and the day came,
when the risk it took
to remain tight in the bud
was more painful
than the risk it took
to blossom.
~Anais Nin
***
"Favorite color?"
Atlas thinks before answering, "Black."
I shake my head, "Black isn't a color."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"You paint using black all the time, and you're telling me it's not a color?"
I shake with laughter as he smiles back at me.
"Favorite color. Go."
I stare into his dark blue eyes as I answer, "white."
He throws his head back and laughs.
"How perfect."
We are laying in bed. It's the weekend. Our days off. Our day of rest from the pack.
So we chose to retreat into the confines of the covers upon these days.
In all reality, it was easy to go to sleep within Atlas's arms.
Easy to find comfort within his scent.
In the beginning I was scared that my nightmares would wake him- forcing me to explain what I even had nightmares about in the first place.
But his scent. His warmth. His deep breaths.
All soothed me.
And I found myself peaceful within my slumber, for the first time in years.
He was forcing me into a better sleeping pattern also.
Grabbing and dragging me to bed when all I wanted to do was sit there all night and paint.
Some nights he would cave in, going to sleep while I shined a small light upon my canvas, working late into the hours.
I always wanted to paint his sleeping face.
I just could never bring myself to do it.
He slowly traced the dark circles under my eyes, "You don't sleep a lot, do you?"
I shake my head, "I have a hard time falling asleep."
"Even with me?"
"It's...better with you," I admit.
He smiles at that.
"Tell me about your mother."
The question throws me off.
"My mother?"
He nods.
"I've wondered about her since the day I met you and heard no mention of her."
We are going dangerously close to my secrets. I hesitate. This is the moment. If Mark were to see this, he would be pressing me to take ahold of it. Tell him.
"She passed away in a car accident."
Atlas looks at me, surprise clear in his face.
"I didn't think it would be something so simple."
YOU ARE READING
Sun Child |✔|
WerewolfLexie is not a warrior. In fact, Lexie is a painter. Her hands are always covered in paint. Never coming off. Always there. For Lexie, painting is an escape. An escape from her pain. She paints to avoid the darkness that is in her soul. She paints t...