Colours

n i n e

You stared at the checkered wall as you kept a hand on the sledge hammer your neighbour provided you with. The wall was damaged, most of the tiles had cracks running through them and could probably be fixed with a little tlc but some things were beyond fixing, kinda like you. Was it morbid to think that a cracked wall that was about to be destroyed represented your trauma and imperfections? How cliche.

"So you want me to just go ham on this wall?" You asked.

"Yup," he popped the p as he tucked his hands into his overall pockets. "Might help get rid of that unnecessary weight you keep carrying around."

You rolled your eyes at his mention of your baggage and pulled the goggles on. It felt wrong to destroy but it had to be done so something new could be put there.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted the heavy hammer and hit it against the wall. The tile splintered and broke off into small pieces all over the floor. Everything went quiet for a second as adrenaline ran through your veins, powering you up for another hit. You repeated the process until there wasn't any tile left and you were breaking out into a sweat.

Your arm was numb as you set the hammer down and took a seat on top of a paint bucket in the corner. You could hear footsteps approaching you and then a cool bottle of water was held in front of your face.

"Feel any better?" He looked at the previously tiled wall that was now empty and whistled. "You got a lot done."

"Uh huh," you sarcastically responded. "You just wanted to use me for free labour."

"Just look on the bright side: I have less work to do and you got a workout in." He took a seat on the bucket right next to you.

You took a sip of the water, the cool liquid running down your dry throat and sat there in quiet as you stared at the wall.

You've been moving through your life like you were a game piece and h/n was the player. You made decisions in your life based on what he would do: same school, same clubs, same company. No wonder he was never receptive to any of your ongoing attempts to make him fall in love with you.

You can't make someone fall in love nor can you force them to reciprocate your feelings. That wasn't fair nor was it sane. But would it have been so bad? A life with you?

"I don't think so," your neighbour said suddenly.

Crap. Did you say that out loud? "What do you mean?"

He leaned back against the wall, legs spread out in front of him. "A life with you wouldn't be so bad."

You had said it out loud. "I didn't mean to say that."

"No, you mean you didn't mean to say that out loud. You probably say worse things to yourself, don't you? What would you do if someone said those things about your precious h/n?"

His intuitive nature, which was normally charming, was pissing you off solely because he was right. You did say a lot of bad stuff to yourself but if someone spoke about h/n like that, you probably would've freaked out on them...so why was it any different with yourself?

"We are our own worst critics. People can hurt us with their words but it won't hurt nowhere near as much as the words we say to ourselves." He pointed to his chest and then to his head. "In here and here."

"Life is cruel like that," you responded as you squeezed the plastic bottle.

He shook his head. "No, your life is cruel like that. There's so much to life — to this world — you haven't seen because you've been so concentrated on one person."

"Because it was the first time I felt anything that wasn't pain! I was a kid, who's life was heavy, and then I saw someone who took all that weight away. Of course I became fixated on them but somewhere down the line it turned from this painless emotion into just pain...even before I heard him say those awful things. I was my own loaded weapon and he just happened to pull the trigger."

Your neighbour stared at you and then turned to look out the window. He didn't say anything and you were thankful for it but a small part of you wanted him to say at least something.  You had rippled yourself open and you were standing there naked yet he didn't say a single thing. The air was now awkward, every small sound - such as the pipes creaking to life in the apartment above - was a solace.

You set the water bottle down and stood up, dusting off your butt. "I think I'm gonna head home and shower."

You didn't wait for a response as you left, running into one of the old ladies that lived at the end of the hallway. She looked at the apartment you came out from and then at you, giving you a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes and headed into her home. The interaction was strange but so was everything lately.

You stood under the steady hot spray of water as the words from earlier repeated themselves in your head. How embarrassing. Why was that man so insistent on helping you? Were you so broken that he thought you couldn't do it yourself? Had you depended on him too much? Whatever the answer was, it made you feel pathetic.

You finished up your shower and dried off and got dressed. The monochromatic mess that was your closet stared back at you - a physical representation of how bad you've let things get. Feeling a surge of anger, you ripped everything off its hanger and threw it everywhere. You didn't care where they landed, just as long as they weren't hanging anywhere.

Black shirt. Blue dress. Grey pants. You hated it.  They weren't you. They've never been you. You've been cosplaying as someone else, someone you didn't even know, and you hated it. Finally, the closet was empty and you froze when you saw something you had completely forgotten about.

"So, what do you think?" The realtor asked after the tour.

You smiled, you loved this place. It had a story, unlike the two other properties you toured today. This place could be made into a home, not a pit stop. "I'll take it."

You finished all the paperwork and a few days later, the keys were in your possession. The movers came quickly and helped you place everything and then you were left alone to face the first night in your new place.

You walked into your bedroom and looked around, feeling a certain something was missing. You grabbed your coat and walked to the store right around the corner and grabbed different colours of paint and a few paintbrushes.

You made it back and then got to work, painting on the wall in your closet. A rainbow and some sunflowers, a tree with purple birds, and a sun. You stared back at your work, hands stained with multiple colours. You didn't care that it looked like something a proud parent would paint in their child's room. It was a small amount of happiness you would face every time you opened your closet.

You stared back at the painting you've forgotten about, some of the paint chipped since you never sealed it and started to cry. As you broke down amongst the mess that was your clothes, you apologized to yourself.

You apologized for every letting go.

You apologized for everything.

You were going to get your colours back, once and for all.

Nothing, and no one, would ever take them away again.