The Artist's Wife (BWWM)

Chapter 27~ Here

"Hear yourself out, Karina. That makes no sense."

"I deserve to die."

I was positive that he had seen the pictures, he knew everything now and I wasn't sure how that made me feel. My secret was out, my big secret, he knew.

"And your dying solves what?" He growled, getting up from his sitting position by my beside and running his hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea how it felt to think I was losing you the second time?"

"You don't understand anything!" I snapped, trying to sit up and wincing in pain at that little activity. I noticed Gerard's hard expression soften at my pain but masking it immediately when he realized he was still mad at me.

"Don't sit up yet, baby."

I winced, obeying. "You don't know how it feels to have guilt eating at you, to live in constant fear of people finding out about the freak you actually are." My voice broke around this point, as I gently brushed the cascades of black curls from my face. "You don't know how it feels to be unable to feel anything but nothingness."

He was quiet, so I continued. "My life is ruined, completely. God, do you know how many times I've tried to say no to men and couldn't? How many therapies I've gone through? I'm an addict." I gave a burst of shaky laughter. "You don't know anything, Gerard. At all."

We stared at each other for a few seconds, my chest rising and falling, making my naked breasts strain out of the material of the dress. Beads of sweat were starting to form on my face and I suddenly longed to have a drink of water to quench the ache.

Gerard sat back down, his weight depressing the bed and I noticed the usual tired circles around his eyes caused by his insomnia. My eyes dropped to his grey v-neck and I felt like burying my face in it, soaking my worries into his chest.

"Is that what you think?" He asked, quietly. "That I don't understand how you're feeling?"

I nodded once.

"Karina, honey." His voice was soft and gentle now, as rich as dripping honey. "Why do you think I paint?"

I bit down on my lip, thinking about his question and coming up with no sensible enough answer. "Because you have mad talent which half of the world's population would trade their souls for?"

"No, not that." He chuckled, mirthlessly. "Sweetheart, I paint because I'm emotionally tormented. You'd be surprised that it runs even deeper than yours."

I raised my brow but he was still talking. "Guilt, like you talked about is a powerful thing. It eats you alive, it's eaten me for years now."

"What do you mean by--" my question was interrupted by the door opening and clanking of a walking stick by a character I knew all too well.

"Hey, G, I heard voices, she awake now?" JT was without his shades, his eyes staring at the bed where he assumed that I would be. He was dressed in a white tee that had the slogan 'weirdo' in bold red and jeans.

"I'm fine, Taelor," I said, picking his middle name which he expressly told me to never use. His eyes fell onto my exact location on the bed and he shook his head slowly.

"Bella, I thought I would never hear you call me that again," he sniffled, making his way to the bed with relative ease. He settled on my side, Gerard staying on the other and tackled me in a bear hug. "Promise you'll never try that again?"