[You Got My Soul]

9°

» "even though you're all alone. All alone when I am gone. I just wanna keep you warm. I'm coming back, I'm coming back..."

Wyatt Household;

Paris laid across her bed, hair wild and face puffy with tears. She didn't get it, why did she feel like this? She certainly didn't want to.

"Paris!" She heard her step-father's baritone voice call from behind her closed bedroom door.

"Yes?" She groaned, not moving her face from the pillow.

"That...boy's here." He remarked, his muffled voice just loud enough to be understood through her wooden door.

Paris quickly sat up, wiping her tears away and trying to fix her hair with her hand. Seconds later, there was a knock on door.

"Come in." She projected, making one last sniffled.

Bryson walked in with his book bag on his shoulders. He looked pretty tired from the day but facial expression changed once he saw Paris' puffy face.

"What happened?" He asked, concern in his voice.

Pretending to be confused, Paris gave him a look and tilted her head.

"Nothing, I'm fine. How did it go wi— "

"No, no, no. This what I mean by you not being comfortable with me. Tell me what's wrong with you." He said sitting beside her on the bed.

"I'm fine, Bryson. Really." She lied and tried to give him an assuring smile but he wasn't falling for it.

"You know I care about you, right? I'm never going to hurt you— not on purpose and I'm a hella loyal friend so why don't you trust me?"

Paris remained silent and covered her hands with her face as she felt more tears forming in her eyes. Bryson, who was clueless as to why she was crying, just pulled her closer to him and let her cry into his chest.

"Damn, Paris. Just talk to me." He said stroking her curly hair.

"You don't understand, Bryson..." She sniffled, feeling a headache coming on.

"What don't I understand?" He asked, pulling her face up from his tearstained shirt by her chin.

"It's getting harder.." She admitted lowly, looking into his brown eyes.

It was getting harder for her to pretend that she only saw him as friend. It was getting harder for her to pretend that she didn't care about him talking to another girl. It was getting harder for her to see him everyday and not tell him how much she really loved him.

"Just tell me what's wrong, Paris." He pressed, wiping her tears away.

"I can't," She said sitting up and trying to get herself together, "But I promise, it's nothing for you to worry about. I'm fine."

Bryson, seeming to give up, laid his head against her headboard and just sighed.

"Well, if you ever decide you want to tell me, I'm right here."