Glimpse of Yesterday

Chapter 49

Chapter 49

“I-It’s okay. I won‘t leave you.” I shook my head and smiled at him.

“Fire... fire reminded me of the past.” He confessed.

I let out a deep breath and caressed his hair.

“You need. . . to see a psychiatrist. I will support you, okay?” I gave him my assuring smile.

He gulped and nodded.

“You’re not. . . you’re not hearing voices right?” I asked with slight hope.

He avoided my gaze.

“I-I’m not.”

He’s lying.

“Grayson. Please. . . tell me the truth.” I gripped his hand.

“I’m not.” He gave me his weary smile.

I bit my lower lip and nodded.

“Do you trust me?”

He sighed at my question.

“I don’t. You always break your promise.” He avoided my gaze.

I nodded, completely understanding his reasons.

“Then if you cannot trust me, learn to trust yourself. Trust yourself that you’ll heal. Please?” I asked gently.

“Mmm. I will.” He kissed my forehead.

I became quiet for a while, trying to gauge the next words I’ll ask.

“I’ll show you something.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me.

He opened another door beside his room and turned on the light. I gasped out of shock when we entered the room. It was like a mini gallery, the ground was a marble white floor while the walls were white. It was surrounded by paintings of different pictures but Grayson pulled me to the end and there I saw a huge canvas.

“This is. . .” I observed the painting. “This is the painting I saw four years ago?” I asked.

He nodded.

“That painting is related to my traumatic past.”

I looked at the painting. It was a colorful abstract.

“Two sides. It was what happened when I was seventeen. The time I last met you when we were teenagers.” He started.

I gulped and didn't say anything, letter him speak.

“The left side where there was a boy leaning against the door was me while the right side where there was a fire was. . . my father.”

I heaved a sigh when he started telling me his story. I can imagine what happened years ago by just looking at the painting.

“Son! Help!” It was what he said what his father shouted.

Being in the scene of the event. I watched how the fire slowly drowned the man asking for his son’s help. But the boy on the other side was too mad to even open the door.

“It’s all your fault! I regret having a father like you!” He shouted with full of rage. The lines were still distinct in his memory as he remember the past.

With both palms covering his ears, not wanting to listen to his father’s shout of help, was his inability to smell the smell of fire from the outside.

I gulped.

Why was he mad at his father?

“Let’s get out, boy. I am a fireman and is here to rescue you. We received a report from your burning house. Grab my hand.” The fireman on the window of his room suddenly appeared in his room.