The Bad Guy

VI: In My Room

There was an unparalleled serenity that came with being alone in your room. It shamelessly overpowered all loneliness, devoured all shame, and shattered all pain. Diana had taken the weekend to bury herself within the confines of her studio apartment. For the first time in months she did not desire a warm body, a night out, or a drag of nicotine. All she wanted to do was create.

Amidst a world that was chaotic, confusing, and all consuming, Diana found solace in loneliness, and understanding in art. In her adolescence, Diana was profoundly alone. The sisters that had grown by her side were decidedly absent, consumed by their personal hatred and general selfishness. Her parents worked tirelessly, dependent on Diana's perfection to balance them all. In other words, she was to be seen and not heard, to be touched and not felt. Beyond the domestic space, Diana found it difficult to relate to her peers, failing at almost every checkpoint of puberty. The bullying was unbearable, but what really broke her heart was the feeling of abnormality. Forever within and without; she could see the happiness that emanated from the friendships forming around her, and yet was never included, forever forced to wish for what could be.

It was in this within and without that she discovered a place in between. Her own little world, made for Di and only Di. In this realm she hid her dreams, her fears, her secrets; everything you were meant to share with a sister or a friend. She retreated within this world, further and further with each real life setback. It got to the point where, at 21 years of age, Diana did not recognize herself. There were two selves; the Real Di and the Performance of Di, parts sold separately. She could never reconcile the two. The realms could never touch, but then she herself could never connect to reality.

Rain fell in mass capacities, draping the city in a blanket of thunder. The apartment was yet again in great disorder, as Diana tended to throw cleanliness to the wind when caught in a phase of creativity. Unfinished canvasses were littered across the floor and positioned against the windows, on which droplets of water solemnly dribbled over their panes. Diana hovered over a larger canvas that she'd placed where the couch used to be, after having moved it into the kitchen for more space. Her knees were black from the charcoal she'd been using, tainting the newspapers that had been spread out underneath her. Wiping sweat off her forehead, Diana imprinted a black streak near her hairline. As if to not notice, she continued covering the surface with the medium, shading the figure vigorously until a knock came at the door.

Slightly frustrated at the interruption, Diana trudged over to her door, wiping charcoal onto her jeans. Breathing a sigh of relief, she said,"It's you! Thank god, you're the only one I could tolerate right now." She motioned Olivia to enter.

Olivia walked in with a smile, which began to fade as she took a longer look around the apartment. Turning around slowly, she questioned, "I see you've been busy? I hadn't heard from you, I was worried you were still hung up on Alejandro." She walked toward a window, observing an unfinished collage. "What do you call this one?"

"Oblivion. It's abstract." Diana had returned to her work, hovering over the piece yet again. You could tell she favored it; Olivia knew Diana never finished an artwork unless it was an obsession. Typically she'd grow sick of looking at them, doubt her skill, and shove them into her closet, ultimately wondering if she'd be working at a bakery for the rest of her life. Olivia walked across the studio and into the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge and sitting on the recently displaced couch. Taking a sip of her Coke, Liv asked, "So you're good on the Alejandro thing then?"

Still working on her canvas, Diana responded, "Yeah Liv, for sure. So good, actually. I've never been more good."

"You sure?" Olivia beckoned once again, staring skeptically through the barstools that divided Di's couch and the living room. "Yes, I'm sure. You were right. It was a waste of time. Go ahead, say I told you so." Diana sounded a little impatient then. Her skin grew warm and the sweat nervously trickled down her face and back, much like the rain that flowed through the streets. Olivia went silent. As if to feel the wounded effect of her own words, Diana paused her work, moving to the kitchen couch.

"I'm sorry, Liv. You now I have no negative feelings toward you, I never could. I guess I'm just...I don't know...unhappy. Not with you, but with myself. In this skin, this body, I just feel wrong. I say and do the wrong things, and I choose the wrong people. I mean, what was I doing with Alejandro? Have I not learned anything in all this time? Honestly, what the hell am I doing with my life?"

Olivia grabbed Diana's hand, squeezing it gently. "Di, come on. How long have we known each other? Six years? We know each other. Right down to the bone. In your marrow." Liv rose from her seat, grabbing a bottle of wine from her tote bag and searching the cabinets for glasses. As she opened the bottle, Olivia continued, "When I was a little girl, I used to wish I was a dandelion. Completely inconsequential. Nothing to do but exist, until the time comes to let my seeds go. No one expects anything of a dandelion, but to grow, and to die. Now, the older I get, the more I wish for that natural existence, away from all of this. I guess my point is, I know how you feel. Unhappiness is profoundly human." She passed a glass to Diana and jumped onto the counter, sitting cross-legged as she drank.

Taking a sip of her wine, Diana spread out her legs across the couch, staring off into the direction of the microwave. "That's the problem though, isn't it? We are human. People have nothing to offer us but expectations. They give us an outline of who we should be, only to chastise us when we fail to paint within the lines. Life is an endless performance, for an audience who will never be satisfied. One day a stagehand will find me in my dressing room with my wrists slashed. They'll put me on the podium and watch as the audience continues to express their disdain, even in death. They attach themselves like shackles on my ankles, as I leave a trail of blood on my way to hell."

"If anything you'll leave a trail of charcoal. I mean, have you seen the stains on that couch that you've caused?" Diana playfully kicked Olivia in the foot in response, letting out a small chuckle for the first time in a week. Somehow Olivia always knew how to make her laugh, even when Diana failed to see the joy in a single thing. "Yeah yeah yeah, you complain now, just wait until my work is on display in your snobby gallery! Then you'll be wishing it rained charcoal." The two laughed in unison as Olivia poured them another glass of wine.

Six glasses later, Olivia drunkenly Ubered home, happily muttering a song they used to love as teenagers. Diana remained in her home, returning to the task at hand. She was drunk now, but Di found it fueled her creative energy, aggressively adding various elements to her work. At two in the morning, she rose from the uncomfortable position she had hunched over into, falling into her bed in a hazily sleepy state.

The morning was cool and humid, the way it often can be after a summer rain. Dainty droplets still slowly fell down the windows of Diana's apartment, lazily drooping into the flower pots outside. Awakening on the floor, Diana realized she had missed her bed when attempting to fall into it the night before, blaming the Cabernet for the mishap. Lifting herself off the hardwood, she got up to shower. Halfway to the bathroom, she paused, turning to the space where the couch used to be. Approaching hesitantly, Diana knelt down to get a closer look at her completed artwork.

On the canvas, a woman had been drawn in charcoal. She sat down with her legs spread wide, and her gaze fixed at the sky. Her mouth and her chest revealed gaping black holes that appeared to be reaching out to the viewer, as if to forcibly suck them in. Fire surrounded her body but she did not seem to fear it, her eyes reaching the back of her head as if to be feeling immense pleasure. It was a piece that emanated darkness, invited curiosity, and shamelessly celebrated unhappiness. In Olivia's words, it was wonderfully, completely, and unequivocally human.