His Paper Heart ✓

•37|His Philly Walk

I WIPE BEADS OF SWEAT OFF MY FOREHEAD USING THE BACK OF MY HAND THEN I EXHALE. As a reaction to his confusing stare, I tuck strands of hair behind my ears then look at the canvas I painted on, holding it up with one hand. My painting isn't so bad, as a matter of fact, I never even dreamt I could be so good at art but I guess my anxiety is doing something good this time around.

"So what do you think?" I ask Gray. His gaze shifts to the canvas then back at me. "I drew my inspiration from Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa."

"So you were trying to paint the Mona Lisa?" Gray asks, cocking his eyebrows up. He lies on his hospital bed, feeling so much better that I've been hearing rumors about how he'll be released today. I'm not certain because I haven't talked to or seen him in five days.

I shake my head bitterly at him and look at my canvas. There's a huge difference between Mona Lisa and my painting. Obviously, Da Vinci's art is legendary, it's history. Mine is a mere representation of how my depression has been eating me up for five days now. Five days since my heart had it's episode.

"No, no. . .no," I whisper. I continue to stare at the girl I painted, her lips hosting half a smile, with that brown skin Adonis look going on. "I wasn't trying to paint the Mona Lisa. The only thing I took from Da Vinci's painting was the half smile. People hide their deepest fears with a smile," I explains. Gray doesn't say anything for a while, he just sits there, his eyes squinted, brows notched up. "Why are you staring at me like that?" I question.

"Are you in your right mind?" he asks.

"What?" I chuckle bitterly.

"Are you going crazy?" he asks again.

"It's just a painting. . ." I mutter.

"Your eyes look bloodshot red. Have you been sleeping?" he enquires, I place the canvas at his foot on the bed and sigh.

"It's just a painting," I repeat.

"Of Imogene!" he points to the canvas but I don't look. He sighs and gets off the bed, his right arm in a sling. "You painted Imogene," he says.

"I didn't. . ."

"Genevieve, I haven't seen you in five days. You went into shock five days ago, right here on this bed and that was the last time I've seen you in five days."

"I was busy," I lie.

"If you're so busy, what do you want for me?"

"Nothing, I—"

"You what?"

"I've missed you!" I end up yelling. "It's not like I didn't want to come see you. It's just I've been having a lot of mental breakdowns so I'm sorry I couldn't come see you sooner, alright!"

"Oh no, you don't get to be mad! I do. You told your mom to forbid me from coming to your room. Are you crazy?" he steps closer to me.

"I didn't want you to see me so broken. How's that so hard to understand!" I move closer to him as well.

As he starts to speak again, he steps forward and closes the gap between us. "What the heck are you talking about? I've seen you in your darkest places and I love every inch of you. I love your mind, I love that even though you get knocked down you still get back up. I'm in love with you, and I knew Imogene telling you the truth would be hard on you. I wanted to be there because I'm in love with you, Gigi."

With a loud sigh, I put my arms around his neck in a hug. "Imogene and Didi used to have fun by putting gum in my hair. I remember one night, I prayed to God that Imogene would experience darkness. That she would go through something horrible that she'd realize how I felt," I whisper.