Paint Over my Scars

Chapter 13

-2 weeks later-

One hopeless romantic. 

One with a broken heart. 

Both sitting in the same room, feeling their hearts swell with a feeling so great that neither of them could put it in words. Neither of them could explain or even know the feeling that they were engulfed in when around each other. 

Monika looked over to Gilbert who sat on her bed, drumming his thumbs on his pants while she rummaged through her mind on what to say. "Gilbert, I wanted to ask a question," She petted Blackie who sprawled out on her lap. 

Gilbert perked up and looked at her, smiling, "Yes?" 

She thought of how to phrase it, "I was wondering... how can you not believe in love?"

Gilbert fell still, looking at her hands, "I dunno, I just can't seem to grasp that people could spend a whole lifetime with one another. Like one of them is bound to fall out of love or find somebody else."

"H-has that ever happened to you?" She felt like intruding on his personal life, but that question has been swimming in her mind forever. 

"I guess," He shrugged his shoulders, "In high school, senior year, I thought I was in love with this girl. We were dating and all and I felt like we had a future ahead of us. In reality, once we both went to different colleges we stopped talking- only about once a week we'll have a quick conversation on the phone. It wasn't until she broke up with me when I found out she was cheating on me pretty much most of the time. I guess that left a bad aftertaste. How about you, Monika? Have you had a relationship?" 

Monika blushed, "Not really, in high school I mostly focused on my school work and not many people really liked my in that way," 

"How? I bet you were beautiful like you are now," Gilbert proclaimed, smirking at her. 

"Gilbert, don't say things like that," Though I've never felt better. 

"Why not?"

"Because..." I will go crazy , "I'd rather you not," 

"Alright." He sighed dramatically, "You said you were never in love, but you also say you write love poems and such all the time," He raised his eyebrow. 

"I just guess about the feeling like many authors do," 

"May I see them?" 

She felt her heart pound, "No," She simply rejected. 

"I want to see if you did it right," He smiled at her. 

"Most of them are in German..."

"I can read German,"

"Why would you want to read them anyway? You don't even like... love,"

"It may make me believe again," Though he said it jokingly, they both knew he was serious.

"They're not very good," Monika continued. 

"I don't know that because I haven't seen them," He held his hand out like she was going to give it to him. 

She knew he wasn't going to bow down, "You can read one..." She gave in. She scooted Blackie out of her lap and bent down to her nightstand, opened the first drawer, and picked up a black notebook. She traced the cover with her thumbs, turning over to him. She flipped through until she spotted one of her proudest poems. 

She watched his eyes roamed the lines, the lines in which she poured her heart on. Monika looked away, she couldn't stand looking at him as he critiqued her work.