Stay

I stared at my painting. There was an array of blue on the canvas, something I would have been proud of when I was in high school. I am a college art teacher now and I know what good art is and this wasn't anywhere near good art. It was shit. It would have been positively futile to try and save it. My thoughts were interrupted by Sam walking into the door. He looked like shit too. His face looked so confused and scared, I wasn't used to him being insecure. He put his suitcase he had been holding down on the floor, and came over to kiss me. He looked at my painting. "This is beautiful, Lila." He said with a fake smile on his face.

I shook my head," No, it really isn't. I give up on it." He kept his eyes on my painting, I could tell he wasn't really looking at it, his mind was thinking about something other than my shit painting. Then I realized what he was thinking.

"Does he still wanna do it?" This disrupted his trance.

"Lila, I don't wanna talk about it." I walked into the wash room. Sam could be so immature, I was trying to help him, but he's too damn concerned about my mental health.

"You mean you don't want to talk about it with me." I said loud enough so he could hear me over me washing my hands of paint. There was no response just the running water filling the silence. He walked into the room and opened up the medicine cabinet and held my prescription pill bottle. "What are you doing Sam." I said exhausted.

"You haven't been taking your pills, it scares me. I've been counting, there have been ten for weeks now." I was so irked, I felt so like I was still his patient. I no longer needed them, I was better. He just wouldn't believe me for some reason.

"Sam you have to learn how to trust me. I can't paint on meds, anyway I don't need them Sam. I am better. I promise." I said trying to comfort him. We were facing each other now. I brushed his hair out of his eyes. There were bags under them like he hadn't slept in weeks. This kid was eating him up, I was scared for him. Sam was obsessed. He needed someone to talk to for once, and he wouldn't talk to me.

I took his hand and placed it on one of my wrists which had four three inch scars on it. This would terrify him, but it had to happen. "Sam, I wish these could go away, I really do. If there was something I could do about it, I would. Just so you wouldn't be reminded. You have to believe me Sam.
" I love you, I always will. But in order for this to work we have to trust each other, Sam." His hands were shaking at this point.

"I love you too Lila. I trust you." He took his hand away. "I have to go, I've got another appointment." He hugged me tightly and made for the door. I followed him.

"Sam are you forgetting something?" I said referring to his suitcase. He turned around bewildered which was surprising, I didn't say anything wrong. "What's wrong?"

"You just called me Henry." He said almost angrily.

"Baby, I think i know who you are by now." I said jokingly so he wouldn't get upset.

"You just called me Henry."

"Sam, I know who you are. Here." I said giving him his suit case.

"Thank you." He said in a confused voice, then leaned in to kiss me good-bye.