Graham

Why is Damon here? I thought I would never see him again after this morning, but here he is sitting on my couch, not even a day later. Seeing him made my stomach do a nervous flip. It wasn't the bad kind of nervous that I usually deal with though. It was an excited kind of nervous. The kind you get when you're a child on Christmas Eve. It feels exhilarating now though.

"So why do you need a place to live again?" I ask him. He had tried to explain, but then got side tracked and told me a story about he thinks he met Paul McCartney but he's not really sure. How can you not know if you've met Paul McCartney? Damon is a strange man.

"Oh! Yeah! My band left town without me. Mike said he was replacing me and if he sings like he drums, I feel bad for every sorry soul that has to listen to them." He shrugs it off, but I can see the slight hurt in his eyes. I can understand why he's hurt I guess. His band mates who he thought were his friends just up and left him to fend for himself in the middle of London. I kind of feel bad for him.

"I-uhh... I don't have another bedroom, but this is a pullout couch. You're w-welcome to stay if you want." I say nervously. Hopefully he'll be able to support himself in a few months and I can go back to painting and watching tv alone in my every waking moment. Sounds like an amazing life, I know.

"Wait, really?" He asks like he thought I would say no. Maybe he realized how poorly behaved he was last night. I don't really think I'd be able to say no. He really needs some help right now and I wouldn't want him living on the streets. He wouldn't last long out there. Anyways, I don't mind giving him a hand. Maybe we could be friends.

"Y-Yeah." I try to smile. "I have to finish something up for w-work. You c-can um, make yourself at h-home I guess." I stumble over my words as I stand up. Damon just smiles and jumps up before hugging me. I nearly push him away, but he lets go before it comes to that.

"Thank you so much Graham! You won't regret this. I'll start paying rent as soon as I get a job too!" The words leave his lips at a fast pace as if I'm about to change my mind at any moment. I mean, I could definitely change my mind, but I won't. That would be too cruel and unfair of me to kick him out now. I'm quite worried about him thinking about staying long enough to start paying rent.

After that, I went to my room and had a staring competition with my painting. The painting won. No matter how much I tried to imagine the harsh yellow and red lines blinking back at me, they never did. I hate this. I hate abstract art. It's too mechanical and inhumane. I hear the door open behind me but I don't react.

"Did you paint that?"

"Yep."

"It's quite shit, isn't it."

"Yep."

I'm glad someone agrees that my art is shit. I never thought it would be Damon. He should probably learn to keep his mouth shut though because if I were anyone else, he wouldn't have a place to stay tonight. I turn around to face him and put my dirty paint brush in a nearby cup filled with water. He sits on my bed.

"Why do you paint like that?" He asks. He sounds like a child asking his parent a stupid question. My eyebrows raise. I shouldn't really be surprised at his question. I'm not. It's already been revealed that Damon is pretty upfront and overly confident about some things, so I don't even flinch when he criticizes the very thing my life was built upon.

"It sells. People like it." I shrug as I sit on the stool in front of my easel. He furrows his eyebrows and I watch his eyes scan my features. He's looking for something.

"You don't like it... Do you?" He asks with a slight sad look in his eyes. I don't need his pity. He staring straight at me like he can see my soul and I feel exposed and vulnerable. It's weird how there are people I consider to be my friends and family and not even they know how miserable I am with my career. Why did I let Damon find out so quickly? Why does he get to know about my lack of interest in abstract art, but they don't? It's unfair. It makes me feel bad.

"Why a-are you even in here? What do you n-need?" I ask quickly. I need to get him out of my room before I start to think about how my life has amounted to nothing but pretty coloured jagged lines on a big canvas and start crying. He's already seen too much of me today. I don't want to be stuck living with him in awkward silences all because this first day wen't wrong.

"I don't remember anymore, but I think it has something to do with the kitchen." He ponders and his eyebrows knit together once again.

"There's t-tea in the cabinet b-beside the mugs." I offer, hoping he leaves soon. I mean, his presence isn't awful, but I'd much rather finish this up without him breathing down my neck making me rethink every decision I've made in my life because that's what he's doing now and it's not one of the greatest feelings in the world.

"That's what it was! Thank you Graham!" He smiles and walks away. I almost thought he was going to hug me again, but luckily he didn't. I let out a long sigh of relief before going back to my staring contest.

***

"Isn't that insane? Look at it go!" Damon hits at the side of my arm as he stares at the tv, eyes wide with a dumbfound expression on his face. I didn't know someone could be so amazed by watching Animal Planet, but Damon persists. I watch the tv now as well. There's a cheetah running after a zebra.

"It's kind of gross how we're all fascinated by this." I say as the zebra gets taken to the ground. "Like, someone actually went out to Africa to film an innocent animal loosing it's life, and we just watch it as if the zebra didn't die a painful death. I know it fits into the whole circle of life thing, but it's quite gruesome and cruel for us to watch for entertainment purposes." I don't stutter once. My eyes don't leave the screen, but I can feel Damon's burn into me.

The tv clicks off. "That's enough tv for today." He coughs quietly as he sets the remote down on the coffee table before he turns to me. "So what do you like to do for fun?"

Fun. I don't really have much of that if I'm being honest. It's not that I don't want to have fun, it's just that I can never seem to find time for it in my hectic life of sleeping in until two and painting. Maybe I should try doing other things? I probably won't.

"I-uhh. I m-mostly just sketch w-when I'm bored." I tell him. He's probably thinking that I have an underwhelming life and he would be right. Even I sometimes think about how depressing it is that I've never had a real friend, or how my parents see me as the black sheep of the family. Normally those things don't affect me, but being completely alone all the time and then adding another person to the mix messes with my head. People aren't meant to live like I do. I'm not meant to live like I do.

"What else?" Damon asks and I stare at him with a lost look in my eyes. Why does he have to ask that? I already feel embarrassed enough about the lack of anything social going on in my life, but now he's making me question if I've been doing the whole 'free time' thing wrong as well. "You don't go out drinking or meet up with your mates or anything?" I shake my head. His eyes widen.

"Drinking j-just doesn't seem v-very appealing to me, and I don't have anyone to m-meet up with." I don't mean it to sound sad and pathetic, but lately everything that's fallen from my mouth has been just that. Sad and pathetic.

"I'm sorry, Graham." He puts his hand on my knee and I try not to focus on it. I stare at it for a few seconds before looking up and giving him the most reassuring smile I can muster up. I hate pity. I don't need it. It's not like I would change my life even if I wanted to so what is his pity going to do for me?

"It's f-fine, I like it l-like this anyways." I shrug. It's not a big deal. Yeah, it would be nice to have more friends, but I don't need them and it would be selfish to go out and just meet new people to dump my problems on.

Damon still hasn't moved his hand and it's kind of hard not to notice it now because he's staring at it too. He looks unsure of himself and nervous until he lifts it and folds it over his other hand in his lap. He has a panicked look set into his features. I hope I didn't do something. God, I probably made him all uncomfortable again with my worries and anxiety. He would probably rather live on the streets than with me now.

"I'm s-sorry." I mumble and focus on the floor in front of me. What if he yells at me for being like this? I don't think I'd be able to take that. I brace myself for the worst and hope for the best as I wait for his response.

"About what?" He asks and tilts his head to the left as if he is a puppy. What does he mean 'about what'? He should hate me by now.

"Uhh, making you uncomfortable?" It's so obvious. Why is he acting like he doesn't know what I'm talking about? Is he just going to pretend like he's fine with it now and then yell at me later? I'm not going to fall for that trick.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable though?" He looks confused. I tell him not to lie. Fuck, him living here was such a big mistake on his part. He never knew what he was getting himself into and now he's stuck here with me and my relentless negativity. I feel so bad for ever thinking this could work out. It's so unfair to him.

"I'm serious Gra. Lets um... do you write?" His tone is serious and caring. I raise my eyebrows. He really doesn't hate me yet I guess. I'm honestly surprised.

"Why?" I ask. Once upon a time, I used to want to make music. I adored and thought the world of people like Damon. People who could just go out and do what they love. I gave up on my dream when I realized that performing in front of crowds isn't my strong suit. I had written countless songs about faux confidence and stories I made in my head about what would happen if I were able to talk to the girl I liked. My mom would listen to my teen angst and say it was too loud and in your face. All I have left of those hopeful times is an old telecaster and countless full notebooks.

"Well, you seem like you have a lot of thoughts stored up inside you and there has to be some way other than those awful paintings that you get them out." He shrugs as he taps his hands on his lap. I stand up and go to my room.

Maybe it's time that someone other than my mother hears these songs, yeah?

***

2069 words.