The Arthouse

Stefano

I got to skip school for the rest of the day, so that was nice. Nothing better than not having to go to math class and getting ice cream instead. Mamma was very worried about me when she got the call, and came to pick me up almost immediately.

"What even happened that would cause this?" she asks me over ice cream.

"Some guy was threatening Yukiko, so I stepped in to take the hit for her."

I'm wearing sunglasses inside. I feel like a rockstar.

"Who's Yukiko?" Mamma takes another bite of her rocky road ice cream.

"She's that girl I was hanging out with after school a few days ago. We're friends."

Her eyes well up when I say that. I can tell she's holding back tears. I never had any good friends back home. That's probably the only thing I don't miss about Venezia. Maybe one day I'll get to take Yukiko there.

Later that night there was a knock on the front door. After some happy sounding exclamations from my mother and some footsteps up the stairs, I hear a second knock on mine.

I quickly throw some clothes littering my floor into my hamper before I open it.

Before I even get it open all the way, I nearly get tackled in a hug from Yukiko.

"You're an idiot," she squeezes the air out of me.

Mamma chuckles. "It's nice finally meeting this Yukiko I've heard so much about."

"What are you doing here, Yukiko?" I choke out as she continues to squeeze me like a stress toy.

"What?" She lets go and ruffles my hair, "Am I not allowed to keep my best friend company?"
I hear Mamma gently go back downstairs, door still open.

"I'm your best friend?"

"Of course, dummy." I see her beam in the dark, her smile almost bright enough to worsen my concussion. "You're all I got. And you're a damn good friend, too. Can't think of many people that would take a punch from Brick for someone."

"What else was I supposed to do?" I chuckle. "Stay back and let him hit you?"

"Oh what? Think I can't take a punch?" She puffs out her chest and pouts.

"Not from Brick," I smirk as I stare down at her, hands behind my back.

I never noticed how beautiful her eyes are. Even in the darkness, I can see the depth and refractions in them, from dark mahogany to sparkling bright amber. I can feel my heart try and crawl its way out of my throat as my mouth goes dry.

"Stefano...?" Her lips part slightly as she continues to stare at me.

Her lips are beautiful, the color of black acrylic paint. It's just black lipstick and a clear gloss on top, yet I wonder once again if it feels like acrylic paint.

I'm frozen in this moment, like a painting back at home. There are so many options before me, and I don't know which one I should take.

My heart, still in my throat, is blocking any words from leaving my mouth. All I can do is die slowly as I stare at the most beautiful work of art in the whole world, who for some reason is standing in my bedroom.

This was a mistake. All of this was a mistake! With one glance, I've fallen into a swirling vortex of paint I'll never be able to swim out of.

"You're... staring at my lips again," her voice pierces through my thoughts like a dagger.

"Scusa, scusa," I apologize, breaking eye contact.

"You okay?"

"Must just be the concussion," I lie.

I turn away to grab my sunglasses.

"You could've kissed me, ya'know," she nearly spits out in confession.

I freeze in place. My heart picks up a rapid pace once more. There's no way I heard her correctly.

"What?"

She grabs my hand. Her skin is so soft, like glossy printer paper. I can see her jaw clench as she turns her face away.

"I... like you a lot, Stefano."

"I like you too," I respond, sweating through my shirt in my freezing dark room. "You're my closest friend, Yukiko."

She lets go of my hand.

"Oh... I should, uh," she chokes something back, "I should... just go..."

Did I say the wrong thing? I said the wrong thing. All I can do now is close the door and crawl under the covers.

My mom knocks on the door, but I don't answer. I fall asleep in my clothes.

***

K-fsh!

I snap a picture of the water. It's a beach I think I went to years and years ago. Marble columns litter the sand, some topped with miscellaneous statues. In the background, I feel I can make out a Mozart tune. It's a sad one, I think.

And over the water, I see her. She beckons to me, calling to me, black acrylic paint dripping down from her fingers and hair. I go to move, longing to follow her to the ends of the earth to be with her. 

But I can't move. My legs are the same pillars as the ones I see speckled on the beach I'm photographing.

She turns to leave. My torso aches. She weeps black acrylic paint.

The world floods. I can't swim up.