FicWad

The bed creaked underneath the weight of his movement that was undoubtedly caused by the series of events that had just occurred. I walked steadily toward him leaving my belongings in a pile on the floor. I sat carefully and stiffly on the bed. His features were soft and peaceful and innocent as he slept. I was jealous of that as well. I doubted I looked like that, even in my sleep. I felt corrupted and jaded and anything but and I was sure you could see it in my eyes by now. I was sure it was written all over my face. I was sure of how apparent it was. Possibly to everyone. Everyone except him, that is. How I wished I could see myself as the girl he saw me as. The caring one. The loving one. The talented one. The beautiful one. The passionate one. The girl who could do no wrong. The perfect one. He was absolutely oblivious of who I was, of who I had become. For a while, I tried difficultly to hold on to that girl, but she slipped away quietly, slowly, and almost unnoticeably while leaving me in her place. I tried awkwardly to fill her shoes, but they proved far too big and it proved to be far too difficult of a task that I had begun to give up.

Pieces of his dark brown hair had fallen into his face. I bit my bottom lip as I tried to brush it away without waking him. He was turned on his side with one arm tucked safely under his pillow and the other placed lazily across the length of the bed we shared. I lovingly admired his beauty as I always did, yet felt less of a right to do so. Don't misunderstand me, I loved him. I presently love him. More than I've loved any boy before him and will undoubtedly love any boy after him and for the past year, I have been and still am glad to call him mine. He is such and amazing, talented, and beautiful person and I knew that I didn't deserve him. At least, not anymore. If he only knew the details of my current and past events, the bed we shared as well as my place on it would disappear. Rightfully so.

I took notice of how eerily silent our apartment was. Right now silence was the last thing I wanted to hear. I wanted noise. I wanted music. I wanted screaming. I wanted something to fit my mood. I wanted a soundtrack. I wanted something offensive and fitting. I wanted something that I deserved. Instead, I was surrounded and nearly suffocated by peaceful silence.

I looked around and was reminded of how the apartment was exactly how I left it. My paintings were leaned up against the wall allowing the empty space and air to dry them. My next project, a large blank canvas was already set up on the easel. My paint, brushes, and other materials were scattered on the floor below. Painters were without doubt the messiest of all artists. Pete's drum kit and two guitars were set up at the far end of the spacious room due to the fact that sometimes his band practiced here when their rehearsal space was unavailable, much to the annoyance of our neighbors. Balled up, discarded papers littered the floor around his instruments. No doubt filled with words that failed to meet his approval. Pete was an artist just like people sometimes wrongly referred to me as, just a different type of artist. I used paint and colors and canvases as my medium. Pete, however, used the written word. To say that he was amazing at it falls miles short of describing it. He evoked some type of emotion in everyone who came to watch his band play. I was certain that he was bound the start a revolution by simply speaking. After all, that's why I fell in love with him as I'm sure many, many others had done so before myself.

My thought process was distracted by two masculine arms reaching around my waist, pulling me into their owner's chest. With his eyes closed he mumbled inaudibly as I let myself feel comforted from the heat radiating off of his warm body. He opened one eye and then the other and smiled at me. He had perfect teeth.

"I missed you." He commented as he pushed my messy two toned hair out of my face. I moved into his touch fully aware that I deserved this less than anyone, but he felt so right. He had always felt right.

"I was at Honor's," I spoke the lie I had spent the miles walking home crafting perfectly. "She needed to waste some old paint. I looked at it as an opportunity." Pete nodded, believing my lie. He could be so sweetly naïve sometimes