The Painter

help (7)

(TW! this chapter contains a brief  description of a panic attack. read at your own risk.

p.s. if any of you need someone to talk to, someone to listen, i'm always here. i care about you ❤️)

laughter. real, genuine laughter.

william hadn't been truly happy since he was six. eleven years ago.

he could still remember his last happy memory. he was running in the backyard under the sun. it was a warm, bright mid-september afternoon and he was kicking around a soccer ball. the leaves of the trees in his yard were colorful and the grass was green. laughter bubbled up his throat and past his lips even though he had no reason to laugh.

he had no reason to stop laughing, either, so he just kept laughing. he kept smiling until his cheeks hurt. all there was in that moment was grass, blue, cloudless skies, and the sun kissing his shoulders.

after he had become worn out, young william plopped down into the cool, bright green grass and laid back, elbows propping him up. he looked up at the bright blue sky and began to daydream. his light brown hair looked golden under the bright sunlight. he let the golden rays blanket him in a comfortable warmth as he thought about whatever six year olds thought about when they zoned out.

his father was on the back porch, leaning against the foundation. his arms here crossed on his chest and his long legs were crossed too, right over left, casually intertwined. he was wearing worn out jeans with paint splattered all over and a white t-shirt. he was smiling fondly at william. he really loved his son. his smart, quiet, shy, beautiful boy.

william looked up at his father and grinned, his lopsided smile was wide and toothy. his father, his idol, waved back at him. his whole body was relaxed. william could see the joy written all over his aging face. he loved that he could read his father like a book. he can't help but see through every word that came out of his dad's mouth, every gesture, every breath. he wore his heart on his sleeve. william wished he could be brave, just like his dad.

william's father took a second to stop staring at his son and take in his surroundings. their small backyard was filled with life. trees varied in color from fiery red to muted orange to emerald green. there were patches of green moss on the bark of some of the older trees surrounding them. occasionally, a squirrel will scurry up a tree, or a bird will fly above them. william's dad was almost as proud of the life he had built for himself as he was of the son he raised.

just then, william could hear the phone ringing faintly from inside. he saw his mother answer it hurriedly through the window. she must have been waiting for that call, expecting it. he observed how her previously relaxed face twisted into something william couldn't name. a mixture of fear, confusion, and most of all, sadness.

that was where william's last happy memory ended. after that, his world went dull and grey, and his once radiant smile faded away. it was easy for him to pretend to be happy, though. easy for him to pretend he didn't wish he could stop time, stop the ticking of the clock in his head. the closest he got to being happy after that day, that horrible day the doctors called, was when he was with his dad, but those moments were ruined by his internal stopwatch, counting the seconds he had left with his father. crisp trepidation coursed through his veins.

he missed his father.

he missed going on fishing trips and walks and going out for ice cream when his mother lost control. he missed building forts and watching movies until william fell asleep in his dad's arms. he knew his life wasn't perfect, though sometimes he liked pretending it was, but his dad was all he needed to be happy.