"You can pick out a shirt from my closet." He pointed out and I made my way into his huge walk-in closet, I didn't even know which shirt to pick. I didn't want to pick out any of the expensive-looking fancy ones so I chose a random plain white baggy one and changed into it.
River was on the couch and gestured for me to take the bed and I did just that, it was a king-sized bed and it felt so odd to be in it all alone. And plus it was unfair, it washisbed and I was the guest so I should be taking the couch.
"Come here," I insisted and he made his way over to me and joined me on the other side of the bed, I leaned my head on his chest and I could hear his heartbeat over the fabric of his T-shirt.
I reached over and held his hand in mine and traced my fingers over the scars, over and around, up and down trying to understand.
"You shouldn't do this to yourself." I murmured, "Why do you do it?"
"Sometimes everything feels sort of too much and I don't know how to process it. When I was a kid my mother would cry and ask me what she did wrong, she'd say si tan solo pudieras amarte a ti mismo como yo te amo, sangre de mi sangre. Which I later found out means,if only you could love yourself in the way that I love you, blood of my blood," He whispers looking up at the ceiling, "I guess a part of me thinks it's easier to do this and hurt myself than to hurt anyone else."
"When I was fifteen I used to pull out my hair whenever I got stressed, I had an empty patch at the back of my head for years and no one knew. I get it, that sometimes these things help to focus the pain so you don't feel it as much anymore, but it helps to talk about it to someone-- anyone. I know this might not mean a lot but Icare, and you can talk to me." I assured him, and I brought his hand to my lips and kissed the palm of his hand as he kissed my hair.
"You're wrong, it meanseverythingto me." He assured me and I fell asleep in his arms at that.
When I awoke I was alone in bed, I sat up and checked the time on my phone and I squinted my eyes from the brightness, it was 3 AM. I slipped out of the sheets and I made my way up to the art room to find him. I knocked on the door, but no one answered, I pushed open the wooden door and it creaked open. I stood in the doorway with my arms folded in frustration, I was prepared to drag him by his perfect dark hair if I needed to.
It took me a moment to realize exactly what it was that I was looking at, but once I did my heart stopped. There was River in the corner of the room with a scalpel in his hand, his beautiful painting of the Eiffel Tower had three huge gashes through it. When my eyes met his, he immediately dropped the blade, his eyes had always been the palest most captivating shade of blue, and at this moment they were wild and unfocused.
I'd seen this before with many artists in my grade, the idea that when you hate your art, you destroy it. But River was destroying himself and I couldn't stand by and watch. River had made an effort to be my rock, my comfort, and my safe place. It was time for me to be his. He was practically shaking, I took his hands in mine as he melted into my touch.
"Hey, I've got you," I assured him, "What happened?"
"I don't know, I just- I'm never fucking good enough Armani." He said, confiding in me. He rarely did that, he never liked talking about things that made him feel vulnerable, but I liked to believe that we were working on that—together.
"You're always good enough for me." I smiled looking into his eyes, I placed a comforting hand on his cheek and that's when I realized his pale skin was slick with sweat.
"It's not about you, don't you get it?" He shot spitefully and impatiently,
"River are you oka-" I spoke but before I could finish my sentence he nearly passed out into my arms.
"I feel like I can't breathe." He murmured almost incoherently, and that's when I realized he was having an anxiety attack. My little brother Jaadi used to get these all the time when he first started middle school, and I too when I had competitions so I knew what it's like.
"Yes, you can, breathe in," I instructed, lowering us down so we were face to face on the floor. "I promise it's all in your head, hold it, and breathe out." He did as I said and I could feel his heart rate slowing down.
"You don't know that." He replied,
"Do you trust me?" I repeated as he once asked me,
"I do." He replied,
"Close your eyes and picture the place where you're the happiest. Where you're free of any obligations and worries, it's just you. You look around you and what do you see?" I asked stroking the darkness of his hair,
"You." He said almost incoherently,
"What about me?" I asked stunned,
"I see you." He clarified, opening his eyes and my heart stopped, I sure as hell wasn't expectingthat.
He then leaned in to kiss me, softly and slowly and patiently. A kiss that saidyou'remy home.
I placed my hand beneath the fabric of his shirt and stroked his chest in an attempt to get him to calm down, As far as I knew, he'd never had an anxiety attack before. Once he calmed down he leaned his head on the cool tiles of the wall and I placed both my hands on either side of his face, our foreheads touching. We made our way back to his bedroom and I sat down with him on the cold floor at the foot of the king-sized bed.
"You're an amazing artist River Kennedy, you'll be perfectly fine," I assured him and his face scrunched up as he shifted uncomfortably, placing a hand over his stomach.
"Would it make you feel better if I told you I've been through all of this many times before?" I suggested giving him a sarcastic thumbs up, "Actually this takes me back to eleventh grade when-"
"Hey sorry not to cut this conversation short and all, you know I love your stories but I'm starting to feel really nauseous." River interrupted shutting his eyes and I realized, "I feel like I'm going to throw up."
