Devoid [Bruno Mars]

Chapter twenty-six

Chapter twenty-six

After waking, I rolled to Bruno's empty side of the bed and buried myself there. My lungs breathed deeply. I closed my eyes again, only to open them with a start after having the feeling of wanting to fall asleep again. Isn't that feeling the one to blame for pushing me into a black hole carved by medicine?

“You're up.”

I pushed myself upright. Bruno emerged from the bathroom, dressed in boxers and a T-shirt. He stepped into the line of light streaming from the window. It turned his eyes, even his hair, a few shades lighter. He sat at the edge of the bed, angling towards me. His voice was low and soft. “You slept good? It's twelve in the afternoon.”

I nodded as a reply, and he asked me if I was feeling all right. I pulled my knees to my chest. “I feel a little weak.”

“We'll get that strength back up.” He gazed at me for a short moment. “If I can. . .?” He leaned in after my whispered permission. He brushed his lips against mine, and I couldn't help but sensing something mournful in his kiss. He pulled away. Within his eyes stirred something deep and indecipherable. He then leaned against my legs, which became strained to hold his weight. He stared blankly at the wall opposite. His eyes were dark, the rings around them even darker. His eyelids drooped, just like his shoulders.

“Hey,” I said alarmingly, reaching out to touch his arm. “Are you okay?”

“I'm good,” he answered almost immediately. Turning his head to me he smiled tiredly. “There's food waiting on you. You might wanna hurry up, too. I got a surprise for you.”

Just as I finished breakfast, Bruno jerked his head to the hallway, gesturing for me to follow before he disappeared within it. I rose from my seat and disposed of my plate in the sink. “This was my other gift for you,” he called out as I approached. “other than the key to this place.”

He stood before a closed door that led to one of the three guest rooms in the house. It remained closed always, including the others. There was never any use for them other than to collect dust, for the furniture to take up useless space.

Bruno appeared better than he seemed earlier. His eyes were alight, dancing. It made my inside bright. “I always loved doors,” I said. “The screws are my favorite.”

“Mine are the booty hinges. They're underrated,” was his smooth reply. “I wanted to explain to you at dinner the reason I gave you that key. Before you, I rarely stayed here. But now I'm here all the time and I don't mind it. You make this place feel like home. It was only right for you to have access to it whenever.” He placed his hand on the doorknob, his smile faint and a little shy. “But I think it needs a little bit more you.”

He swung the door open, not once taking his eyes off me even when he stepped aside to allow me in. I drew in a breath at the sight. My feet met with soft, white sheet covering every square foot of the room, which had been stripped of all furniture with the exception of a black futon against one wall, a simple wooden table running the length of it and littered on that: drawing paraphernalia, a pallette, cans of paint, and all sorts of brushes. Selecting one randomly, my fingers wandered over the medium bristles. Their roughness sent a twitch through my hands. I faced the rest of the room. My mind whirled with possibilities of what could coat the whitewashed walls. A maelstrom of colors and imaginations my head became, sending eagerness running through my veins.

“You're fascinating,” Bruno said softly, my reverie shattering into a thousand pieces. I turned to see him watching me from the door frame. “To see your eyes take in something, I get jealous. I wish that you were looking at me, taking me in instead.”