I don't know how I knew, or even how it entered my mind, but she was everything. It just seemed natural, like there wasn't any other way to see her, like this feeling had been there since the drawings on the wall. There was no eureka moment where I clutched at my heart with wide eyes and questioned everything I thought I knew about myself. It was just, right.
Even now, as I wash the blood off my hands, as I am repeatedly telling myself I am no good for her, that I would ruin her, she is everything. It still feels right. She's the only thing I see when I close my eyes, and when I wake, I want to run to her.
After redressing the wound, I head to the kitchen. I had bought some fruit to stock the fridge for when Bonnie worked late nights, not that she knew; when she locked herself in her studio, she was unreachable, and eating was barely a necessity. Even so, I always kept the fridge stocked. Before my...absence, I would bring food to her studio and Bonnie would listlessly comply, picking up whatever I gave her with one hand, working on whatever piece with the other.
When I realised how I felt for her, though I kept my distance, I restocked the fridge every couple of days, just in case. It wasn't my realisation that stayed me from telling her how I felt. It was my past, my future, me. She would be burdened by me, I would drag her down with me, and this was all on the slim chance she felt the same way for me. And if I told her and she turned me down, if she didn't feel the same way, as I know she doesn't, how could I bear seeing her after that? How could I face her? What if she felt betrayed? Her closest friend having ulterior motives...