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He just doesn’t see, the way he looks at me, it kills me. And if I die, he won’t care, he’ll just look at me more.
That was the only certainty I had for a while.
I don’t think I ever told him my name, so what pulled him towards me? I never quite understood it. I didn’t give him my phone number either, so imagine my surprise when an unknown number called me, and when I curiously answered, I heard his voice.
“Hey I’m Ten. I have an exam tomorrow, could you give me a hand?”
“... What hand?”
“Could you come over to my place”
“I don’t know your address”
“I’ll send it your way, as long as you come.”
Upsettingly, I too was inexplicably drawn towards him, so I agreed to go to his place. I still wasn’t sure he knew my name.
The doorbell resounded in the hall I was standing in. I waited, a bit embarrassed. When the door opened he was almost surprised to see me. “Wow, I didn’t think you’d actually come” “ I’m quite keen on helping people. I just can’t resist it.” Letting me in, he offered me a coffee, “Oh caffeine does weird things to me, I don’t drink it unless necessary” “When is it necessary? In the morning, or late at night when you have to work on an assignment” I felt it was also weird how easily we conversed. I don’t remember us talking before. I guess Doyoung gave him my phone number, but why would he have asked for it?
He got me into his bedroom, it could be misinterpreted, so I’ll specify: his studio was in his bedroom. What an artiste. “Aren’t oil paint fumes dangerous?” “ Yes, that’s why I keep it far away from my cat!” “What about yourself?” – You could hear a pin drop, but only for a second – “Ok, so the assignment was to «illustrate feelings, referencing the form of one of the “Greats”» I’m paraphrasing, Art teachers speak way more fancy” I’ll ignore why he avoided my question, but what really interested me was the fact he had an art teacher. I was pretty sure he didn’t study art.
Paintings were scattered all around, I kind of wasn’t sure where I should have looked. This situation definitely broke most rules I could come up with, yet I still felt I should have some kind of restrain. I was in someone’s house and I wasn’t sure where, or if, I was allowed to look.
He clearly didn’t share my sense of shame, comfortable, calmly, he walked over a couple canvases, to an easel, and grandiously he pulled off the white sheet covering it.
“Oh. It’s beautiful.”
“I don’t need that. Guess the emotions, and the artist” “It looks like… Munch? Or Kokoschka…” “No, Munch is right.”
I swear to god I had no clue what emotion it was “It’s definitely a strong emotion” I didn’t feel like I was allowed to guess what it represented, it felt intimate, harsh. “God, you really put your heart in this” fuck, it kinda settled in we’d never talked before why was I there? Why choose me? “Are love and Hate emotions?” “Good guess.” “Did I get it?” “Yeah.” “Can I ask what it represents? Like your reading of it"
"I don’t know if i want to tell you to be honest. Art is to be understood, not told” “I can take that " Did I cross the line? "It’s someone ripping their heart out, to protect it” “oh. Wow.” “Besides them another person is sleeping” “In the back someone is falling”
Artists, they are always a bit unexplainable. “Want a glass of wine?” “Sure.” For a college student he had a lot of wine. In college most people have a lot of beers. I just have juice.
For a while no one spoke. We were deep in thought. Maybe he finally realized how weird what had just happened was. I still couldn't understand why I was in his house. Maybe he doesn't find it weird. His eyes were empty. I was staring at his eyes. His sight lifted from the table. “Art speaks so loudly.” “I love it.” He spoke mysteriously. “I can go” “Sure, you can leave” Tears formed in his eyes “I can also stay” “No, go.”
When I left he was crying. I didn’t go away, I couldn’t. I lingered in the hall of the condo. What the fuck just happened’
I figured it couldn’t get weirder, so I rang the doorbell and he let me in, again, in his house, in his moment, his mind was too distant.
I held him. With my arms I tried to shield him from the world, I gave up my search for answers. It was like trying to keep together a tumbling tower, to stop a landslide. Suddenly I felt tears coming down my cheek as well. It wasn’t me and him anymore, it was two lost souls looking for shelter. I lightly kissed his forehead. I tried to dry his tears, but his tears ran like a river in full.
I felt mad, crazy. I don’t know if he felt the same. But I kissed him.
That night we stayed together. On his couch, intertwined covered by a blanket, bare skin touching.
I’m still not sure whether or not he knows my name. The only thing I know for sure is that his eyes still feel like fire on my back.
After that day we n sever spoke again.
Not for months.