Her Broken Rainbow

“But when your education x-ray cannot see under my skin I won’t tell you a damn thing that I could not tell my friends  Been roaming through this darkness, I’m alive but I’m alone And part of me is fighting this but part of me is gone” ~When I’m Gone 3 Doors Down Growing up my mother taught us how to survive and be strong.. how to only rely on ourselves and our family. I live in Denver, Colorado. Not quite middle class but not low, low either. We’re like higher lower class if that’s a thing. My name is Raenn Waterson. My mother, Joliene, thought she was being original. She said growing up she had always wanted daughters named Raenn and Shyne. So she was thrilled when she had twin girls. I feel like I should have been a hippy. Born in the wrong time with an old soul, A love for the finer things in life and one with mother nature herself. I’m a free spirit with elegance, charm and a wild streak that runs deep. I wouldn’t be the type to stay in one place for too long. I’m in love with the idea of traveling. Exploring the unknown and gaining never ending knowledge. Nothing has ever been able to contain me and nothing ever will. I am woman, hear me roar! I’m 19 years old, going on 20 in 4 months. I am 4’11 and athletically built. Being this short you have to stay active otherwise the weight gain looks horrible. Believe me, I would know, considering I was fat nearly all my childhood until I hit 14 and decided I wasn’t going to high school the next year looking like the stay puft marshmallow girl. I have raven black hair and bright hazel eyes. I have Heterochromia so one of my eyes is green and hazel. Looks pretty wicked and makes me so unique, I love it! I’m tan skinned and have too large a chest then someone my height should. I’m pretty damn gorgeous if I do say so myself. Flawless skin and an hourglass figure that took months to acquire. Trust me I’m sexy and I know it. I have eight tattoos, 3 on each arm and one on each leg. My mother wasn’t harsh growing up or strict. But she has rules and you better follow them or she will show you how much she’s in charge. I’ve not really had to deal with that because being the kind of kid I was, I never got into trouble. Not in the way that would warrant that reaction at least. I was a jokester in school but it was all in fun and no one really got too mad or hurt. Accidental science lab mishaps and the time I wrapped all the teachers' cars in cellophane wrap… one of my more impressive acts I must say. I ditched and did what I wanted when I wanted but within reason. My mom was always aware of what I did without the school calling her. I wasn’t the type to go out and do drugs or w***e around school and end up with an unwanted teen pregnancy. f**k, I was smarter than that thank you very much. I didn’t have time for that stuff. I didn’t want to end up pregnant young and in order to completely 100% prevent that, since we all know how reliable birth control or condoms are, I just don’t have relations with the opposite s*x that involves their credit card in my card reader. You know what I mean.  I have plans. Plans that don’t include emotional balls and chains of any kind. I needed freedom and I was hell bent on getting it. I graduated high school last year and I’ve decided that I’m going to take a couple years to travel before I apply to art school. I am an artist, I draw and paint anything and everything that gives me inspiration. Currently I’m sitting on a cement wall near the courthouse in Downtown Denver. I’ve got my ear buds in listening to Simple Plan’s Perfect. I love music, anything that sounds good, especially country music. It’s odd I know, you’d think I’d be into rap and hip hop mostly, don’t get me wrong I have my playlist swarmed with old school 90’s and early 2000’s hip hop and R&B. I have my sketch pad open and working on a sketch of a musician sitting near the building across the street playing his guitar. Head down, leaning slightly forward, eyes closed, pouring his heart and soul through the strings as strangers pass on by. Not fully aware of him and what he’s playing, not seeing the true beauty in his notes and lyrics. The feeling of his pain and hunger. His want for something that is just too far out of reach for him. A love and dream of happiness that just isn’t possible. I can’t hear him quite well from my position but I’m sure it’s over a love and she or he has left him to wallow in his misery. Sometimes I wonder if these musicians really put their pain into their work or if they’re just good enough to make it sound realistic and relatable. I finish his sketch and gently tear it out of my sketch pad and begin to put my stuff away. I jump off the wall and fold the sketch in half. Walking to the corner of the street I quickly cross and walk down in the direction of the musician. He sounds even better closer up and I can tell instantly that this is something he feels deeply and has to get it out any way he can. I bend down and drop the sketch in his guitar case along with $10. I don’t stay around to see him open the sketch and walk off in the direction of the Civic Center and decide on trying my hand at one more piece before I head home. I have plans with my girls so I can’t just mosy around all day. It’s just after noon which means I’m hopefully going to see some cosplayers or something. I know there’s a convention ongoing, not sure what for. It’s not time for comicon but you know those nerds, gotta have a convention for everything. Some one probably lost their virginity. I walk around and watch as people come and go out of the convention center dressed as so many different comic characters or anime characters. I honestly love comics, anime and all that fandom s**t. I’m a Batman addict and I am proud!  I take up residence on the ground by one of the pillars to the building. I take out my sketch pad and start looking around for a subject. Thor walks past along with Loki and what looks like a cheap Captain America. It’s cute how these people dress. Some with their own hand made costumes and others who’ve spent hundreds tracking down everything specifically to make a full costume. As I watch everyone walk around I notice someone off to the side, A tall man dressed as Soul from Soul Eater. My favorite character from that anime. I decide it’s fate and start drawing him as he sits and plays on his phone while smoking a cigarette. Yuck. His features are perfect for a subject and I quickly start with the outline. The body, positioned hunched over kneeling down on one knee, one arm strong and bulging the other shaped as the scythe Soul becomes. Each curve and muscle’s defined by years of exercise and weight lifting. It’s great the different types of people you find in nerd conventions. Athletes, Jocks, rich kids and snobby popular girls. Shy introverts who let loose for a few days out of the year. It’s oddly comforting and makes me feel included, equal. He looks up at that moment, scanning the crowd and taking another pull of his cancer stick. We make eye contact for a moment and I look down to finish the features of his eyes. Once it’s to my satisfaction I shake it out for loose lead and look at it closely. “Wow, that's incredible.” The sudden voice has me jumping. I didn’t see him get up or even come close.  “Thanks, it’s for you.” I hand him the drawing and start packing my stuff back up.  “Wow, thanks. You're an amazing artist. Do you always go around and draw random strangers or was I just that inspiring you couldn’t help yourself.” He says with amusement written all over his face, clearly flirting. I laugh and shake my head. “It’s a hobby of mine for sure. I walk around in my free time and draw people I find interesting. So while you did inspire me, it’s not just a you thing.” he laughs louder and reaches his hand out.  “Name’s Skylar, and your’s?” I shake his hand and smile “Raenn.”  “As in water rain?” “I roll my eyes and nod. “My mom wanted something unique so instead of a normal Betty or Jane, She had a storm.”  He laughs again, nodding as if it made sense. The sound of his voice is deep and low. Making his laugh vibrate through my body and stirring around in the pit of my loins. Man I’m a sucker for a man with a deep baritone and a body like a God. I may be a virgin but hey, I know perfect sexapeal when I see it. I bid him good day and took my leave.  I get my bike that’s parked in a nearby pay by the hour parking lot. I secure my bag on the back, climb on, strap on my helmet and start him up. My baby is named Alfred as he is my butler and takes me from A to B. He’s a beautiful Ducati Panigale V4. All black and sleek as s**t. I love my baby, and saved up for over a year to put a good down-payment on him. Weaving in and out of traffic making my way along I-25 towards Centennial. The ride takes all of 30 minutes before I reach my house and park in the driveway. I get off my bike and remove my helmet, safety is always first. I unhook my bag, threw it over my shoulder and walked Alfred to the side of the house where I have a tool shed that moonlights as my bike’s makeshift garage. I lock up and head into the house. It’s early and it’s a Saturday so I know my mom’s out for the day with my Grandma. My sister, Shyne, is on the couch with her boyfriend Brad, watching some action flick on the TV. “Hey bitches I’m home.”   “Where were you? I went to your room this morning to ask if you wanted to go to the Flea market with us today but you were already gone.” We’re Monozygotic twins, more commonly known as identical twins. For the longest time growing up I hated that I didn’t look like me and me alone. We fought a lot because I was selfish and she wasn’t. She thought twins meant we shared everything. I hated having to share or split anything and I hate not being unique on my own. I don’t wanna look like anyone nor do I want anyone looking like me. My sister’s name is Shyne, my mom had a theme going I guess. Shyne has always thought the idea of having a twin was amazing but I wasn’t always a good twin. In our older teens we started to get closer and did the twin thing most of the time. Now we're inseparable and I knew that when it came time for me leaving for my adventure, she would be devastated. “Oh I went out for a ride and bummed around Downtown for the morning.” I shrugged.  “Well you should have left a note or answered your phone when I called. I hate when you drop off and we can’t find you. It scares me how reckless you can be.” She shakes her finger at me, scolding me like a child. I laugh and nod at Brad. “Hey Brad, how's it going?” He just laughs and says, “It’s good. Got some new shoes and some shirts. Nothing special out there, same old shit.”  My sister scoffs, “Are you ever going to use his real name? You know damn well it ain't Brad.” I smirk at Brad and shrug nonchalantly. “I know, and No I won't, He’s a Brad, he should be proud to represent all the Brad’s of life.” She just rolls her eyes and gets up. Offering us a drink, she swished off to the kitchen.  “So you gonna tell me what’s wrong or you gonna sit there and shove it away to be ignored and fester?”  “Uh, how do you do that?” I figured he’d ask eventually but I was hoping it wasn’t now. I let out a deep breath and continued, “I just had another dream, I had to get out and away from the closed space you know.” He knew about my dreams, knew about the trauma. Anthony has been dating my sister since we were in middle school. They’re the ideal couple and I’d have to agree with her, he looks like he’s the one. Anthony is his real name, but he has that typical football player, popular boy look so to me he’s Brad. He’s never minded and actually finds it amusing. “Have you thought about going back to therapy? You have to find a way to get it out, you can’t hold it in. it’s going to eat you up inside, it already is.” I know he’s right but it’s getting easier to just hide it away for no one to see. It’s been 5 years since that day and I’ve gotten to an understanding that it hurts but it doesn’t ruin my life or keep me from living it to the fullest. When I was 14 my best friend was murdered by my stalker. Remember how I told you I don’t do the whole opposite s*x, dating thing? This guy didn’t get the hint and things ended up horribly. My best friend Ozzy saved my life. He jumped in front of me right when Carson pulled the trigger. He had cornered us at a party one night and attempted to kidnap me. Ozzy wouldn’t let that happen so he fought back. Carson was pure evil and I’m glad I wasn’t one of those dumb bitches who falls for the charm and finds the beast once it’s too late. Carson was sent to some juvenile place since he was only 13 when it happened. Since then I had hoped he would never get out, but of course that’s not how it works. He’ll be out sometime this year from what I hear. That’s why the nightmares have started up again. The worse they’re getting, the closer to his release we get. Not something I’m looking forward to. Not in the slightest.  “You know it’s only because we’re getting closer to his release date. Just nerves is all. I’m fine. I can handle myself” I hope. But I don’t say that out loud, I can’t, no I WONT show any fear for that piece of s**t murderer. He should rot in prison for what he’s done. But I can’t help that little spark deep inside that has my knees weak and head filled with panic. Thankfully he just nods and drops the subject but I know this isn’t the end of this conversation. For right now it’s fine with me. After my sister had returned with some iced tea, we watched two more movies before it was time to get ready.