My Art (Elio Perlman)

Family friend

Art is what makes me happy. It makes me feel whole and sane. Though, there are many different forms of it. Music, painting, drawing, dance, photography, poetry. The list goes on and on.

I've always relied on my paintings to make me happy. I needed them as a way to express my emotions.

But as I lay in bed next to Elio, my hand delicately running up and down his torso as the sun floods through the room casting upon his body, I realize that Elio is art.

He is my art.

♪♪♪

I don't know how I ended up here; in the bed of someone I didn't know. I look over to find a scrawny boy with blonde hair.

I probably just got to drunk and Marzia pushed me off onto some guy.

I roll my eyes and slide out of his bed. I watch him carefully as I slide on my black dress from the night before.

I pray that he lives alone. I pray that I don't run into any family or friends on my way out.

To my luck, I walk down his stairs and enter his silent living room, no one in sight.

I quietly celebrate as I open the door and run out.

_____

I'd hitched a ride on a random boys bike to get home.

I walk into the kitchen of my home to see my mom making breakfast.

"Ciao!" I say, running up stairs, not ready for her questioning yet.

"We have guest coming over! Be ready!" She yells back.

I groan as I enter my room and flop onto my bed.

"Sweetie." My dad knocks on my door.

"Come in." I say, sitting up and containing myself.

He opens the door and walks in with an apologetic smile. "Listen, I know you hate visitors, but this is really important to your mother. Their family friends from when you were a baby. Just be nice for a few hours. Please?"

"Fine. But I'm not doing this for mom. I'm doing it for you." I cross my arms.

He laughs. "I know." And walks out.

My mother and I but heads all the time. Call it what you want, "mommy issues," "disrespect," "worthless teen girl." Believe me, I've hear it all.

I do everything for my dad. He's always been there when my mother was wild, when school wasn't going well, when I got my heart broken. He never complains about taking care of me.

I do my best to make things easier on him.

That's why after he walked out of my room, I go straight to my bathroom and take a hot bath.

I brush my teeth to get the smell of alcohol out of my mouth.

As I sift through my closet, another person knocks on my door.

"Come in." I say, not turning around.

"Wear something nice, Mia." My mom peaks her head in the door. "They have a boy your age. He's quite handsome."