'I am useless. I am worthless. I am unlovable,' he reminded himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, it mocking him in return.
His dark green eyes glimpsed the bruises on his wrist that were inflicted upon him by his brother in another one of his aggressive 'rough housing', words spoken as an excuse by his mother.
His chest then tightened at the remembrance of his sharp, stone-like fist pounding his body, a lump forming in his throat and his eyes watering; drops of salty liquid threatened to escape.
In an immediate, swift motion, his hands clenched the ends of the sleeves of his shirt and pulled it down to hide the source of his misery.
He had only gotten up to get another bottle of paint, then why was he rooted in front of the mirror like a statue? His emotions were a thunderstorm, all causing chaos within him, roaring like a madman.
The moment he passed by the mirror to get over to the table where the rest of his bottled paint was, he knew he had to stop and take in the image of the man that was currently darting back at him.
He had to see, well, tried to see whether whatever he was told all those years was true. If he was truly useless, truly worthless, truly unlovable, and truly unwanted.
His eyes roamed over his body, taking in his appearance quite keenly. He scrutinized every feature he possessed, wishing he could change everything of his dislike. It was then he deduced an answer.
He was everything they said he was, and despite his internal refusal to accept the fact, deep down, he somewhat believed it to be true.
It was the wet feeling of the paintbrush that touched his skin due to his slight hand movement that took him out of his thoughts.
Moving over to the table in the corner of the room, he searched for the shade of blue he was looking for to properly bring his painting together.
It was his escape. It was a better reality than his current one. All his imagination bundled together on one big canvas, it was a world he wanted to be in, however, not all paintings were the same.
Finally finding the color paint he wanted, he grabbed it and headed back to the stool that sat in front of the easel.
After a few seconds, he continued to paint, each stroke the brush took illustrating a different detail all leading up to a subtle perfection.
He had only wanted it for the final details, and soon, it all came together.
It was a rabbit, fluffy and brown struggling to keep its head afloat above the strong, raging water it was trapped in. A body of water that was surrounded by the tall, dark-green trees of an inescapable forest, and bold, blue tears ran like a river down its eyes.
With a smile, he got up and began to clean and pack up his things, noting to himself to return to the room after it had dried to sign the bottom of it.
"Hey, shithead, Dad is calling you for dinner," came a loud, insulting voice. "What crap are you working on?"
"I'll be down in a minute, and this isn't crap. It's my new painting," he replied without making eye contact with the man who proceeded to walk around the room.
"I always knew you were a dork but I never thought it would be this bad." Pushing his paint bottles over, his eyes skimmed the room and the paintings that decorated it. "They are all ugly, I hope you know that. Complete and utter trash."
"Can you leave them alone, please? Hey, I just fixed that. Vansh, stop it!" He rushed over to the muscular man who was a few inches taller than him in an effort to stop him and his destructive ways. "Can you please just leave?"
YOU ARE READING
Butterfly Touch
Romance"Hold me like night holds the stars." ~~~~ Ayaan Raichand is somewhat of a wallflower trapped within the four walls of life. Just like his quick movements with a paintbrush, came change and adjustment pushing him into a corner, isolated and lonely w...
