Drawing of a Rose [Troyler AU]

Chapter 36: Painting Memories

Troye

Solitude once again. If this was a movie, there would be crickets sounding and maybe tumbleweed blowing. I lightly chuckled at my thought.

I went to my room, chucking my bag into a rejected corner. The sheets creaseless until I collapsed onto them, crumpling around my figure. The ceiling copt my glare. It's plain, cleanliness insulting me.

I sighed rolling onto my side. Take a look at me, making enemies with inanimate objects, taking offense to their problematic, easy life. I need to stop thinking. I need to stop quickly.

Crawling off my bed, I rummaged through my cupboard. It held little possessions so I found what I was looking for easily.

My acrylic paints and canvas were scattered on the desk. Pages were flicked past, rough drafts fading into a grey blur. Less than five pages left, I found the drawing I was looking for.

My drawing of a rose.

Scrapes of cerulean pasted as the foundation. Accents of ultramarine and highlights of violet. Winter bleeding into the colours.

Letting it dry, I began to finish the drawing. Finishing the shading, touching up the rough sketch.

Red soaked into the brush. Lines and dashes flicked across the surface. A shade darker, a shade lighter. The shape began to take form. Petals unfurled, revealing it's treasures.

A rich scarlet replaced the lighter colour. It seeped into the low petals, the ones that would of wilted if time affected it. My paintbrush crawled up through each layer, staining the rose where light would not be able to reach.

Replacing the red was a forest green. A stem grew out of the petals, coiling around itself. A leaf attached midway, an ever green colour.

Layer by layer, I built the shape and tone. The rose stood amongst the blue, blooming with confidence.

Two hours, possibly more, and I was satisfied with the outcome.

I collapsed on to my bed. My back ached from sitting hunched over my desk, my hands and arms, possibly even my face, were littered in dry war paint. I raised my arms and studied the colours that inhabited my skin. For once, my skin was coloured in paint instead of the usual bruises.

Unfortunately, they weren't going to last. I rolled of my bed and into the bathroom. Turning the water on and slipping out of my clothes, I stepped under the still cold water. I made sure to avoid looking in the mirror.

The paint tinted the water until it had all gone down the drain. The green, blue and red soon was subdued back into the clear liquid.

After finishing my shower, I dried and went back to my room. Surprisingly, I was still alone at home.

And back to square 1; alone with my drowning thoughts and my monstrous imagination.

Time for another distraction. Maybe I could write. I might as well help Tyler with the story, seeing as I won't be there to complete it. At least I won't have to right the ending. I am shit at that.

Sitting back at my desk, I nudged the painting a good distance away. I flicked through my book, only roughly a quarter of it filled with the story. I remember getting this book around three years ago, desperately needing it because I planned to write poems and song lyrics. Two pages teared out, a few drops of tears and that thought was banished.

As if I could do that.

The paper flicked through my fingers before falling open to the last page.

Scribbled down in the middle of the page, was something I had buried six feet underground and forgotten about long ago. Three years I had hidden it away. Until yesterday.

I never believed then. Although I had just never saw what I see now.

Curse you.

Written in my horrible preteen handwriting, was "I'm gay."

Now it was undeniably the truth.

Curse you. Curse you Tyler Oakley.

A/N
I honestly don't know what I'm writing.
I like ending on "cliffhangers" because then I can switch scenes and pov's.

I have around 135 stories archived in my library. Wow.

Your Lie in April. I finished it today. Cried. Cried a bit more.

Short chapter. Sozzzz. I am not looking forward to writing at the end. As fictional Troye put it, I'm shit at it.

I actually only started writing on Wattpad just so it would pressure me into finishing a story. How's that for easy solutions? Anxiety and fear, :)
(Goes and rocks back and forth in a corner)
(I shouldn't say stuff like this...)

Comment & votey vote.

BYE!!!.
Jam..