I start painting fast and messy, the bristles skidding across the canvas like a storm breaking loose. The music coils through the studio, bass thrumming low in my chest, and suddenly—
I’m back there.
~ A memory ~
He’s perched in the corner of his bedroom, guitar resting against his thigh, fingers moving easily over the strings as Lil Peep hums through the speakers. His voice joins in—raspy andheartbreakinglybeautiful, like the words are being dragged straight out of his chest.
I can’t stop staring.
His hair keeps falling into his eyes, and he keeps shaking it away, laughing softly to himself as he plays. He’s more of a rocker, always has been, but he can sing anything. We’ve only been together a few months. I’m seventeen. He’s eighteen.
It already feels like forever.
He stops mid-verse and glances up at me, eyebrows lifting, that crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “What?” he asks.
I shift on the bed, nerves buzzing. Then, without really thinking, I ask, “Have you ever...had sex before?”
He freezes. Then he lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging after a beat. “Once.”
Something tightens in my stomach.
He sets the guitar aside immediately and leans toward me, brushing my hair back with careful fingers. “Hey,” he murmurs,voice gentler now. “No pressure. None at all, okay? I’m happy taking things slow.”
Relief crashes through me. Before I can overthink it, I lean in and kiss him.
He kisses me back, slowly and carefully. His hand cups my chin, his thumb warm against my skin as his tongue brushes mine. My heart feels too big for my chest, like it might split me open.
The song“Right Here”by Lil Peep plays in the background, and something swells inside me—so full it hurts. I pull back just enough to breathe, our lips still touching, and he searches my face with those hazel eyes.
“You okay?” he asks, a teasing softness in his smile.
My throat tightens. The words feel fragile, but I can’t keep them in. “I…” My voice barely works. “…I love you, Jude.”
His smile hits me like sunlight breaking through cloud cover. He kisses me again, deeper this time, like he’s been holding back. When he pulls away, his thumb strokes my cheek.
“I love you too, Emma,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking glad you said it—I was about to explode.”
I burst out laughing, my face still leaning into his hand. And I know, without a single doubt, that he’s my forever.
~*~
My lip trembles, and I bite down hard, but it doesn’t stop the tears. They spill anyway, dripping onto my paint-smeared hands. I drag a streak across the canvas, the ache in my chest twisting itself intocolor and motion.
I can almosthearhim. That soft laugh.
My hands shake as I paint, tears slipping down my face and landing on the canvas, thinning the pigment. I don’t wipe them away. I let everything bleed. Every memory. Every lyric of everybeautiful song he sang to me. Every color that ever reminded me of him.
The song loops again. And again. And again.
I don’t turn it off.
My fingers tremble so hard the brush knocks against the palette, clattering to the floor for a split second before I grab it again. My chest heaves like I’ve been running. But I don’t stop. If I stop, I’ll feel the silence. And it just might kill me.
I drag the brush across the canvas, pressing harder than I should, like I can carve our old life back into existence if I just push enough.
I have to survive this.
Ihaveto.