The Art of Falling | Szn 1, Episode Six

Apartment 432 | Kiyanne

“Aye, Mami, you have a gorgeous face. But you know I’m here to do more than just stare at it, right?” Lauren inquired, wrapping her hand around the coffee cup she’d secured from Luxe & Lattes. “At some point, we do have to talk.”

Fighting the urge to groan aloud, Kiyanne shook her head, wishing she’d stayed in bed. Her choice of sponsor tended to make her sanity and decision-making skills whenever they had their sit-downs. Lauren embodied her Afro-Latina heritage, was loud and full of energy, and had no problem telling it like it was, while Kiyanne was quiet, reserved, and tended to stay to herself.

Brushing her hands against her thighs, Kiyanne bounced her leg, trying to find the words to express her recent feelings. It’d been a long time since she’d struggled with her sobriety, and it angered her that she felt that she wasn’t as in control as she typically was.

Clearing her throat, Lauren smiled. “Okay, I can see we’ll be here all day if I wait for you to make the first move, so how about this? What’s on your mind?”

Exhaling slowly, Kiyanne shook her head. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know. I have no idea where to start.”

“With whatever comes to mind. This conversation doesn’t have to be deep, but you called me for a reason. Are you afraid of relapsing?”

“No,” she emphasized, clenching her fist. And she wasn’t. As hard as it was dealing with the world while sober, once Kiyanne opted to leave her old life behind her, she didn’t look back. “I’m not necessarily searching for a high. More of an escape.”

“There’s a very thin line between the two, Kiy,” Lauren advised. “And the beginning of a journey down a slippery path if you don’t address what has you wanting to escape. You’ve been doing great recently. Did something happen to trigger you?”

Kiyanne licked her lips. “Not necessarily. What’s bothering me is something I’ve dealt with for a long time. Only recently has it been taking up space in my brain.”

“What?”

“Um,” she cleared her throat, trying to sort out how to explain the situation without giving up more details than she wanted to.

“A long, long time ago, I was separated from the only family I have. At least the only family that actually wanted me around. It was tough to deal with at first, but after the first few years of being with my mom and accepting her love, it didn’t bother me anymore. Now, that feeling is back with a vengeance to the point where I can’t even sleep without having nightmares of the past. There’s nothing I can do about the situation, and I just want to go back to being at peace.”

“Well,” Lauren clucked her tongue. “Let me ask you this: were you at peace, or had you buried your feelings and accepted what life gave you instead of what you wanted?”

“Does it matter?’”

“Yes,” Lauren emphasized. “It does. Because one allows you to live freely and honor the memory of those you love, while the other means ignoring those memories and suppressing feelings. Which, believe me, may seem like the right thing to do at the time but they’ll only force themselves out in a different way. I can tell you don’t want to go into further detail about what happened, and that’s fine. I’d never force that onto you. But Kiy, you have to address this at some point, or those negative feelings will only worsen. Okay?”

Standing, Kiyanne cleared her throat. “I should go. Thanks for hearing me out.”

Their conversation overwhelmed her—to the point that it felt suffocating. She had to find a quiet spot to think, or she might lose her mind.

“Kiyanne,” Lauren stood, her eyes full of concern. “Don’t leave. If you want to change the subject, then—”

“I appreciate you hearing me out, Laur,” she interrupted. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Kiyanne!” Lauren called as she stormed off, but Kiyanne was through talking for one day. The closer she got to narrowing down what was bothering her, the more out of control she felt. And as a woman who prided herself on keeping her emotions in check or, at the very least, not allowing anyone to see her less than put together, she knew it was best to self-isolate or else she’d have her feelings, and her embarrassment at putting them on display to deal with.

***

Allowing her anger to fuel her, she dropped the dripping, wide-angled brush onto the thick plastic she’d laid out earlier to protect the plush carpet underneath. Opting for a slenderer brush, Kiyanne closed her eyes and allowed it to guide her rather than her guiding it.

Before she knew it, the three colors blended into a creation that reflected her. The dominant red was her fiery passion, the minimal white a sliver of innocence, and the black was her soul.

Tainted and riddled with sin.

Since leaving her meet-up with Lauren, she’d felt uncontrollable rage that she couldn’t quell.

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she made small, rapid strokes against the grainy canvas. Her hands were also covered in paint from using them to add texture and depth to her masterpiece. Painting was her zone, where she found solace from the world.

So into her work and music, it took her a while to realize someone was banging on her apartment door. Growling, she dropped the brush and grabbed her Bluetooth remote to silence the blaring music.

Reluctantly leaving her Oasis, Kiyanne trekked to the door to curse out whoever was bothering her so late.

“Yes?” she huffed, opening the door without looking through the peephole. Though she felt she should have looked through the peephole when she locked eyes with a stranger who robbed her of her breath, not frighteningly, but in an earth-shattering, mountain-moving, tingles down the spine way.

“I-um,” the attractive stranger did a double-take, reminding her of her attire. Or lack thereof. “Damn.”

His reaction snatched her out of her stupor. Kiyanne typically wore a button-down shirt, panties, and nothing else when painting, mainly because, up until that moment, she’d never had a reason to worry about her wardrobe. Slightly embarrassed, she moved behind the door.

“Yes?” she repeated, ready for him to address why he was at her home. Drinking him in, Kiyanne had to admit she was pleased with what she saw. If he was going to be an interruption, she appreciated that he was attractive. She estimated him to be at least a foot taller than her, putting him at six-foot-one, with a solid build and thick arms littered with tattoos. His bright, brown eyes glimmered, and deep dimples formed on each cheek as a smile spread across his face. Something about him was vaguely familiar; Kiyanne just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“I’m up here,” she gestured from the partially visible thigh he seemed mesmerized by to her face.

“My bad,” he finally spoke. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just moved in next door, and your music—”

“I’ll turn it down,” Kiyanne interrupted. “That apartment’s been empty for a while, so I’m used to playing music as loudly as I want. I’ll keep it down.”

“Thanks.”

Kiyanne raised an eyebrow upon realizing he was lingering longer than necessary. “Was that all?”

“Yeah, as far as I know. Unless you want to tell me your name.”

Cackling, Kiyanne shook her head. “Have a nice night.”

“Damn, it’s like that?”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it? I’ll see you around, Apartment 430.”

“You can be that, Apartment 432,” he smirked, making her smile as she closed the door in his face.