Your Metaphor

HOPE'S POV

"Hey." Michael said bluntly as he walked straight past me through the door.

I sighed and mumbled to myself "Come on in." Michael walked through the empty hallway, me following him. He stared at the once bright and colorful walls that mom had painted. They were now grey. Dad didn't want any trace of her left in the house, so he replaced everything. The furniture she sat on, the carpets she walked on, the bed, most of the bathroom and worst of all, her craft room.

Mom had always been painting and drawing for as long as she was In my life. Most of her paintings were In that craft room and it was heartbreaking to see them being demolished. Dad let me keep one, though. The one that meant the most. A picture of me, my mom and my dad together at the seaside when I was little that she had recreated from canvas and paint. It made me shed a few tears everytime I saw it.

"Uhm... Why are there nails sticking out of the walls?" Michael asked awkwardly, pointing to where the photos dad smashed used to be.

"Re decorating the place." I lied quietly.

"Uh huh like a torture dungeon?" He laughed.

"Well. I'll tell you the real reason but you've got to promise that you wont make fun of me and my broken home." I said, thinking he wouldn't understand, but after seeing his reaction, I felt like maybe he did.

"Why would I? Broken homes are not funny. I had one myself." He said, looking me straight in the eyes.I hesitated to tell him. Everyone at school knew that I come from a broken home but nobody knows my story. I didn't know if I could trust him or not. But I had to tell somebody.

"Okay well. My mom died when I was younger and ever since then my dad's been distant, drunk and lazy. I barely see him and I don't think I want to ever again. The nails were from where mom's picture frames were, dad took them down and smashed them all." I explained, I didn't want to but I had to be honest. I tried not to cry, because whenever I really thought of my mom, I would loose it.

"I'm sorry that its like that. But I'm here to help if you're feeling low. You shouldn't be drowning on your own." He said comfortingly and wrapped his arm around my shoulder which I really liked. It made me feel comforted and not lonely anymore.

"Thank you Michael. Can I be honest with you?" Like I hadn't just been obvious two seconds before.

"Of course." He replied frowning, like he felt bad for me.

"Well. I thought that you might've been drunk when you sent me that text." I murmured.

"Oh... Sorry?" He asked, not knowing how to respond.

"No, I'm happy you're not drunk. I wouldn't have been able to get it all off my chest without you here."

"Well. I'm glad I could help. You're not alone Hope. I have a similar story." He smiled, and kissed my temple gently. It sent a shiver down my spine, feeling his warm breath on my ear.

"What's your story?" I questioned but instantly regretted it. He wouldn't tell me.

"That's a story for another day. Its getting quite late now. I should head back." He smiled, getting up off the couch. I hadn't realised how much time had gone by. It was now 11PM.

"Well you can stay here if you want?" I said shyly.

"I'd love to." He replied with no hesitation, and I was glad he was staying.

MICHAEL'S POV
I stayed at Hope's place that night. I told her I'd take the couch bur she insisted on me sleeping in her bed so she took the couch. I felt terrible during the night. Knowing that she was down there on her own, probably freezing since it was mid winter. She said her dad wouldn't be home tonight so I was okay to sleep here. I woke up in the middle of the night and went downstairs, seeing Hope sprawled out across the leather couch. I chuckled and picked her up carefully.

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