Paint a Picture With My Hands

by

XxTheLadyInRedxX

A/N: New story dedicated to my friend. All the characters and what not are mine. Tell me what you think.

x-x-x

"Sunday Morning rain is falling

Steal some covers, share some skin

And clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable

You twist to fit the mold that I am in"

She was silent, like she always was. Keeping to herself, over thinking memories in her head, wishing she could make the nightmares go away┘like she always was.

"But things just get so crazy, living life gets hard to do

And I would gladly hit the road, get up and go if I knew

That someday it would lead me back to you

That someday it would lead me back to you"

Things weren't getting better. The truth is, they might just have been getting worse.

"That maybe all I need

In darkness she is all I see

Come and rest your bones with me

I'm driving slow on Sunday morning

And I never wanna leave"

She stared at the blank wall in her room. It was just staring at her, asking her to relieve her stress. And in a blink of an eye, she pulled the floor board up and pulled a bucket of paint out of the secret hole. With one last glance at the wall, she through her hands into the bucket. It felt good feeling the paint against her skin. Red - it was a nice color.

Splat!

And soon enough it was splattered on the wall. Working faster, she dabbed her hands once more.

Splat!

The paint dripped as it made its way down the wall. It was messy - like a lot of things in her life. But that's just what it had always been like. And there was no changing it.

Splat!

Her hands swept across the wall, feeling the smooth texture. Sighing, she looked to her side, seeing her reflection in the mirror. At first glance she seemed normal. But as she looked closer, she could see the imperfections. Her hair had been tied into a neat ponytail, but now, with strands escaping from the tight grip, she laughed at the similarities.

"My fingers trace your every outline

Paint a picture with my hands

And back and forth we sway like branches in a storm

Change of weather, still together when it ends"

"Delilah! Get your ass down here!"

Slamming her hands against the wall, she looked down at her feet, wondering if she should respond.

"Now!"

Groaning, she took one last look in the mirror. All she was wearing was a really big white shirt that she usually put on when she painted. Andrew would not be happy to see her this way. Pulling off the paint-stricken cloth, she grabbed a pair of jeans and tugged them on, along with a red sweater.

"Do I have to come up there?"

"I'll be right down!"

With a sigh, she dragged her feet to the door and down the stairs. He waited for her there, arms crossed as if he were disappointed.

"Yes?" she asked, tired.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked. Delilah looked back in confusion.

"I thought I was talking to you," she suggested.

"Don't get sarcastic with me!" Andrew sighed, putting a hand to his head. "Look, Lilah, I don't want to keep having this conversation. It's been a year-"

"Stop!" she said venomously. "I told you, I'm fine-"

"Yeah, and I think I know you well enough to know when your hiding your feelings. You're always hiding your feelings. Ever since the first day I met you," he stated.

"That was fifteen years ago, Andrew," she said, glaring at him.

"Yeah, but you still haven't seemed to open up," he whispered. "I don't want you to tell me anything, I don't want you to even explain to me how the hell you keep yourself going everyday. I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," she mumbled.

"When's the last time you went out?" he asked.

"Yesterday!" she retorted.

"Work isn't going out, alright," he grumbled. "But thank God you have the dance studio to keep you out of that room."

"Look, I should go back up-"

"Why? So you'll continue to listen to depressing songs and wish he'd-"

"Andrew," she whispered, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I don't want to talk about this."

It sent chills down her spine just thinking about it...

"Lilah?" he asked with pleading eyes. "Please don't be sad."

"I - I don't know what to do, Andrew," she sniffled.

"Go out once in a while, will you? For me?" he begged. Wiping a tear away with her sleeve, she nodded.

"Alright," she whispered.

"Driving slow on Sunday morning

And I never want to leave..."