Final 5 POV Short Story

I keep a paint stained t-shirt in the top drawer of my dresser. It's from one of the projects we completed together, trying to remodel our apartment and make it look new. I sometimes hold the tshirt close to my chest and sniff it, hoping that it could possibly still smell of you. It does a little bit, only because I haven’t stopped using the detergent that we shared together, and it still smells faintly of soap after I tried to clean it in the washing machine.

Whenever I see that shirt, I remember that day like it was yesterday. I remember the paint can had never been opened before, so you had to get under the lid and pry it off with a screwdriver. You said it was being stubborn right before it popped off with a sound that made me think about how once you crack something open like that it can never be covered as tightly again. You chuckled as you mumbled about how it reminded you of how our relationship started – how you had to ask me out five times before I accepted to go on one date with you.

I painted one wall and you painted the opposite one. We sang along to Chasing Cars at the top of our lungs and now whenever I hear that song, I'm reminded of you and the smell of wet paint. There are many songs that make me thing of you, actually. I was never afraid to do that in front of you, despite the fact that your voice was basically angelic. You didn’t care, you just liked to spend time with me and bond with me over our similar music taste. I loved that about you.

As our paths crossed, you surprised me by pressing your red wet hand against my chest - right under my left shoulder, marking me with your print right over my heart. I was mad that you ruined my shirt until you laughed, and I couldn't help but laugh too. You were cheesy like that and while it was silly, I also loved that about you too. You took my hand, placed it in the paint, and made me put my hand over your chest too. You really had me believing that we were made for one another – that my heart was yours and your heart was mine. It was everything I had ever wanted in a relationship, and I was truly happy.

Now all these years later I keep trying to scrub that stain out of that shirt. I rinse it in the sink, hoping water will magically clean the mess you left but all it does is turn the water red as it circles the drain and the stain still remains. There’s nothing I can do to try to erase you from this shirt or from my memory. What sucks is that I don't expect you to understand what I'm talking about; I never got anything on you that you couldn't manage to wipe off.