reclusive .

anxious .

I've always loved art, visual and audio. I don't know, I mean, when I paint or draw I get lost in my thoughts and it shows in my work, and when I play piano I feel like I'm communicating with someone. Someone who listens to the notes I play and realize what I'm trying to say, what I'm trying to express.

But that didn't give my mum the right to sign me up for this one on one art bullshit at the children's center where she works. I enjoy expressing myself to, well myself, and I lik it that way, and I wanted it to stay that way. But dear old Anne had other plans.

"Are you excited?" She asks, peering at me through the rear view mirror. I just cross my arms and look out the window, watching the trees whiz by. "Aww c'mon Haz! It'll be good for you." She says, and it would. It would be good for me, but I didn't want to be good. I don't want to change and be normal. I want to stay me.

We soon arrived at the dreaded destination and much to my dismay, my mum was actually serious about this. "It's room 319 Haz. I'll be checking on you! The guy's really nice!" She saiys, kissing my cheek goodbye before leaving me to face the real world. Oh joy.

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my tan trench coat as I walk down the long hallway, listening to the sounds of melodic music, some not so melodic tunes and meaningless chatter. I pass the ascending rooms, 317, 318 before coming across room 319. The large, light colored wooden door was wide open allowing me to peer in curiously.

The soft song that was playing, I didn't know it, and that worried me. I knew almost every classical song known to man! Maybe I was exhaggerating but, that's not the point. Gripping the door frame tightly, I look into the large room, my eyes darting around before landing on a boy, gracefully prancing around.

His movements were a bit sloppy, so I knew it wasn't a routine. He was just dancing. To let out his emotions, to put a smile on his face, no matter the reason it, he was dancing, and I was mesmerized by him. Not just because of his dancing, but because of his icy blue eyes, the way his brown hair moved along with every movement, his short toned legs and...I'll admit, I was looking at his bum, too.

I was so captivated by him, that I lost my grip on the frame and began tumbling into the room, causing him to stop abruptly. "Oh God, are you ok?!" The boy asks in a slightly raspy, high pitched voice, trying to contain his laughter. I nod, grabbing onto one of wooden rails to regain my balance, while silently hoping the boy didn't notice my blush.

"Your Anne's son right?" He asks, bending over to catch my gaze. I nod again, trying to avoid any eye contact, and any panic attacks. "Sorry about that-not noticing you I mean. I get a bit carried away," he says, says, standing straight and putting his hands on his hips. "I hear you're quite the artistic prodigy. Care to show me something?"

I, once again, nod in agreement, following him over to another part of the room, equally as big as the first half, but this half isn't lined with wooden rails or mirrors, but instead with art supplies. "Let's start with getting to know each other, yeah?  I'm Louis by the way. I know you don't, like, talk, or anything, so let's draw a representation of ourselves."

He pulled out two large sheets of construction paper, paint, crayons and pastels, putting them all on the large table. I pull out a chair and sit before immediately beginning on my "self representation". I already knew how to sum up myself and my life in word, sadness. And sadness was easy to draw.

In the end, I sketched an eye with a tear falling, but inside the eye you could see waves and seagulls, like an ocean. My life is a never ending ocean of tears, perfect. "Done? Let's swap." He said, offering me his paper which I took.

It was so horrible, that I almost laughed. Almost.

He drew, what I'm assuming to be...I don't even know. A tornado or something?

"It's abstract," He says, before pausing for a moment. After a while, he nods, smiling bightly at me. "Yeah that's a good lie," he says, and I chuckle quietl, shaking my head and adverting my gaze to the table. "It's supposed to represent the chaos in my life, pretty sure it just looks like a whole lot of nothing," I glance up at him from the corner of my eye to see him looking dow at my drawing, then look back down. "Harry, yours is really good. Like, really good. It's amazing actually."

I blush and scratch the back of my neck, not very fond on getting praise. "And it only took you 20 minutes. You are a prodigy." He says, chuckling,  before finally putting my sketch down. "So let me guess, basically your life is, like, a continuous ocean of sadness, or something like that?"

He gets it. For the first time in forever someone actually gets my art, it's not just some random sketch to him, it actually holds a meaning, a story. That could have smething to do with the fact that I never show people my art but. Knowing that at least one person in this hell on earth actually appreciates and notices the story behind art, makes me a little happy.

I give him a sort of sarcastic smirk, nodding while scratching the back of my neck and looking down at his drawing. "And let me guess, you think mine is shit?" I smile apologetically and nod, making him laugh; a soft, sweet sound.

I might like Louis. He gives me temporary feeling of security, like everything's ok, he gives me false happiness. But I know, whenever I even thought about being happy, my mind would start to bring in all the memories and thoughts that would tear me back down, and of that I was anxious.