Page 4 of Bleeding Hearts
Six months later . . .
Smiling at Sash, I return to my painting and see she’s right. “It does kind of look like him.” I giggle, and she leans into my side, laughing as we point out the resemblance to the guy in our class.
I swipe my brush over his face and try again. Our easels are side by side, the massive art classroom echoing with others’ conversations and laughter. Paintings are hung on the wall in different states, and more empty or forgotten ones line the floor, leaning against the wall. The windows allow plenty of light to spill in, and it smells of paint and paper. I love it.
It’s my favorite class.
I never expected to fall in love with this one so much, but I have. It’s like I’ve found my passion and purpose. I’m not the best, and I’m still learning, but I’m determined to improve myself. It helps that I found my clique here as well. Sash, Toni, Pepper, and Will have quickly become some of my closest friends. We eat, party, and paint together. I’m living just like Itold Alek I wanted to. I have my own apartment and friends, and life is good.
I’m healing one brush stroke at a time.
I’m moving on, or so everyone thinks.
I still have nightmares, but I don’t tell anyone. I wake up with cold sweats, the feeling of his hands on me, and his voice in my ear. Their screams haunt me, and the blood . . . it never washes from my hands. That night left a wound, one that won’t seem to close over. I know I’m not the only one, and we have all been changed by it in different ways. It made Evan more determined to hold on tight to what he loves. It softened Alek, and it gave Sky and Bones a chance to connect. Lally . . .
It changed her the most.
She’s angry at the world. I don’t know how to help her, but she also doesn’t seem like she wants anyone to. She pushes us all away, and there’s nothing I can do about it but keep showing up.
We had something amazing. I never felt so connected to anyone before. The feelings of safety and happiness clicked as soon as I was around her.
She doesn’t feel the same way, though, and that kills me.
I paint as my mind wanders, my hand knowing what to do even if my thoughts are miles away. When I hear her name, it brings me back to the present. I’m always attuned to anything that has to do with her—every sighting of her, the smell of her, any mention of her. She’s my obsession.
It’s unhealthy, but it’s true.
“Lally was so crazy last night,” some girl scoffs to her friend as they walk past. I think her name is Tai, but I could be wrong. “Did you see her and those two girls from that club?”
My heart freezes, and my hand stills.
“They were all over her.” Her friend laughs. “I hear she’s amazing in bed. I would even be tempted.”
“I was.” Her friend giggles. “Don’t tell Scott though. He doesn’t know.”
They carry on walking, their conversation fading, but the damage is done.
She was with someone last night—no, two people. It shouldn’t surprise me. She’s working her way through campus.
I know it isn’t personal, but it hurts me all the same, and for a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe. She refused to fuck me, but she is fucking everyone else to prove a point.
“You okay, Al?” Sash asks, knowing all too well my heart belongs to a girl who doesn’t want it.
I force a smile as I swing my gaze to her. “Fine. Sorry, I was miles away, thinking about my color palette,” I lie.
She gives me a look as if to say she doesn’t believe me, but she nods and turns back to her painting, and it’s only when I look at mine that I realize I drew Lally again.
My sketchbooks are filled with her image, and now so is this painting. I’m unable to do anything but draw her. Sighing, I drop my brush and grab my bag from the floor. “I’m done for the day, so I’m heading back. I’m tired,” I tell them and wave, escaping before they can interrogate me.
I’ve never told them about Lally, only Sash, and even then, I didn’t tell her everything. I don’t want them to hate her or worse. She’s mine, not theirs, even if she isn’t mine.
Whatever could have been between us is gone, or so she says, but I refuse to accept it. She’ll come back when she’s ready, and I’ll be waiting.
Lying sideways on my bed, I stare at my phone screen, wishing her name would appear like it used to. She would text all day and night about everything and anything. I never had this insane urge to stay awake just for one more word before her, but now her messages are almost archived. My heart soars with every notification, hoping it’s her.
It never is, not since that night she kicked me out of her bed and life.
I think I know why, but I wish I could demand an answer and tell her to stop being so fucking stupid and admit what we have.
