my art room seems to be the worst place to be right now. yet, it's where i go. the walls are covered in paintings i did for annabel. she sometimes painted over stuff and wrote stuff like i love you in yellow paint.
i paint in black today. i don't know what to paint besides lines. i put all my energy into my left arm and paint. i reach to the wooden stool next to me and grab my beer. down the hatch. i chug down the can and grab another one.
annabel annabel annabel.
i drink without tasting, paint without thinking. fucking annabel.
"vin?"
i turn around. fleur is standing there.
fleur is 2 years younger than me, 15. she has long dirty blonde hair and pale blue eyes.
"vin, are you ok?"
my eyes sting from crying and my mouth tastes toxic.
"um, yea."
fleur lives next door. she has a lot of friends at school and comes to talk to me all the time. i think she feels bad for me, given that all i have is annabel. now all i've got is my art. and then there's fleur.
"you're drinking the yellow paint, silly."
i look at my stool. there's no beer, just a cup of yellow paint. my mouth tastes sour and my body feels like it's rotting. i thought i was drinking beer.
"maybe if i drink enough yellow paint, i won't feel like shit." i say it almost too loud.
"peculiar painting."
i look at it. it's just a bunch of black lines that swirl around each other and intertwine. i actually may vomit.
"annabel broke up with me...."
"... and you slammed a locker on her hand."
i never see fleur at school so sometimes i forget we even go to the same one. she sits in her math teacher's classroom with her friends. her friends include lillian, veronica, and penny. then there's fleur's boyfriend. he's a senior like me. fleur says she likes him because he makes her smile. i say it's because she makes herself an easy lay.
"who even let you in?" i'm irritated at the memory of today.
"your mom. she invited me to stay for dinner."
my mom makes dinners whenever i'm sad. it started when i was 9. the kids were mean to me for my red hair. then when i was 13 i started growing a small beard and the kids loved to point me out in crowds of people like it was abnormal. it all stopped when i went to high school. but the insecurities didn't. now, i shave my face and keep to myself. my mom hasn't had to make me a meal since i started dating annbel in junior year.
i take an exacto knife and slice through my painting. i'll throw it away later. i'm not hungry for dinner. i had about 700 calories worth of paint.
"that was a nice painting, vin"
"oh fuck you"
she sits on my wooden stool and opens her legs.
"taken me, vincent, take me right here." she fake moans.
i push her off and put my paints away.
