Promised pain

Twelve

Lorenzo Petrov
It would be crazy to think that Levine might feel any sense of attraction towards me.
And well, I'm crazy.

Because while I find it fucking hard to read people sometimes, nothing hard about noticing when someone is turned on.

She said she wants normal. And I'm not. So I'm going to assume it's because of the fear, adrenaline, whatever the fuck it was that made her squirm and turn red like that.

I throw away the painting brush, anger illuminating through my goddamn veins as I recall how the past days have been, other than Levine avoiding me at all costs when it should've been the opposite, this week has been boringly tragic.

Misery fills my bones and I suppress it by pumping more and more anger into me, it's the easiest emotion humans can achieve, and I'm no different, any trail of finding the truth crumbled all over the floor days ago.

All because of a small damn mistake, it drove me to madness, it feels like I'm set back to point one, and i never claimed to be patient, I cannot fathom restarting this all over again.

At this point, it seems rather useless, what arent though, are the paintings staring back at me, sure it all gets fucking messy at some point and I splatter paint everywhere, red paint, it looks like blood which is very cheerful.

The faces are what haunt me the most, I see those goddamn people everywhere, my dreams, reflections in the mirror, a haze while I'm walking through the streets.

It sounds psychotic at best, I didn't want Levine crossing that path, I didn't want her seeing this, and I'm done pretending that I believe she can take all this, sure, she's not fragile, not weak, she isn't. She's yet but proven this to me throughout the past month she's been here.

But still, the conclusions she might come across just from this goddamn room I'm in right now are enough for her to flip the image she had of me in her mind, perhaps I cared what she thought of me, why? She's my friend, yeah, I didn't want my friend thinking that I'm disgusting, or crazy maybe.

Jesus, it's unexplainable, but so is her sudden distant self, it's starting to piss me off, and that goddamn creep who's been texting her, he seems as if he's getting bored, which is the goal, for Levine of course, for me on that matter, I'm out for his blood. But she doesn't need to know that.

And when I hear the door cracking open downstairs, I don't hesitate as I leave the dreaded painting in front of my face and walk outside, jogging down the stairs, and just then, I see her, tugging at her backpack like she has beef with the thing, one ribbon shines beneath the light and it catches my attention as always.

She always loses them, and I've developed the creepy obsessive habit of collecting them when they fall, which is a lot, her eyes look up into mine, they widen for the slightest minute before she masters her neutral expression.

I take a closer step toward her, mesmerized by that damn gray color, pecks of black shine inside her eyes, I don't even think she knows that detail about herself in the first place.

Her hair is wild in messy curls around her, hanging by her shoulders, "Enzo." My name rolls off her lips with a thick layer, nearly filled with dread, I keep my expression blank, or at least try not to let my frustration show on my face when she continues avoiding my gaze.

"Levine." I state, my voice sounding hoarse as if I haven't spoken in a while, she finally looks up at me, "Didn't know we were stating our names." My lips pull upward in amusement, "Don't smile like that." She murmurs under her breath.

Cheeks reddening, I cock my head, raising one eyebrow "Like what?" I ask, part of me curious, part of me provoking, "Like a fucking psycho." She curses, my smile widens.