CRYBABY

IX- She Is Art

Jennie

I withdrew a shaky breath - looking around the small apartment, for something to do. A weapon I can use to defend myself, from someone as cruel as her. She was slowly taking a grip of my soul, I knew it. But, the last thing I wanted is to let any feelings get in the way of escaping this place.

I knew if I stayed longer, I won't be able to resist, and resistance wasn't in my power.

I looked around, the room looked a little abundant. It was like a room, filled with sorrow and broken, shattered words, that were left around the paintings that were hanging on the walls. And, the walls were plain white, but this space was filled with her dark scent.

I stopped my gaze at one of the paintings.

The composition of the painting is curious. The colors were mixed, showing a vivid image of the painting.

My eyes are moving from place to place unable to decide what the focus of the piece is. I can only imagine that art reflects the chaos inside the artist. So she paints?

I was left confused and conflicted.

The colors are vivid, almost to the point of garish. The stroke lines are bold and the images from out of this world. It is both stunning and head-ache inducing, it's like a novel condensed onto a single page. But, it wasn't poetry or a short story.

The painting showed - a story of a long life, full of pain.

Pain? Did that reflect on her?

I'd like to see it as a series of paintings with each idea given time and space to be expressed, to communicate the meaning that was inside its creator. I wanted to read her, but she left me in an empty room. Even the sunlight barely was seen.

Like a shadow - I hugged my knees to my chest and sat down, in a corner.

-

"Are you still awake?". A soft hand shook my bare shoulder, which made me raise my head and stare at those eyes again.

"Does it look like I would sleep?".

"Yes, now get some sleep because you seem grumpy". As simple as that, she tried to move away. But my hand blocked her departure. "Why can't you just let me go?".

She kneeled down, "A smart girl like you..". Her hand found my hair, mesmerizing every inch of it as if it was one of the beautiful paintings that were painted with certain silence. "Would tell the cops, and I don't want trouble".

"What if I don't?".

"I don't trust you".

"I don't like being here with you". I frowned.

"Fair enough, that's why you followed me". My words, in the pure moment, almost reflected something inside of her that she tried to hide. What could she hide? Her eyes looked away - seeming to not enjoy the eye contact much, and then she moved away. Giving me her back, like a tense soldier.

"Get some sleep". Her cold voice echoed.

"Yeah, so you can kill me in my sleep". My voice sounded whiny at the moment, but hell I didn't care.

I stood up and raised my hands up in the air aimlessly. "Regarding that, my best friend must be worried sick about me, and ironically she doesn't know that I'm stuck with an assassin and a cold ass frea-".

The girl shook her head rapidly, her index finger was placed on my lips, stopping me from saying whatever I wanted to say. "Don't".

"Don't call me a freak when you don't even know me".

I crossed my arms and pushed her hand away, "Actions speak louder than words. How do you expect me not to call you such a thing?".

"But books aren't meant to be judged by their covers either". Again, she showed me the wicked smile on her face which made me question myself.

"Open books you meant, but you aren't an open one". I spoke with no sincerity, just words and my slow movements that met her pride.

"You would rather make me suffer I bet than to read you like an open book". I admitted, watching her facial expression switch violently.

"Get some sleep princess". Her face became so blank - her expression seeming to be the coldest one I've seen. "And mind your own business".

With that she left, locking the door and leaving me here in silence.

I knew she was the type of person who didn't like when someone talked back at her, or lashed at her. She likes to be in control, and I'm not someone who gives up that fast. We're very opposites, and I hope that won't get in the way. Even when she tried to block me away from trying to read her; She looked like art, and I've never seen anything as flawless as her.

Maybe perhaps, she is art.