"This painting is shit!" Markitos screams. "Why did you make this?! What were you thinking! Why do you hate me so much that you brought me here to see this?" I stare blankly at him, trying to make myself say something, anything. I look to the painting, abstract, the colours flowing together. It's not perfect but I like it, it it's honest in a way. The darkness in me is there on canvas. I made it for him. I remember that he appreciated my paintings, at a certain time. Lovingly running his fingers over the edges of the canvas, light colours, fields of flowers, smiling faces. Or intently at the dark ones.There was hate in both of us. I made it for him because beautiful things made him happy, I hadn't seen him smile in days or weeks, something I both didn't like and knew I was to be blamed for.
I put my hand to my face and find something wet there, at first I think it's a tear but when I look at my hand I see that there is blood on my fingers. I turn suddenly and run into the bathroom, flicking the lights on. There's a scratch on the side of my face, my left cheek. I don't know where it came from nor why it started bleeding. I wipe the blood with my fingers but it only smears it on my face, like a battle wound. I like how it makes me look tough, it matches the black circles around my eye and the shaved patch on the side of my head from where I had stitches some months ago. It looked strange, so I kept shaving it. I come back out to find Markitos staring at me with a look of utter boredom. " You called me here to fight". He says, accusingly. "What do you want? Do you want me to say I like this. Well I don't. Stoy crying, why are you crying? Why are you so insecure?".
"What's wrong with you?" I say finally, now I am crying and the mixture of tears and blood run like salt and iron into my mouth.
"With me? There is nothing wrong with me. I don't know why you hate yourself so much." The false sincerity seems like posion pouring from his lips. I can't say anything so I sink to the floor. I look around my flat, the paintings propped up against the wall, the plates piled in the sink in the kitchen, empty wine bottles strewn about. I hate this place. I hate Markitos. He is looking at me boredly. I want to say something. I can't say anything.
'I'm going'. He says. "I don't need to listen to this". I want to make him stay. Maybe once I would have tried but now I watch him go. I stay where I am on my floor.
"Lise." Someones voice flutters into my dream. I am dreaming that I am in a boat, there is water all around me, it is rising. Rising water is a bad symbol in a dream. In the distance someone calls my name. I look and I am sinking now, the cold water rushes around me. I try to swim but I'm like lead. Suddenly I am somewhere else, a restaurant, ordering a pizza but nobody hears me. I ask the waitress for a coca but she ignores me. Why doesn't anyone listen to me? I wake up suddenly. it is my flatmate,Gina, her long black hair hangs in front of her face, she brushes it back with one hand as she looks down at me.
"What are you doing here?" She asks. "You were asleep". I sit up, outside the sun is coming up. "Lise, are you ok? she asks again, "you're bleeding," she says. I tell her it's nothing, it looks worse than it is."Lise I have to go to work" she sounds concerned. My name sounds harsh and unfamiliar to me. "Are you going to be ok". I feel like a fragile vase around Gina, she's always careful, like something bad will happen at any moment. I assure her I am fine and stumble into the bathroom. I wash my face and inspect the cut near my eye. How did it get there? I scan my memory for the last few days but nothing comes to mind. I put my hands out in front of me and stare at them. The nails are jagged and there is paint under them so I rush to my room and file the nails into neat ovals, scrubbing the paint off. I stare at them again, then back at my face. Is it me? I ask. When did I start to look like this. Is this my life? Why won't this strange feeling go away.
I go back to my room and fall asleep. I wake up a few minutes later and my heart is beating so fast I put my hand to my chest in an attempt to calm it. I'm scared but I don't know of what. Why am I scared? What am I scared of? I can't answer but the fear settles heavily into my stomach and I recognize the familiar calm, the familiar helplessness, the sense of something ominious coming that I can't name.
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