Pain(Tings)
Chapter 1: Trouble life

Sita felt her breath hunting very fast. Not finished with sweat on his forehead, his anger piled up. After opening the door of her room, Sita was startled by the messy state of her room. The pallets she had arranged on special racks with paints and other primary canvases were scattered everywhere. Even some of the paint has littered the floor of his room.

Sita held her breath for a moment. It must have been them. Thought, prejudiced.

Sita immediately tidied up the scattered items. Various paintings that he has made, Sita keep out of the reach of sunlight. He also raised the AC temperature according to the temperature that can maintain the durability of the painting in a special room - in his room - can be maintained neatly.

His hands were outstretched, touching the red paint that had dried on the floor of the room. A smile imprinted on his face, implying a fondness. Sita smiled wryly. He immediately recovered before continuing the remains of his quarrel in the middle of the house.

His phone rang long enough, Sita let someone who tried to contact her first. He had to clean up the mess in his room immediately.

When finished, Sita put herself on the bed. His hands are busy opening passwords on devices that are crowded by notifications.

At least I have to refresh first before starting to argue later, Sita thought.

Sita chose to read a message from her best friend.

Midwives

Still safe, right?

I have a bad feeling.

For a moment, Sita sighed. Widan who knows his life, has been sure to berate him for not telling the truth, but .. who's care? Sita was just lazy to talk about it.

His focus was distracted by the sound of screaming from outside his room, making Sita have to endure his patience.

"Sita, out!"

The baritone voice belonged to his father, Bima Adirajada. The head of the family that Sita must respect, regardless of his decision.

With a forced step, Sita walked up to the door of the room and approached her parents who had gathered in the dining room.

The woman wearing a batik negligee made in the style and style of Sala-batik Solo - who was preparing food for her husband, looks so graceful and painstaking, taking care of her family's banquet which was over an hour ago.

Sita sat awkwardly, on the right side of the head of the Adirajada family. The woman who was his mother - Patista Abriana - sat down on the left side of Bima and faced towards Sita, smiling warmly. Sita who inherits elegance from the mother - if only the opening sentence that Pratista said did not he heard - surely Sita will greatly admire the woman who bears the title Madam Adirajada second generation of the Adirajada family.

"You're the more of a day, the fatter Mama looks at you, you know. It's weird eating because it's busy painting it, right?"

Sita could only swallow her rendition food with great difficulty. His appetite has evaporated. Though rendang cuisine typical of the Minang Tribe, became his favorite food. Especially if made by Pratista, women who become a career woman estimate are very coveted because of her expertise in taking care of her career and household. Perfects.

"I'm not picky about food, Ma," said Sita, trying as quietly as possible.

Pratista sighed, of course as one of the children of the Adirajada family, Sita had to pay attention to every behavior. Wrong in the least, the mass media will quickly disseminate it.

"As far as you are."

Finally Pratista chose to give up, after all, his son was too difficult to be advised, tough. Very similar to the meaning of his name.

Until finally, the sound of Bima, adding gloom to the face of Sita that he covered up since entering the dining room.

"Should have been, Papa threw away that useless tool in your room!" suhut Bima firmly.

"That's my dream, Pa!" reply Sita.

Enough is enough, the desire to continue eating, no longer his taste. His stomach suddenly felt full from his own father.

"Your dreams will never make us proud!"

The words were spoken clearly, striking the heart of Sita.

"But it can make me happy, Pa .." said Sita. "And I'm also sure, that I can make Papa equally proud Mama!"

Bima stared flatly at Sita. "Since you started liking those useless activities, you've gotten sassy!"

Sita glanced at her mother who was not the mediator of the father-son debate.

"I also have the right to choose my happiness too, Pa," he whined.

Bima finished her dinner. He left the chair where he had an argument with the child. "Don't be selfish, Sita! You still have to continue our family company" said Bima.

Sita squealed softly, but was quite clearly heard by Pratista. "Don't act like that, Sita. You have to be polite to adults" she advises.

Pratista followed her husband who had left the dining room. Leaving Sita in silence made her want to drown herself. Sita stared at the gamang on her remaining food, Pratista's voice again heard from a distance.

"Take your food, then get some sleep!"

Orders, prohibitions, orders, prohibitions again!

Sita snorted disliked, she ended her meal. After all, he himself was no longer interested in putting food in his stomach.

Who would want to have their own dinner like this?

Sita chose to lay her body on the mattress and explore the dream realm, rather than having to argue strangely with her own family.

They never made him choose his own decision. Born to one of the conglomerate's children, it turns out not something to wear either.

In the silence of the night, Sita smiled curiously. Her weeping, which was held back, was unable to make her feel strong. She remains a teenage girl who is still unstable by her feelings, easily hurt but forced to remain steadfast. Self standing.

Sita wiped her face slowly with a tissue not far away in the drawer. After crashing the tissue into a lump, Sita threw it into the trash can in the corner of her room. Her net narrowed, as she found some brushes that she remembered she had just bought last week with Widan. He picked up the brush with a face that was wet again by his cries.

Not just one brush, but other brushes are in the trash. One thing Sita needs to be grateful for is, the trash can in her room, does not contain organic waste or other wet media. There are only a few dry solid objects, such as pencil sharpeners, torn papers, wads of tissue and a number of used candy wrappers.