Jack and I walked upstairs to my bedroom, the tension just starting to kick in. I was doubtful that he actually liked me and a bit scared of what he wanted to tell me. He was stony-faced and playing with the hem of his shirt, which I didn't think was a good sign.
We reached the top of the stairs, and I led him down the hall to my room. I pushed it open, feeling suddenly insecure about the room's current cleanliness. Fortunately, Jack didn't seem put off by the mess. He was more focused on my paintings.
My first one, the one I cringe to look at, was hidden in my closet, but all my others were prominently on display. The painting I had finished days before, the one with the kids, was front-and-center, and I suddenly noticed a little smudge of black in the middle of the forest. The still-life I had attempted weeks before had seemed like a decent work at the time, but as soon as Jack stepped in all its flaws came to life before my eyes. And it wasn't the only one to do that. Every painting in the room instantly became the worst painting I'd ever done, all at the same time. I died inside.
"Wow, these are really good," commented Jack. "Do you name them?"
"I...yeah, I do," I stuttered. "They all have names, except for that one." I pointed to the one with the kids.
Jack took a long look at it, then turned to me. "What about 'Kids In The Dark'?"
I pondered it for a moment. "I like it."
He smiled. "Can we sit down?"
I nodded. "Sure." We sat down next to each other on my bed.
Jack faced me, looking solemn suddenly. "You know what I want to talk about."
"Yesterday," I said.
"I feel like I totally invaded your privacy," he said. "I mean, if I had a panic attack in the middle of class, I'd at least want the person who saw most of it to be soneone I was really familiar with."
"Honestly, I'd rather it be you than anyone else in that class," I blurted.
Jack smiled, a bit flustered-looking. "Anyway," he went on, "I invaded your privacy, so it's only fair that you get to invade mine." With that, he pulled up his shirt, revealing his stomach and several lines of thin, white scars that I instantly recognized.
"I don't show these to many people," he said, staring down at his stomach. "Just the ones I think deserve to see them."
"If you don't mind me asking, do you still do it?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I've been clean for about a month and a half." He put his shirt back down and turned to face me. "You can't really compare this to a panic attack, but I wanted you to know I trust you."
"And I trust you, too. I trust you enough to know you'll stay clean. Please don't...I don't know what I'd do if..." I lost my confidence halfway through the sentence.
"You sound like you're speaking from experience. Do you...?" He trailed off, reluctant.
"Not me. But I knew someone who did. They stopped. It wasn't because they got better."
Jack looked down, away from me. Oh no. I probably offended him, and now he regrets ever trusting me with anything. He hates me now, I'm sure of it.
All of a sudden, he put his arm around me, as if to say, "Hey. It's okay. I'm still here and I don't really want to leave."
I smiled, a bit relieved. "Do you want to go back downstairs and play video games or something?"
He looked up. "Sure."
*****AUTHOR'S NOTE*****
Sorry.
YOU ARE READING
I Painted A Picture (Jalex)
Fanfiction"You know, you're really hot." "What?" "Fuck, that was a terrible idea, why did I say that?" Alex Gaskarth, a painter with a fucked-up life, meets Jack Barakat, an actor also with a fucked-up life. All goes well, until we get to the fucked-up life p...
