Scream of Fallen Leaves

"You can't just be an artist."
"Why not," I asked him with a little ping of anger. I looked over at his greasy black hair that straggled around his face. His tattoos covered all of his arms, chest, back, and were starting to go up his neck. My eyes traveled to the pinup girl in a red one piece on his bicep. Her boobs all spilling out from the top, and a smile that says it has never seen sadness. When he came home with it one day he said it was for me. The blonde hair and green eyes are the same, but the resemblance stops there. It was not that I really wanted to know why I could not, but why he did not think I could.
He turned to face me on the couch, grabbed my chin, and looked directly in my eyes. "Honey, people have to respect you first for them to be able to really appreciate your talent."
"And how do you get people to respect you?"
"You have to prove you have something worth sharing to the world, something different, something new."
"But I don't have anything to prove, nothing to give. Everything's already been done, every word has been spoken before, and every idea has been thought. Original doesn't exist."
"And that's why you'll never be an artist." I opened my mouth as if to say something, but I quickly closed it. I didn't have anything to say. He was right just like always. That is why I didn't leave him. I needed him to keep me tied to reality. I always had too much hope for things that will never be. Everything he spoke was always true no matter how much I did not want to accept them. He is one person who is not scared to hurt me. I know he doesn't love me and that he never will, but I'm oddly okay with that. Despite everything I need him. He is everything I want to be. He paints things I cannot even imagine in my head. I party just stay to see what he creates next. He helps me understand things I can't seem to figure out otherwise. I guess I could say I am using him, but everyone uses each other. I know the only reason he lets me stick around is cause I let him do not tie him down . I never question his motives for anything, I never ask him about the other girls he sees, and I never bring up love. I know how he feels about it. He believes love is a trap, because with no love comes true freedom. Freedom is everything to him. We stick together because neither of us expect more then the other is willing to give.


I didn't realize how lost I was getting in my head until I heard him finally move. I looked over at him. He was crushing up a pill leaning over the coffe table. My cosmopolitan with Katy Perry on the front was now being used as a clean flat surface, and a crisp new twenty was over the pill as he used the bottom of his black lighter to crush it.

"Why do I have to prove anything to anyone? Why do I need people to respect me. Isn't an artist an artist with or without everyone's respect." He stopped for a second, but didn't turn his head to look at me.
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone. The question is do you want to be an artist or do you just want others to believe you are." He didn't move for a moment as if waiting for my reply. I wasn't sure how to answer.
"I just want to be able to inspire people."
He didn't say anything, then continued to crush the pill. I didn't realize I was sitting on the edge of the couch as if I was waiting for something. I took a breathe, sat back, and let my body sink in to it.
"Do you want me to crush yours too," he asked.
"Yeah, if you don't mind." I started twisting my hair impatiently. I felt so on edge, but I wasn't sure why. It was just another day. Nothing was out of the ordinary. I could hear birds chripping outside. The sun must be starting to come up.
"How would you inspire people," he suddenly asked.
I thought for a second. "I don't know," was all I could manage to come up with.
"Exactly why you will never inspire anyone. You wouldn't even know where to begin. Besides who would be inspired by a middle class white girl with no real problems except those she makes for herself." I felt a sharp pain hit the pit of my stomach as he spoke the words. Part of me wanted to scream something back, to yell that he doesn't know anything, but it would be useless. I knew he was right. I just sat quietly sinking everything he said in. I was just one of the million meaningless girls who believes they're deep and important, but are too shallow to know any better. I couldn't wait for him to finish crushing the pill any longer. "Fuck it," I mumbled to myself and stood up to see what alcohol he had in the kitchen.

I looked in the freezer. It was empty except for two frozen pizzas and half a bottle of UV Blue. Of all drinks he would have the girlest worst tasting one. It must of came from some other girl who has been over here lately. Well it's better then nothing. I doubt she'll notice if its gone, so I took it from out of the freezer and starting chugging it. My throat was burning, but I didn't stop until I felt like it was about to come right back up. I just stood there by the fridge until I could feel the burn go all the way down and hit my stomach before I closed what was left and put it back. I smiled. "America, the land of self medicating."

"KP," he yelled from the living room, "you didn't run off and leave me did you?" I smiled to myself. I've actually done that to him a couple of times. Whenever I can't handle being around him I just up and leave without saying a word.
"No, I'm in the kitchen. I'll be there in a minute."
...