Paint You Wings.

⊱⊱ Riley Van Acker ⊰⊰

Have you ever witnessed someone falling apart, right before your very eyes?

What if that someone was someone that you actually knew, someone that you actually cared about? Have you ever experienced the physical pain in your chest - as though your heart had withered away through the slots of your ribcage - while watching someone you cared so deeply about just... fall apart?

I held him in my arms as he sobbed. I didn't know the exact reason as to why he was so upset but I had a rough image as to the reasoning. I didn't expect to see him there, but there he was. I'd just been on my way out when I spotted a lone, hooded figure, hugging their knees to their chest as their shoulders heaved up and down repeatedly. They then tilted their head back to rest it against the bark of the thick tree, revealing their face. Although, with one glance to their left, their head ducked back down between their knees.

I didn't ask, I just crouched down beside him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He tensed up for a bit but as he searched my eyes for something; he eventually slumped down into my arms, wrapping his own arms around my waist and burying his face in the crook of my neck.

Alex clung to me like he was drowning and I was the only one who could save him.

He couldn't calm down his wrecked sobs that tore at my soul, no matter how much he tried. His breathing had gotten jerky and quick - giving me the impression that he suffered from panic attacks - so I just held him closer, taking slow, deliberate and deep breaths so that he would follow them.

I didn't need a reason as to why he was crying or on the brink of having a panic attack. I only wanted to comfort him, because sometimes all anyone needs is a hug and someone to listen to them.

"I'm sorry," he sniffles, pulling away to use the back of his hand to wipe his tears away from his cheeks and the area under his eyes. "God," he lets out a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. "I'm such a fucking pussy. I'm sorry."

I frowned at him, reaching into my back pocket for the notebook I had with me. I don't even know why I brought it, but I did, and I'm really glad that I did. Typing on a phone gets tiring after some time.

'Crying doesn't define you as a 'pussy'. Crying tells me, and yourself, that you've been strong for far too long and that you're slowly falling apart. It tells me that you are but a human being.'

He sends me a weak, barely there, smile; turning his head to the left again. His tattooed hand reaches out, rubbing away at some gunk that must've accumulated over time. His inked hand stops moving and he just lays it there, head down as his other hand goes to trace the tattoo. Since his body is covering the large font at the top, I only manage to see the title under the header.

Beloved son and brother.

My eyes dart to the tattoo, making the connection. We were at his brother's grave. I sit quietly on the grass before I realise that I should give Alex the privacy of visiting his late brother. I make a move to stand up and walk away, but Alex calls out my name.

"Stay." He says quietly, not looking up from where he was still staring at the grey tombstone. "Please."

So I stay, watching as he just... Stares. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't move. He just sits and stares. His eyes start to blink furiously and I know that he's holding back tears now, so I reach a hand out, placing it on his shoulder to rub at it comfortingly. His hand places itself over my own, bringing it down to intertwine with his fingers with mine instead.

And then he breaks.

Tears drip from the corner of his eyes, and they slowly roll down his cheeks, landing on his jean-clad thighs. He brings the hand that's entwined with mine to his lips, pressing multiple kisses to the back of my hand while caressing it with his other hand, the action almost mindlessly, - as though he's trying to reassure himself that I'm really there. That I'm not just a memory.

I can almost feel my heart breaking at the sight before me. He looks like a little kid and I feel as though there's nothing that I can do to make him feel better, and that kills me inside.

"He was my best friend." Alex says quietly. "Most older brothers would be total dick heads but mine... He was my best friend. He used to help me with my school work since I'd be too caught up in trying to become a rockstar." He lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head at the fond memory.

"He knew how to play the guitar, so he was the one to teach me. I didn't want to learn how to read notes and all that stuff, so Tom just went ahead and taught me how to play my favourite song at the time. It was probably something by Green Day. He influenced my music taste and I'm so fucking happy that he did 'cause if I didn't listen to the music that I did, I'd probably have never met the other guys. But where he was fantastic, I was always second-best. I didn't mind it at all, up until the point that his grades started to drop and he started acting out. We drifted apart. Where I found comfort in music, he found comfort in... Drugs. Alcohol.

"Mom and Dad were yelling at him one night, 'cause he'd been out the whole night and he didn't tell anyone where he was. He was still drunk and high, so he came up to my room instead. He wanted to talk to me about something but I yelled at him. I yelled at him. I remember... I said that I didn't want to talk to a druggie. I said that I'd rather not have a brother if he was going to be like that. And the next thing I know... Mom's waking me up because Tom's been found unconscious in his bathroom. If someone had found him just five minutes earlier, he would be alive. I'd still have my big brother. Five. Fucking. Minutes."

Tears leak from his eyes once again. Though he looks like a heartbroken little boy, his voice is quiet and steady as he speaks. He looks absolutely distraught. Lost. Helpless.

I want to tell him that it wasn't his fault, to use actual words. I open my mouth to try, but I cannot.

Stop screaming!

I said shut up, you stupid girl!

I told you to shut up, didn't I?

Memories from that night haunt my mind as I try to speak. I wouldn't believe what Luke had said if I hadn't seen the anger and betrayal in his eyes. He was telling the truth. But I still can't force myself to speak. It's impossible. That's why I ran here after confronting Linc. Linc knew but he didn't tell me.

Alex and I sit in silence for what seems like eternity but it doesn't matter because we're both caught up in our thoughts. Our hands remained interlocked and our position had somehow moved so that Alex was leaning his back against the tree once again and I was right next to him, shoulders and the length of our arms pressed up against each other.

The silence is comfortable and I have no desire to fill it, till he speaks: "Tell me something about you that I don't know."

I take a deep breath. He's shared a major part of his past with me, I guess it's only fair that I do the same. We'd go nowhere in this 'friendship-in-which-we-almost-kissed-and-then-never-spoke-about-it-again' if it wasn't a two way thing. I let go of his hand, albeit very reluctantly, and flip to a blank page of my notebook. My hand hesitates over the page, but I don't know how to make it not seem as bad as it really is.

'I watched my mother shoot my father and then herself when I was thirteen.'

Alex's eyes skim through the sentence, his eyes widening as his back straightens - looking at me with an absolutely horrified expression. I continue writing, because the only person who knows this is Linc; not even Luke knows this.

'We used to be a happy family, but I don't know what happened along the way. Mom started to stay out late and drink at night, gambling away Dad's hard earned money. Dad was the one to take care of me, working two to three jobs just to support us, and we managed. Then he realised that there was something wrong with Mom. It wasn't just drinking and gambling, she had a mental disorder. She had various different personalities. That's why she was so hot and cold all the time. Dad tried to convince her to get help but she ended up pulling the gun out. She shot him and then she shot herself, right in front of me. That's why I don't talk. The doctors say it's some kind of incurable PTSD.'

Alex says nothing as he finishes reading what I've written down. Then he slowly leans back down against the tree, wrapping his arm around my shoulder to gently tug me down from my cross-legged, straightened back position.

I hear an audible gulp and I glance at him, only to see that his eyes are unfocused, staring at nothing.

"I don't care, you know." He says suddenly, voice quiet, as though if he spoke any louder he'd break a piece of glass.

I shoot him a questioning look as he takes a quick glance at me. Alex offers me a weak smile, pulling me into him so that he's able to rest his chin on the top of my head. "I don't care that you don't talk. I'm just happy that I've met you. I never realised how much I needed you in my life till I met you." He adds the last part so softly that I think I've misheard him.

But I let him hold me, relishing in how nice it feels to be in his arms. Because although I'm still terrified of falling in love again, and even if I might have been hearing things, I know that I need him, and that I wouldn't know what I'd do if he left.

I'd be a proper mess, a broken memory of who I currently was, and I didn't want that to happen. Not again.

Alex Gaskarth had become a permanent fixture in my life and I needed him, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise.