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10. I lost it, Troye ♡

I had fallen asleep. Somewhere through all the tears and sounds I fell asleep. The sound of a light knock on the bedroom door wakes me up. 'Troye..' I hear a soft voice. I sigh, 'Yes' I answer, in my voice you could still hear the tears. 'Zoe is on the phone, she's in the US, and she asks if we want to go out for dinner tomorrow night..' he says back. I smile a tiny smile. 'I'd love that' I say. Zoe has always been a ray of sunshine through my dark clouds, she can make anyone smile no matter how hard they try not to. 'well, you heard it yourself, tomorrow's okay' I hear Connor say as he walks down the stairs. I open the drawer of my nightstand and get out my notebook, I always tell Connor this is for drafts, but it's actually where I write stories. They're just always really bad so I never have him read them. I don't want him to, he is the writer and I'm the singer and it's okay that way. That's why we always worked so well. We both know our strengths and weaknesses. We cling to music, to writing, to art because we desperately do not want to be alone. We want to know we aren't going crazy and someone else out there knows exactly how we're feeling. We want someone to explain the things we can't. And when someone else can't do that, we make art ourselves devastated to find that tiny space, perhaps a hole that provides shelter from the terrible reality of this messed up world. We don't have any money, and it wouldn't be too long till all of our savings would be gone, considering the speed at which my husband was going through our alcohol supply. I flipped through my notebook a bit, maybe it wasn't all trash after all. And besides, you're your own harshest critic. I go downstairs and throw on my tan jacket that I got at topman. Connor is sitting on the couch and he looks up suprised, he didn't think he would see me again today. 'Where are you going?' he asked, trying not to sound desperate or make me mad again. 'For a walk' I lie. 'You okay to go on your own?' he asks. I roll my eyes, 'Yes, I'm not your fucking baby' I say as I slam the door behind me. I know why he'd asked that though. And I think it was kind of cute that he still cared about my well-being after such a bad fight, but that's what marriage is about anyway so I shouldn't think much of it.

'Hi, Troye, it is so nice to see you again' Lucy says as she gives me a hug, she smells like cinnamon mixed with vanilla. 'How are you?' she asks. 'Fine, you?' 'I'm okay' she says. I smile at her, I never really got why Connor hates her so much. She's so sweet. 'What brings you here?' she asks. I take a deep breath as I get out my notebook and lie it in front of her. 'Connor hasn't been writing, but I have.. Please, it might be trash but at least just give it a try' I state and I smile desperately. She laughs, 'yeah, sure, I always liked your music and I'm sure it's really good. I'll call you when I finish reading' she states. I smile, that is a relief. 'Ah, great, thanks Luce' I say. 'No problem'

I come home to find Connor on the couch, his eyes are puffy and red. He looks up at me as a tear falls down his face. I forget everything that happened before and hug him. I squeeze him so tightly that I fear his organs might pop out. 'hey.. it's okay..' I whisper as I rest my head on his. 'I can't do it anymore Troye.. I lost it' he sniffles. I notice the notebook in front of him, I let go of him and grab it. he has only written a short poem,

'Maybe that's why our pens fall silent, why our paintbrushes lie still. Not that we've emptied out our souls, but because we fear we never will. Or perhaps it's something worse; the thought of bleeding out our hearts, so others might find solace in the truth behind our art... But when we hand it our creations, our hollow chests empty and weak, the world says: 'Sorry, but your soul talks in a language we don't speak'

I don't know how fast I need to hug him. he breaks down crying on my chest as I comfort the only boy I ever truly loved.

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