White Walls

00

I entered his room and the first thing I noticed was

white walls.

White? That's certainly not what I was expecting, because once he told me that he was lost. And lost souls don't recognize white, lost souls don't acknowledge white. So I asked «Who painted your room?»

And I saw his fingers reach for his black hair and push it back several times until he simply answered that it was him.

Dark brown eyes, black bruises, bloody fingers from always biting the skin near his fingernails, charcoal hair, dark soul, and he wants me to believe he touched a can of white paint.

He wants me to believe that his phalanges were covered in the opposite of what his existence was made of.

He wants me to believe, he picked up a brush and painted his walls white but yet he still doesn't want to touch me because «he'd destroy me. »

I don't see any damages within this four walls, why can't he trust me?

«Why can't you trust me? », I muttered while he opened his window letting the summer breeze enter the room along with the chants of birds.

«I don't trust myself. »

I was about to open my mouth when he added «If I can't trust myself, how am I supposed to trust you? Give me more time, please. », he was in front of me now. His eyes were less dark than usual, it's like he's expecting me to say yes.

And then, I understood. He's expecting me to say yes. He knows hope is dangerous territory, but he still wants to hold onto that illusion he thinks hope is. For me. For us.

I averted my eyes and stared at my grey converse shoes. They were covered in mud and had holes almost everywhere. Our relationship was this. Shoes, with holes and dirt, but although they looked trashy and undesirable, I'd still pick them every day. He interrupted my thoughts by placing his rough fingers under my chin.

His face was troubled. So beautifully troubled. «Please, say something», he pleaded.

What was I supposed to do, to say? It's been 7 months and I still crave his touch, I want him to hug me when my nightmares seem too real, I want his arms around my waist when I'm cooking pancakes for us in the morning, I want his lips right under my ear, I want his breath fanning my lips, teasing the hell out of me, I want him to kiss my forehead and tell me everything is going to be okay, I want, I want, I want.

«I-I don't know. I'm so... confused. You never gave me a reason. »

I didn't even get the time to finish the word «reason» and he was already out. The door closed with such force, my heart almost jumped out of my throat. I just sat on the floor and let my eyes wander around his walls,

his white walls.

______________________________________

Hello hello! It's my first time posting a story, so sorry if it's shitty.

Oh yeah, I'm also portuguese. I'm trying to improve my english, so sorry if there are some mistakes. (Or a lot of them).

If you reached this far... Wow, thanks a lot.

And maybe I'll post more if I see that my story reached some of you wattpaders,

Take care,

-Marg