The Story I Paint, The Story You Chase

I think that there’s two kinds of people. People who see the world in black and white, and people who see it in colour. People who see it in black and white simply feel three things, white for happiness, grey for sadness, and black for the bold or special moments. The people in colour, they see the world as is, not through a filter created by society. They see everything painted. Yellow, joy, a privilege that they need to earn. They can’t have yellow. They feel blue constantly, sadness or emptiness. Those in blue have some mental illness. They see every colour in everyone. They feel green, guilt or disgust, possibly sickness, they feel indigo when they’re made to feel special, or they see indigo in someone. They feel pink when in love, and even then they’re not yellow. They’re orange because it’s as close as they can possibly get to the happiness, but it’s not there. They feel an endless red. Frustrated and angry that they can’t achieve yellow. Yellow is impossible because you can’t create yellow with blue… And sometimes, sometimes I wish I wasn’t in colour. Sometimes I wish I was black and white, because maybe I’d feel more white. Because in the world of colour, yellow is very hard to achieve.* Frank was slowly changing that though. He's turning my world orange like the sunsets, and sweet like the fruits. He's messing around with my mind.
I continued staring at Frank, and I continued staring at his eyes. They're pretty. One day I should draw them at larger scale. I could spray paint them onto a building and write a quote about them. It’s the perfect romance novel, but that’s not what this is. I couldn’t fall for Frank. It’s too dangerous. Frank wasn’t stable. He wasn’t okay, and he had a murderer trying to get to him. I didn’t mind helping, I’d make sure to call the police later on, but the one thing that bothered me was that I couldn’t do more than that. The only thing I could do was notify authorities. It wasn’t much.
Time slipped away the longer I stared at Frank’s eyes. I couldn’t look away. My mouth was dry and neither of us could find anything to say. Slowly, I managed to peel my eyes from his and look over his body, his tattoos sticking out of certain places where the clothing rode up, or too low. As an artist, I had to admire them.

“Like what you see?” He giggled. Yes, the man giggled, which caused me to smile a big, wide toothy grin. I couldn’t really remember my proper smile. Last I had one was when I first started to date a man named Alan. He was sweet at first and then turned into a complete monster, destroying the happiness I once had. Another reason I couldn’t allow myself to accommodate feelings for the short tattooed punk. But why couldn’t I? He was scared and had doe eyes. He couldn’t do harm, could he?

“C-Can I see your tattoos?” The words tumbled into the air and past my lips, without my permission. I didn’t want to sound stupid, or to have these words be some I recently spoke to the short man, but I guess my brain had other plans in store for me, and who was I to stop myself from speaking my mind? I had no filter often times and I was, quite frankly, terribly blunt when it came to many, many things. I saw Frank give a small nod and he started to get up, but I stopped him. I didn’t register that I had said anything, I just saw him blush and thought it was because I put my hand on his waist to keep him still. “Start with the one on your neck.” I grinned.

“I don’t think that’s how you act after you tell a man he’s really pretty.” He deadpanned. What? Oh god. I had let my brain go off on its own, and my subconscious speak for me. “Don’t worry. It’s flattering. It’s funny how nervous you get about it. I’m not a thug, not like I’ll punch the daylights out of you.” He tried to joke which only resulted in me cowering away the slightest bit. “So, on my neck?” He inquired. A curt nod was received from me. “Okay, the scorpion is this tattoo I got so I couldn’t work a fucking office job, you know? I don’t want one of those, so I got it out of spite, and because I’m a Scorpio. Now the Jinx Removing tattoo is where it gets tough. As well as my hand. I- I’m- I had a wife a few years back, name was Jamia but things got tough and she found someone who could afford rent. I got these tattoos to commemorate our wedding. I don’t regret them because it’s a memory, and that’s what matters, all of them are memories.
As time went on, we got up and Frank showed off his many, many tattoos and it ended with him in only underwear, not that I’d complain. My only disappointment was that he had a wife, meaning he could be straight. I couldn’t help but love all the art on his body, and hoping that maybe I’d have a small part in it one day. We talked endlessly about all the pieces, they were truly mesmerising, and the way they littered his body was breath-taking.

“Your ex-wife...” I brought up in the end. I hoped to get some information out of him, not sure what exactly but something, anything really.

“Don’t worry. We’re on good terms, not best buddies but when we need each other we’re a phone call away. She moved to Cali with her boyfriend of two years now. It’s a good thing I root for both teams,” he giggled, “makes it easier to find someone who can stand me, who, who gets me a bit more than she did. It kind of sucks though, we’ve been together since high school.” My jaw dropped for two reasons, 1. He swings my way, 2. They were together for so long and she simply left. “Don’t worry about it okay?” I nodded.

“Okay. Look, Frank? If you ever need anything, and I mean anything please let me know.” I offered. He shot me a wink that I thought I was imagining and my breath caught in my throat. “I was thinking… We should call the po-po.” And that’s how Frank started to choke on his own spit because he was laughing so damn hard.

“The po-po?” I sheepishly nodded as he tried not to die. He tried to regain his breath, but every time he did, he just burst into fits of roaring laughter over and over. “God, yeah, good idea, just- just after I stop- stop laughing!” He barely managed to muster out.
After a few minutes of Frank laughing at my word choice, we called the cops, Frank explained what he saw and they promised to do what they could and as much as they could to put a stop to the man of Frank’s and innocent passer-by’s nightmares. While Frank talked on the phone, I got him some sleepwear, and a few books, disappearing to wrap the books up, and then waiting for the phone call to end. “Gee?” He called out and my heart fluttered.

“Yeah, Frankie?” I answered, bringing pj’s and the gift wrapped books. A small ‘o’ fell upon his lips and he looked at me, about to protest. “Say a word and I’ll kill you myself,” I joked, “you need pj’s, and a little extra.” I winked this time. Not flirting, Gerard. I handed Frank the gift first and he opened it, revealing my extra copy of The Great Gatsby, a book of all of Edgar Allan Poe’s poems (with my doodle for every story), and this one anti stress colouring book of cities.

“Jesus…“ He breathed out. “Thank you so much- I don’t need to read one book over and over. Thank you!” He looked at me, sincerity pooling in his eyes, with maybe a glimmer of something more. That was a false hope though, and I wouldn’t dwell on it. “Can- Can I hug you?” He asked. I nodded and was soon engulfed into a hug by the very half-naked Frank whatever-his-last-name-was. I hugged him back, engulfing him in the warmth that I possessed, placing my chin atop his head and smiling as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. His warm breath fanned it and sent shivers down my spine. I shouldn’t be allowed to hold him like this- my hands on the small of his back- on his bare skin at that. I suddenly became nervous, but he held me tighter. “I don’t usually do this.” He admit to me in a whisper. I bit my lip and supressed a smile, a small amount of composure came to me and I held him tighter, after all, when was the last time someone hugged Frank? I was half glad I was the first person he hugged in a while. I decided to gently rub his back, causing him to lean into me more than he has been up until this point. I breathed in the smell of his hair, and hugged him tighter. He smelled faintly like coconuts and nicotine, his hair at least. I wasn’t going to smell the man for fucks sake. “Gee-rard,” he corrected himself, “is this okay?” I hummed in response and stopped rubbing his back, slowly but surely. “I’m sorry my problems are suddenly yours, and I’m sorry I dumped them all on you. I’m so glad you helped. I didn’t think you would… I’m just some guy who works at the bookstore. I’m not rich, not poor, I’m a good musician… But hell, I’m not an amazing and outstanding person… Gerard, it’s you who’s outstanding. You’ve shown me that people aren’t that bad.” You’ve shown me that people aren’t that bad ran through my head.
“You’ve shown me that people aren’t that bad, Gee…” Alan spoke to me for the first and last time ever. I didn’t know that I was going to mess up so badly but I did. I hated myself for it to this day.
A year later I got home from work, Bert dropped me off, it was the dead of winter and the busses were cancelled due to freezing rain. Earlier in the week, the car had broken down and I needed to take it to a mechanic who hasn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. It was depressing. Frankly, it pissed me off.

“Who the hell dropped you off? Is he the reason you’re at work so late?” I heard when I walked through the door, not expecting that at all. Instead I was expecting a warm greeting. Not dinner, not a massage, nothing but a warm greeting. Did I get that? No. What did I get? Yelling and blame. “Who was he?! I want to know… Now, Gerard.” Alan’s tone was snappy and harsh.

“He’s the receptionist, that’s who he is. His name is Bert, he’s married, and he dropped me the fuck off at my home, which is under my name, because the busses are out of service, I stay late at my job because I love my job and it so happens to be the only thing that isn’t making me angry right now. I stay late because I have work to do, art to create, and ideas to pitch. Have a problem?” I spat. I had to stop myself from snarling the words out, the argument wasn’t that harsh yet.

“Yes, I do have a problem, Ge-RARD.” He emphasised the last bit of my name for no reason. “You’re in a car with a random man, and you’re laughing with him. You work late all the time, and god knows receptionists work late.” He spoke angrily.

“Bullshit!” I screamed. “If you knew Bert, at all, based on appearance, you’d realise that he’s a slacker and that’s the reason he has the job he has. There’s a fucking reason! He leaves early, but this time he actually asked if anyone needed a ride. I was last on his god damn list and look here, he stayed his whole shift this time!” I was fuming. How could Alan accuse me of such a thing?

“Don’t get so defensive! This is why people are fucking horrible. Cheating on them, and then lying about it? I have no goddamn faith in humans anymore.” I clenched my jaw, I was fuming and about to snap like a twig. My blood might as well have been boiling at this point and it was about to boil over if anything. Iskipi as the Serbian say. “And the worst part? My own fucking fiancé!” He started yelling.

“Fuck you, Alan! This job is my goddamn life’s work and if you can’t fucking take it, I want you to get your shit and get out of my life. Get out!” I was seething at this point, and my fiancé, boyfriend, whatever, was about to lose his shit. It hadn’t even begun for him. The worst part was that I was remorseless when I said any of this. I felt nothing but blinding rage and the agony that his words were putting me through. “I don’t want to fucking see you!” I shouted louder. Seething, I marched into my office and dropped my stuff there. A knock on the door got me to perk up and so I stormed past Alan and nearly ripped the door open.

“Is my little Alan here?” Some fuckwad asked. I was murderous at this point in the night.

“Your little Alan isn’t here at the fucking moment, and he wasn’t your little Alan to begin with, but I guess my Alan decided to be a hypocrite and accuse me of cheating when I should be asking him what the fuck he’s doing with another man asking for his Alan, am I right, dear?” I turned to my no longer boyfriend and hissed the words venomously, and viciously.

“Gerard…” He paled and his tone was brought down a notch.

“Don’t fucking, ‘Gerard’ me. If you don’t get out, I’m calling the motherfucking cops to drag your ass out and I’ll make sure to tell them you were trespassing.” I threatened, grabbing all that was his and throwing it into a pile on the floor. “Go on, get out! Got to your little fuckbuddy, see if I care. You goddamn hypocrite! I didn’t even cheat on you, you filthy liar!” I screamed and picked up his ashtray, throwing it at him and letting it break against the wall, right above his head.

“Gee, baby, calm down, you’re the one who cheated on,” I cut him short immediately, not wanting to hear any lies that he spewed from his dirty mouth.

“You accuse me of cheating on you one more time, I’ll defenestrate you, I swear to god, now get out with your boytoy.” I started to grind my teeth together.

“My name is Adam!” He piped up. I clenched my fists and my jaw set. With big steps I marched right up to the door and slammed it in the man’s face without a second thought.

“You had no right, no right at all to even consider me working late was cheating, and what do you do?” Alan was about to answer when I shut him up. “Oh, that’s right, you cheat. Trying to paint me as the bad guy didn’t fucking work, and you can’t really tell this story to anyone unless you’re going to say that you were cheating on Adam with little old me? HA. Adam doesn’t even believe that story. He’d be daft to. I want you out of my house in fifteen minutes or I’m calling the cops.”
I snapped out of my trance and pulled away from Frank slowly, not wanting to. It’s the most comfort I’d gotten since that one day. I truly couldn’t place how Frank could be this beautiful. First off, to say all these things to me, and then to just let me hold him for a while longer. He’s different. I can feel it.
A few hours later and there was daylight, Frank was dressed and I was ready for work. Frank had to wait until Monday rolled around to talk to anyone of competence at the bookstore so I decided to call in and work from home. It was truly the best feeling… I think I’d work from home more often. It seemed better than way, and Frank was here. I wasn’t alone anymore. I got to work, and Frank got to playing guitar. Together we made a good duo.
I worked until maybe two in the afternoon, and that’s when Frank declared he was going out. He was dressed like my dreams. He wore a Morrissey shirt and ripped black jeans, camera around his neck and tattoos exposed. His converse snug on his feet and his green and black flannel around his waist. I had to make sure to not let my jaw hit the floor. Around his eyes was small bit of eyeliner, and god fucking damn did it ever look good. The simple words of ‘be careful’ we uttered from me as I watched him disappear out the door.
It was around six when he came back and when I decided I’d put down my work. In hand he held an envelope labelled ‘prints’. Must be his photos.

“Frank?” I called out.

“Yeah, Gee?” I had a shiver run down my spine and my heart flutter at the words.

“What-what would you like for dinner? I can make some dahl, I have these cauliflower rice balls, and I can make some curry and I have a salad from last night that goes well with it. All of it is vegan, if you have protests, please speak up.” He shook his head and said no. All he did was saunter over and smirk at me.

“I’ll help.” Were the two words he said that made me swallow really hard. I shouldn’t be thinking of them in different contexts, but hell, Frank was hard not to think about. He’s been making it even harder for me now that we live together, and he’s making some platonic feelings not so platonic. I wanted to say that I wasn’t slowly falling into this Frank-shaped hole but truth be told it was slowly happening and it was inevitable. The moment I laid my eyes on him, I knew it would happen so I stayed away but not anymore. I couldn’t. Whatever happened, happened.
As we were making dinner, we had light conversation. All was going super well, the dahl was done, and the curry was in the works. We both sat at the bar and talked about pasts. “Hey, Gee, let’s play twenty questions.” Frank suggested, and who the hell was I to say no. “Okay, I’ll go first. Favourite horror character?”

“Vampires, definitely. First tattoo?” I retorted quickly.

“Scorpio for being a Scorpio.” His smile stretched across his face almost like my paint smeared across a canvas. “Are you the famous graffiti artist?”

Fuck.

Notes