I Know You’re Not

I hammered at the nail violently, instead striking my thumb. I hissed out a few words of choice. I heard a chuckle behind me. I turned and saw my boyfriend, paint on his clothes.

"Are you done?" I asked. He nodded. "Then paint the hallway." He left and I went back to the nail. I glared at it. Was it really worth the trouble? I mean, physical pain is really nothing, but I'm stressing out over a nail. I shook my head. I had to do it, I don't trust anyone but my dad and myself when it came to repairing doors.

I hammered the nail again, finally finishing the job. I sighed and put the hammer down. I felt someone touch my arm and I jumped the froze. My breathing sped up and my heart raced. I counted, trying to center myself.

"Are you okay?" I heard the voice of my boyfriend. No way was he done painting the hall.

"I'm fine," I slowly enunciate, making sure I didn't stutter.

"I know you're not," he said. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine."

"Tell me."

"Nothing is wrong."

"Please tell me."

"There is nothing to tell." I was slowly getting mad at him for prodding when I didn't want to answer, but I was finally calmed from him suddenly touching my arm. I turned to him. He was looking at me softly, concern in his eyes.

"Love, if you don't tell me what's wrong-" I cut him off, suddenly saddened by his look.

"I'm fine. I was just scared by you touching my arm without warning. You know why. Now I'm sad that you're concerned." he brought me into a hug.

"It's my job to be concerned for you, you're my woman. And I wouldn't trade this for anything. I'm sorry I touched you're arm."

"It's okay." I looked up at him and smiled. "So, how much of the hall is done?"

"I ran out of paint so only about a sixth of it." He grinned at me. I shook my head and we talked about the color, trying to remember what the heck it was called, as the paint had covered the name. Home repairs and pretending to be fine, is this supposed to be normal?