𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

The Second Of Many

Thank you @mac_cali12 for the inspiration :)

—————

5 months ago

—————

When will we begin together,

I've been alone for far too long,

It hurts to see you doubt your dreams,

Not everything you want is wrong.

—————

"You wouldn't lie to me."

The words sting, I can almost feel them pricking at my skin. He seems so sure, so confident that his trust is founded, that I in fact am truthful.

I want to tell him that I myself am surprised. Maybe if he understood that even I didn't know these things until a few moments ago, it might make things better. He isn't alone in this, I've been lied to as well.

But either way, it's still me who's been lying, that doesn't change, no matter how much I may will it to. But I want him to realize I'm serious. He's looking at me doubtfully, like I've gone mad, or maybe he just doesn't recognize me. Maybe he's seeing me differently now.

"You don't know that." I tell him lowly, pushing up off of the ground and walking to the other side of the room. I'm afraid I've ruined something. And this is a big something. Perhaps my reasons for keeping these kinds of things hidden were sound.

It's just the tip of the iceberg, that's all I've revealed to him so far, but he already feels so much more distant. I feel like he's analyzing me already, like I'm on probation, being assessed in some way. Like he's trying to decide whether or not to believe me.

I realize that this must be what it's like to not have his trust, and I hate it. I've made things awkward, the thought of him now feeling uncomfortable brings me guilt. Would it have been so hard to hold back?

I hear him sit up and watch me as I reach the ornamental lounge-side table we left the bottle on. It's empty, drained of every drop. To be fair, it wasn't very big at all. It fit snug in my hand and I could hold it with ease, but now I'm wishing it was bigger, that it had more to it.

Neither of up speak for a while. I'm not sure what he's thinking about, but I can tell its got something to do with me. I can feel it in my gut, it sort of makes me feel uneasy, or maybe that's the drink's doing.

I stare at the bottles but my eyes drift out of focus. Suddenly my breathing is the loudest thing in the room and I feel self conscious. I try to breathe more slowly, softer, so that it's inaudible. But I just end up slightly out of breath and in need of oxygen.

I'm stalling.

I want to back track, what was I doing before?

"Why don't you play something." I spin around to ask him, a consistent smile on my face. Maybe music can drown out the buzzing I feel In the back of my head.

He looks at me skeptically and it's like he's squeezing my heart. I see him bite the inside of his cheek before deciding to oblige. I'm still leaning back against the table, my hands gripping its edge to keep me upright.

"Come on," he tilts his head towards the instrument, "Ill teach you something." Turning away from me, he stands up, leaving the empty glass in its place, on the floor. I guess he isn't used to cleaning up after himself. I almost want to laugh, the realization is incredibly sobering.

I follow him over to the piano and once again take a seat on the bench. Sitting down beside me he pulls the seat in and brings up the cover, revealing glossed ivory keys, all lined up in a neat row. Their positioning means nothing to me for I doubt I'd be able to differentiate between any two notes.