffee together at the tiny café down the street from John’s apartment.

      John placed one hand on the back of his neck.

      Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll be there soon.

      He clicked the End Call button and pulled on a burgundy colored sweater over his dark collared shirt. He stood there in his navy blue boxers which exposed his long hairy chicken legs.

      As Johns scanned around for jeans his eyes spotted them lying underneath his lazy ancient cat, Vibe. The feline meowed loudly and stretched its paws out. John lifted him up, slipped on the pants and then pulled on a pair of boots. He reached into his coat pocket searching for a pack of cigarettes; when he sensed them there, he immediately felt comfort. Before John walked out the door he poured cat food into a small plastic bowl beside his bed and gave Vibe a half-smile as he patted his fuzzy head.

      Just another day of apathy, He sighed ironically.

      Once John got outside of the tall apartment building, a cold rush of windy-rain danced across his cheeks. As he walked down the moderately busy streets of Portland, his ear-buds sounded off the mellow tunes of the band DIIV, a song called Past Lives.

      Nowhere to crawl but to your past life,

      And hide from it all,

      A buried flower convinced you’ll grow

      As John listened to the song and strode down the skinny sidewalks, he felt some sort of strange power. A power that was undefined—a power that hummed through the beating headphones into his cold skull. In that moment, he felt like no one could relate to the lyrics as well as he did.

      Everyone knew who John Watson was—the city’s most talented and abstract artist, and Portland was known to greatly appreciate the arts. Whenever he was out in the city, he could feel the onlookers’ cast hooks into his image and hold onto it for as long as they could until he would disappear into a sea of new faces.

      John dug his hands into the wool pockets of his large jacket as he balanced a cigarette between his lips. His pace was quick, and his hands were cold. The fall air had engulfed the city in a swarm of vibrant red and yellow leaves. Angry car horns beeped in the distance and the constant sounds of birds chirped at the faded morning sun. John shuddered as he watched the small swarms of

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