"Do you like pain? Then feel it to the core."
Those  were the last words on that note she left in the counter.
At least she didn´t take away my cat. I didn´t really know whether she would come back or not. For all I know it was a Saturday morning.
She always did that; press my buttons and get on my nerves so badly. Lisa said that I could never live without pain, that it was a part of my existence. Well, this little number she did on me was not gonna help either.
But who said I was alone; I was surrounded by creative people just like me. We can listen to our thoughts and not spend our lives filling that void with pointless conversations.
It was hard not picturing her beside me; traces of her were practically all over the place especially in my bed.
She threathened to leave a long time ago and I never cared and now I was in complete shock.
The emptiness possessed me and it was suffocating. Not even the right music could bring relief now. My apartment used to be very welcoming and peaceful and now the tension grew; the sound of silence was piercing, disgusting.
I spent all afternoon working on my studio but it was impossible to concentrate. I was mad, vengeful so instead of making a ruckus I stepped outside to the terrace so I could come up with a plan.
But it didn´t happen; instead I binged on red wine until my body felt so light and relaxed and I sat on the ledge for a while. The air was cool and I was not properly dressed for the occassion.
I remember babbling something,
"Damn you, Queen of Hearts! Now you broke another."
And then someone heard me.
"You´re not going to jump, are you?"
"No," I said timidly.
"You must be Adrian, right? My name´s Edith."
I remember seeing her once or twice in the building; she was so abysmally different from Lisa; a blue-eyed, raven haired cutie with long legs;completely inoffensive.
"I´m sorry if I bothered you," she continued with an upbeat tone of voice.
"No, that´s alright; I´m having some trouble sleeping though," I said trying to make up some silly excuse to continue our conversation. "Besides, what are you doing out here at two in the morning?"
"I couldn´t sleep either," she said cheerfully. "I have this interview tomorrow and it´s really important to me."
"I hear you."
"How´s your girlfriend?"
"Um," I paused, "she doesn´t live here anymore." Then I laughed nervously, "I´m not even sure if I´m supposed to tell you that but it´s the honest truth."
Then she paused too and the uncomfortable silence took over.
"Well, it happens. I mean I didn´t know her that well to give you an honest opinion so I can´t say much."
"You don´t have to."
"Listen; my roomie won´t be back for a couple of hours, she´s away at this party and left me housesitting , sort of. I think I might have something that can help you sleep."
"Okay."
Edith lived on the fourth floor below me in a loft building down Mercer Street in the heart of Soho. It was still a great habitat for passionate folk like me though it wasn´t easy having a place like that. You had to be somebody and I was the right guy.
She took me into a smaller apartment she shared with a friend named Megan; some notable fashion designer who had lived there before Edith came along.
It was full of bookcases and such arranged with great care and sturdy wood furniture. She took me into the kitchen which was barely lit.
"Is it alright if I leave it this way?" she asked, "or do you want me to light up the place?"
"No, it´s ok, " I said. "So, if you don´t mind, what is it that you again."
"Oh, beg pardon," she said. Finally I was able to see her in full splendor; she wore a kind of orchid laced tanktop and terry cloth pajamas; nothing my ex would ever wear. Still, it wasn´t a big turn off.
"I majored in neuropsychology, " she said, "until a while ago Megan contacted me; we were close friends in college, otherwise I would have never been able to be here because of some weird law they have here."
"I´m aware of it."
"You look like you haven´t slept in a while." Edith took out from one of the cabinets a bottle of pills and handed some of them to me."
"Seriously , you don´t have to do this."
"Please do. I was also about to make myself some tea. What do you do with so much empty space? I mean I was always used to live in small houses."
"What do you mean by that; where did you grow up in?"
"Oh, here and there but most in Ann Arbor."
"Really? No shit! And you preferred to study here?"
"Honestly, I wanted to get away from my dad. He always saw the best in me..." Then she laughed, "Look at me; I´m sitting here in the darkness talking to a perfect stranger about my personal life and yet I know very little about you."
"I´m your neighbor and I´m  well recognized artist. You know that mural in the lobby? I worked on it for several weeks."
"Yeah, I´ve seen it, here, " she said while she poured some green tea. "It´s really something else. I´m not much of a critic so don´t take my words too seriously."
"It´s abstract. It´s supposed to make you feel rather than think."
"Well, in that case it makes me feel powerful," she said. "Yeah like, whenever I come back home it gives me inner strength so I can overcome the perils of the big bad city."
"That´s not a bad critic at all!"
"You only say that to make me feel better!" she cried. "This was supposed to be about you and your breakup."
"I guess I feel better now knowing that I have an admirer of my work. Not that you´re the only one but one of the few I can actually speak to in the flesh and not some random internet follower."
"You can always come and talk with me now that she´s not around anymore," she said.

"Do you like pain? Then feel it to the core."
Those  were the last words on that note she left in the counter.
At least she didn´t take away my cat. I didn´t really know whether she would come back or not. For all I
know it was a Saturday morning.
She always did that; press my buttons and get on my nerves so badly. Lisa said that I could never live
without pain, that it was a part of my existence. Well, this little number she did on me was not gonna
help either.
But who said I was alone; I was surrounded by creative people just like me. We can listen to our
thoughts and not spend our lives filling that void with pointless conversations.
It was hard not picturing her beside me; traces of her were practically all over the place especially in
my bed.
She threathened to leave a long time ago and I never cared and now I was in complete shock.
The emptiness possessed me and it was suffocating. Not even the right music could bring relief now.
My apartment used to be very welcoming and peaceful and now the tension grew; the sound of silence
was piercing, disgusting.
I spent all afternoon working on my studio but it was impossible to concentrate. I was mad, vengeful so
instead of making a ruckus I stepped outside to the terrace so I could come up with a plan.
But it didn´t happen; instead I binged on red wine until my body felt so light and relaxed and I sat on the
ledge for a while. The air was cool and I was not properly dressed for the occassion.
I remember babbling something,
"Damn you, Queen of Hearts! Now you broke another."
And then someone heard me.
"You´re not going to jump, are you?"
"No," I said timidly.
"You must be Adrian, right? My name´s Edith."
I remember seeing her once or twice in the building; she was so abysmally different from Lisa; a blue-
eyed, raven haired cutie with long legs;completely inoffensive.
"I´m sorry if I bothered you," she continued with an upbeat tone of voice.
"No, that´s alright; I´m having some trouble sleeping though," I said trying to make up some silly excuse
to continue our conversation. "Besides, what are you doing out here at two in the morning?"
"I couldn´t sleep either," she said cheerfully. "I have this interview tomorrow and it´s really important to
me."
"I hear you."
"How´s your girlfriend?"
"Um," I paused, "she doesn´t live here anymore." Then I laughed nervously, "I´m not even sure if I´m
supposed to tell you that but it´s the honest truth."
Then she paused too and the uncomfortable silence took over.
"Well, it happens. I mean I didn´t know her that well to give you an honest opinion so I can´t say much."
"You don´t have to."
"Listen; my roomie won´t be back for a couple of hours, she´s away at this party and left me
housesitting , sort of. I think I might have something that can help you sleep."
"Okay."
Edith lived on the fourth floor below me in a loft building down Mercer Street in the heart of Soho. It was
still a great habitat for passionate folk like me though it wasn´t easy having a place like that. You had to
be somebody and I was the right guy.
She took me into a smaller apartment she shared with a friend named Megan; some notable fashion
designer who had lived there before Edith came along.
It was full of bookcases and such arranged with great care and sturdy wood furniture. She took me into
the kitchen which was barely lit.
"Is it alright if I leave it this way?" she asked, "or do you want me to light up the place?"
"No, it´s ok, " I said. "So, if you don´t mind, what is it that you again."
"Oh, beg pardon," she said. Finally I was able to see her in full splendor; she wore a kind of orchid
laced tanktop and terry cloth pajamas; nothing my ex would ever wear. Still, it wasn´t a big turn off.
"I majored in neuropsychology, " she said, "until a while ago Megan contacted me; we were close
friends in college, otherwise I would have never been able to be here because of some weird law they
have here."
"I´m aware of it."
"You look like you haven´t slept in a while." Edith took out from one of the cabinets a bottle of pills and
handed some of them to me."
"Seriously , you don´t have to do this."
"Please do. I was also about to make myself some tea. What do you do with so much empty space? I
mean I was always used to live in small houses."
"What do you mean by that; where did you grow up in?"
"Oh, here and there but most in Ann Arbor."
"Really? No shit! And you preferred to study here?"
"Honestly, I wanted to get away from my dad. He always saw the best in me..." Then she laughed,
"Look at me; I´m sitting here in the darkness talking to a perfect stranger about my personal life and yet
I know very little about you."
"I´m your neighbor and I´m  well recognized artist. You know that mural in the lobby? I worked on it for
several weeks."
"Yeah, I´ve seen it, here, " she said while she poured some green tea. "It´s really something else. I´m
not much of a critic so don´t take my words too seriously."
"It´s abstract. It´s supposed to make you feel rather than think."
"Well, in that case it makes me feel powerful," she said. "Yeah like, whenever I come back home it
gives me inner strength so I can overcome the perils of the big bad city."
"That´s not a bad critic at all!"
"You only say that to make me feel better!" she cried. "This was supposed to be about you and your
breakup."
"I guess I feel better now knowing that I have an admirer of my work. Not that you´re the only one but
one of the few I can actually speak to in the flesh and not some random internet follower."
"You can always come and talk with me now that she´s not around anymore," she said.

BROKEN.

She asked if we had something in common and that was the most decent thing I could think at the moment.

final draft

afraid of getting caught



Just to have you know we´re all mad here; everything is nonsense and if it does make sense one day you´ll probably be mad as well.



I heard him get out of bed early; he thought he wouldn´t make a sound. Daniel left me all alone in a big old house. I used to feel comfortable when no one else bothered me and now I felt restless and confused at the same time.



It must have been around five or six in the morning because the sun wasn´t up yet. I headed downstairs to my studio and everything seemed to be in place; at the least the way I´d left it the night before. Fifteen out of twenty-two paintings were finished and they were due until early November.



He wouldn´t come back for he took all his belongings and in such bad timing. We had this heated discussion over some shit which culminated in lewdness. He was becoming more of a huge distraction than a help.



In my despair I threw myself against the wooden floor and hit it with my bare hands.



"Fuck."



Then I noticed that one of the boards was loose and as I lifted it up I unearthed the token of my childhood; a black composition diary. I hid it from Daniel´s prying eyes.



"This belongs to: Adrian Black. Take good care of it or it will take care of you."



Strange. The last time I wrote there I was sixteen and like now it was at a bad time. I was running away and didn´t want to get caught at least by my dad. My mother and I became closer; she would be my confident for I discovered a great joy in life; to feel loved. It was a damn shame only a handful of people understood it because it came from another boy.


I kept this book with me for I promised myself I would continue writing until I became a decent and successful human being. I continue to be indecent but for sure I´m so goddamn successful.


Like now but this is New York and you can be whoever you wanna be. The fate is in the name; I am everything and nothing at the same time.



I´ll close my heart for now and I´ll open this book again. It´s not the story of my life but just a collection of emotions and ideas. Thus if you want to know where I came from I will tell you.




I was and owner of a voracious creativity which led me to become an artist.All I ever wanted was to be seen and heard as if it wasn´t enough being gorgeous; I was endowed with a pale skin, black hair that went down to the neck, crystalline green eyes and thin lips.


My biggest flaw has always been my shyness but I´m a good listener; I only speak when it´s absolutely necessary and if bothers someone I turn away.




The following day was rather busy; I had to find a replacement for Daniel; my assistant and ex lover. I pondered a thousand times why he had left me in the middle of this project, maybe something scared him off.


I made this quick post to be answered in the social networks like it´s done today. I preferred men to come and work for me but this time I needed someone who wouldn´t distract me that much;  in the end I chose a rather simple girl.



Her name was Edith Paige; she was in her sophomore year in Steinhardt. She was twenty-one and I would be thirty the next year.



She looked inoffensive in pictures; she had this big sparkling sapphire blue eyes, puny lips yet a bit pale and scrawny.



I had this habit of seldom leaving my neighborhood and despised the bustling streets of Soho; once it was an artist´s haven now a huge outdoor mall.



Like I cared. Sometimes the best catalyst for my work were simply the right background music and a bottle of red wine.



And wrath; the one that keeps growing with every heartbreak.



we´re in this together now





It was a Friday afternoon around four o´clock. It had drizzled as it was expected in September.

My loft was right above a sort of psychic shop that belonged to a family of Egyptian immigrants. I went to see Mrs. Ava every now and then for spiritual advice. She said I was the Devil and I was hopeless.


Edith came in very punctual and looked slightly nervous. Most of her outfit consisted of light blue tones and simple ponytails. I could tell right away she wasn´t a snobby, pretentious femme but perhaps more down to earth.



Unlike me.



Redundant as it may seem I preferred black, plus it went well with my hazel green eyes.



"Hello, Doll, " I said as I greeted. "Did you have any trouble finding the place?"



"Oh, not at all; actually it´s right around the corner for me."



"Are you sure? I´m just kidding. I´m Adrian Black, by the way."



"Edith Paige; sometimes I go by Edie."



"Interesting...as in Edie Sedgwick."



"Yeah," she smiled, "but I´m nothing like her, trust me."



"Just making small talk; come upstairs, I´ve lot to show you."





She approached with the curiosity of a child asking all sorts of random questions all the way to my apartment.



"I loved the collective you were on at the Gagosian last year."



"I have been very lucky to be noticed by the likes of them; but smartass critics always tear me apart. So, what is your major again?"



"Studio Art. I read this is where the late Edward K. used to live."



"It´s true and I bet you might have heard the tall tales that circled around him."



"Not really; I just know he was Jewish and a great Kandinsky scholar."



"Yeah but he took his theories way too literally, at least from the few stories I heard from the people who lived here."



"How is that?"



"He claimed that the spirits commanded him to paint and that there was evil in his work. Unfortunately that landed him into a bad spotlight ."



"Personally I think he was more of a charlatan. I hope I´m not making you feel uncomfortable; did you admire Edward K.?"



"I never heard about him until a few years ago; when I was younger I dreamed of being the next Basquiat."



"Really?"



"No. I come from a small town where they hardly know about these things. My dad used to say that "American Gothic" was fine art until I proved him wrong."



"But it is!"



"Not for me. I like to make people feel things and not focus on details."



"Well it´s still amazing anyway."



"You haven´t seen it all. We´re here!"



Away from all the high-end shops and decadent flair of Soho was my private fifty-five hundred square foot lair which was a literal flashback to the nineties. My comrades lived in a large set of vinyls and CD´s which were most of the time old Johnny Cash and Nine Inch Nails.


My workplace on the other hand could be classified as a crime scene mostly by the acrylic dripped walls. Other than that I liked to keep everything in its right place. I had drawers full of sketches and pictures of different formats which I used for reference. Most of these were created digitally and enlarged to be used as stencils. Stacks and stacks filled with canisters of paints and solvents only I could tell apart and seldom to be moved.


The remaining space was saved to a large leather couch to rest or lounge or...you know. In the corner of the room was my vinyl record player and an antique oval-shaped mirror of the Art Nouveau period and a projector; little perks for an eccentric artist like me. This was the melting pot of my dark mind.


"There are two levels and a terrace up here. It´s like a freaking mansion with ghosts and all."



"Why are you saying that?" she laughed, "are you trying to scare me to death?"



"No; I´m dead serious. There´s something bad here. No one believes it, of course but it´s an amusing story to welcome all of my guests."



The entrance or foyer consisted of a large brick wall decorated with a copy of a painting I entitled "Home." The theme was a giant hole with a mixed media technique mostly acrylic and in the style of abstract expressionism.



"So you say this is a copy, where´s the original one?"



"It was sold to some art collector in London. I was lucky that she appreciated my earliest work. Alice Morris, I believe."



"That´s incredible!"



"Come; I´ll show you the way to kitchen because I could really use a drink. What´s your poison?"



"Oh, no thanks, really."



"I insist but don´t worry I don´t bite. My teeth might be too worn out anyway."



"You have a big imagination, Adrian."



"Yeah, among other things."




I wasn´t writing very often in this wicked diary because I was incredibly busy. I dropped a few lines whenever I had the chance or late at night.


The girl was a fast and eager learner. Another leech who would absorb all of my knowledge. Her style was reminiscent of Ryden but more naive and I was going to make sure that was going to forever changed.



As soon as I earned Edie´s confidence I opened up beyond our everyday work conversations.This happened within a matter of two weeks after she moved in.



She was a swell assistant and at some point I had to explain to her some tasks that Daniel used to do for me such as preparing canvases. It became almost unevitable to invoke him and this happened one afternoon in my studio.



"So tell me more about Daniel if you don´t mind."



I became startled but proceeded to handle it cynically; one of my many clever ways I adopted ever since I came to live here.



"Just some deadbeat who tried to take advantage of me and steal my thunder."



"Is that all?" she asked and looked into my eyes, "Don´t worry; I know all about your extracurricular activities."



"Is that a fact?"



"Come on! I did some outside investigation myself; online to be exact. Do you think I would have accepted this internship just like that?"


"Alright, so you do know a thing or two; why are you here?"


"Well for starters, I need experience, second; I´m not looking forward to a serious relationship at the moment and third; this place has more history than you can ever imagine in your filthy life. "


"Fine, I can deal with that."


"So?"


I sighed, "It was just a fling."


"He wasn´t the only one, was it?"


"Alright, yes.Some of my former assistants have ended up in my bed. Could you pass me that bottle of gesso?"


"Sure."


"It´s not like it´s gonna happen all the time but Daniel was, special."


"Oh..." said Edith as she unfolded some of the canvases. "How special?"


"What is this, an interrogation? Anyway, I thought I felt something for him; it reminded of a younger, more daring version of me as if he wasn´t afraid of anything."


"And what are you afraid of?"


"Until a few days ago being left alone."


"Did you love him that much?"


I gave a long pause.


"Well did you?" she continued.


"I guess I did. At least he made me feel again when I had chosen not to. Don´t think I´m cold-hearted or something like that. I agreed to take you under my wing because the school considers me serious and not gimmicky.What other things have you heard about me?"


"That you´re a vampire because you only come out at night?"


"That´s basically every gay man."



An age old wound opened up; an array of bad feelings hit me like I was being whipped on the back. Part of the reasons for not writing in my diary anymore was for the fear of being exposed.


I had a cuasi girlfriend in high school named Lisa Summers. She was the daughter of a minister in the Methodist Church while I was raised Catholic.


Elyria was one those many towns in Ohio where you could easily find a church in every corner just like a convenience store.


But not true salvation; at least for me. What was that rubbish anyway? No one could ever save me from her. They say Lisa would help me to stay on the right track.


And mysterious was she;


"Still she haunts me, phantomwise,


Alice moving under skies


Never seen by waking eyes."


When she found out I was gifted, among other things she asked me to make a portrait of her. She had this long jet black hair with bangs; her skin was rosy and had freckles on her bosom, thin lips and wide brown eyes that penetrated your soul.


My faithful companion back then was a siamese cat named Sade, like the marquis. She held it with ease and sat with him until I finished the drawing but he ended up hating her.


Curious.


I decided to show it in art class to this teacher of mine who had a hippie-esque vibe. She gave the most helpful piece of advise that would shape my entire career:


"Don´t waste your time painting portraits of prissy little girls. Instead struggle to find and conquer your inner demons and project them across the canvas and you´ll become a winner."


My teacher would have never guessed that wanna be goth girl turned out to be one of those inner demons. She befriended me because of who I was and how I looked. While she pretended to be a daddy´s little girl she was downright rotten.


She hurt me and I hurt her back.




FRIGHT-DAY


The weekdays seemed exactly the same to me; I guess you could figure that out very easily from the way I write.


Or maybe not. I don´t blame you; I´m not a gifted writer perhaps a seer, a visionary. There were very little words to describe what happened that Friday night so I´ll try my best to explain.


Edie had gone out with some friends while I was working hard on another piece which initially called, "The Rabbit of the Infinite Strength." It was loosely based on a sketch I had left in my diary.


For this acrylic I decided to use my new set of bristle brushes the way someone unsheathes a sword. This was tentatively the main piece of my entire collection. It encompassed all I ever longed for excluding love.


Strength and courage was what I needed to carry on.


I considered these moments a kind of ritual so I shut myself in and set the mood with the proper music.


I felt unhibited.




It seems that every moment that I spent inside these walls were like being in a cage even though the doors had always been open.


Except for the heart. This time I wasn´t thinking only about ill-fated relationships but what could have been.


Well fuck that.


"Oh, ho ho


Oh, we'll smoke the blighter out


We'll put the beast to rout


Some kindling, just a stick or two


Ah, this bit of rubbish ought to do


We'll smoke the blighter out!


We'll smoke the monster out!


We'll roast the blighter's toes


We'll toast the bounder's nose


Just fetch that gate


We'll make it clear


That monsters aren't welcome here!


Without a single doubt


We'll smoke the monster out!


We'll smoke the monster out!"


My rabbit was red like blood; the tone when it gushes out of you. In its forehead was the symbol of infinity.


When Lisa Summers found it she made a fuzz about it and I put it aside for later. She claimed it was "too childish."


And gruesome. It was the only thing I could hold on to when I originally made it. I had plenty of reasons to withdraw strength; to face my own father from sending me to Hell with his words, from having touched another man´s lips...


I closed my eyes and threw my hands over my face.


"Boy, I sure hope those are not blood stains you have on your hands," said a voice.


"Who´s there?" I asked agitated.


"I told you I was coming, didn´t I?"


That was Daniel´s voice. Finally he texted me but I never asked him to come back. Apparently he kept a spare key and walked in like he owned the place. He was lower than me, slightly bronzed skin and wore insanely tight clothes. He resembled some cutie pie you could pick up on the streets.


"Why the Hell are you asking me these questions?" I said.


"Because if I didn´t know any better it appears that you were about to use your blood for that painting. I couldn´t miss that for the world."


"So what if I did? You haven´t been returning my calls and have practically blocked me everywhere online."


"You´re a coward; that´s why and a fake! Here you are pretending you can charm anyone with your eeriness when you can´t even be true to yourself."


"What?"


"If you had the balls to do it back then how come you don´t do it now?"


"Because even in this crazy world there are rules, Danny boy and you sound like you wanna break all of them before you learned anything."


"It was just a simple joke, Adrian, can´t you take a hint?"


"Was it also a joke to walk off just like that, huh?"


"Aww...you really miss me? You´re getting sentimental on me. I have something you will never have unless you decide to fight for it."


"What?"


"Artistic freedom. I came by to tell you that I´m leaving for good; I got an offer in LA where there´s a more refreshing mentality."


"Fine, nobody´s stopping you..."


"Will you listen to yourself? At least I know that I want to break free from this dying city while you´re holding on to it day by day. You could come with me if you´d like."


"My business is here and I make my own decisions. It may have taken longer than usual but it happened."


"I believed in you. I fell for all your philosophy full of beautiful decadence and what do you do? You bow down to all the people I despised."


"So that´s it? You think I betrayed you and that´s why you want me out of your life?"


"Congratulations! If you still give a fuck you will do what we talked about. It´s just a painting."


"It´s not like that, you idiot! I´m not some part of a travelling freak show. I have a reputation; I´m not like that guy who used to live here."


"Oh, you´re making a huge drama over this; maybe I should do it for you."


I tackled and used all my might to avoid him to spoil my work with his unorthodox ideas.


As he laid his cold hands and grasped my shoulders I said in a lower voice, "I won´t go until I see you do it."


"And then what?"


"You can have whatever you want from me. You can´t get that from that girl..."


"You´re downright sick."


"No more than you are."


He unzipped my pants. I was powerless and I couldn´t get his hands off me so he threw me with all his might against the wall. He stroke his body against mine and slowly worked his way down my bony waist and fuck me from behind.


"You always knew exactly what I wanted and where I wanted it and how I wanted it..." I said.


"Excellent."


I was getting awfully hot and confused. "Man, I miss you..."


"No you don´t."


I was twisting and panting heavily feeling him closer to me. I failed to say a word and just enjoyed the ride.


"Oh, God, that feels great! You truly are gifted; you belong up there with the great ones...and that´s why you should come away with me."


"Not a chance..."


He came inside me with ease. "See you around."


It didn´t take him long to dress up and turn away like a criminal.

But I couldn´t take it anymore so I headed out to the terrace and leaned on the balcony watching the evening sky. There was very few signs of night owls and the streets were rather calm. It seemed rather unsettling.


As I threw my hands over my face my eyes started watering. Mother always said these were the signs of a nervous breakdown; I was too stupid to give in to his ways.


"Oh, God, how could I let this happen?" I said to myself. "He used me."


The rain came unannounced and began and the few drops were bitterly cold. I didn´t even care if I was shirtless at that moment.


I could blame it on my drunkeness or the frustration but I knew that this was a very unhealthy combination.


I was alone and disconsolated; it seemed the orgasm didn´t help that much. I stood there and got soaked for I don´t know how long.


That was until Edith found me.


"Adrian, finally! I´ve been looking for you all over the place plus I noticed you left the front door open."


"Yeah, I´m out here. So was it?"


"Oh, not much; I bumped into this guy I used to date in high school; it´s funny how you end up seeing old faces in such a big city."


"It happens a lot; don´t be surprised."


"Are you alright? You better get inside; it´s cold, you know."


"Yeah, thanks, Doll," I said as I sobbed.


"What´s wrong?" she asked sounding worried.


"I´m just tired and stressed out, that´s all."


"Well, do you wanna talk about it?"


"No; I´ll be fine."


What a hypocrite I was by saying that but I wasn´t ready to confess these trivialities in front of her. I feared she wouldn´t understand.


"Come on; you sound like you´re a mess."


"You look nice, by the way."


"Thanks. You don´t look so good yourself. I´ll take you to your room and you´ll tell me all about it in the morning."


"I´ll try."


"Fine. You act like you saw a ghost or something."


"Maybe I did."





rabbit in your h



Whatever happened after that was a blur; I had lost control of my emotions yet I felt safe around her; she was empathetic and kind and I wasn´t worthy of all that.


It was roughly three in the morning when I was taken into the emergency room because of breathing problems. Later it was explained to me that these were early signs of pneumonia.


I did have some revealing dreams in which I kept seeing a younger version of me constantly running , sometimes away from home.


I followed the Black Rabbit through a field where the grass was tall . His eyes were red and he was incredibly swift almost like floating.


"Come, my friend," he said in a friendly tone, "you look rather tired from all that running."


"Where are you going?" I asked.


"You musn´t be afraid of that...there is no pain and no one will judge you ever again."


"I hate being alone all the time..."


"Then you´re safe with me."


He suggested that I´d jump into the Black River and though the current was mild it was deep as the ocean itself.


I gasped.


When I came to my senses I realized I was in a hospital room breathing oxygen through a mask. The room was empty and dark. There were large windows which exhibited a gloomy afternoon. I was weak and apathetic, even anxious for being away from home.


"It´s time for your medication, Mr. Black," said the voice of an old woman.


"Who´s there?" I asked agitated.


"The name´s Marla; I´m the nurse for the night shift.


"Oh great; where´s Edith, did she say if she was coming?"


"You mean that girlfriend of yours who came in here yesterday?"


"She´s not my girlfriend but she saved my life."


"Sure she´s not." The nurse had a strange uniform on, probably from the 1960´s; a knee high dress and a mob-cap, tall and stout. "You should be thankful for having a girl like that and do your part every now and then."


"What do you mean?"


"Correspond her! Now pull out your arm."


"You know nothing about me and I´m not willing to discuss that with a stranger. What´s this stuff anyway?"


"Knowledge," she said.


"WHAT?"


I ignore how that happened; I added it to the pile of hallucinations. Luckily when I snapped out of it she was there; the one I truly wanted to see.


"Tell me this is not another dream," I said.


"Because I´m here," said Edith, "And I´m the voice of your conscience. You´ve been here almost three days!"


She looked somewhat concerned. I remember she told me she felt uncomfortable around hospitals.


"I don´t understand anything," I said with some difficulty.


"No, you don´t because you´re still on meds. That was a very rough night by the way. You gave me quite a shock."


"I wasn´t aware I was that sick to end up here."


"That´s ok; at least you survived. Adrian, I´d like to ask you something else if you don´t mind."


"Go ahead..."


"That Friday night seemed confusing; were you really all by yourself before I came back?"


"No."


"Oh, good! Because I remember quite well you asked me to lock up. It´s not exactly for being paranoid; it could have been a minor detail. Anyway, since I have certain privileges to go around your studio I noticed there was um, how should I say it, sexual activity going on."


"Great..."


"I´m not playing detective or anything like that; it was just so evident. This "ex" business is sure hitting pretty hard, huh?"


"It wasn´t supposed to end that way," I sighed deeply.


"What´s done is done. Look, I understand you and I truly wanna help. Now that we are getting to know each other I think...that you´re depressed."


"Call it what you want but the term "depression" is truly overrated nowadays."


"Oh so, I´m not allowed to use those words around you like it´s some sort of f-worst? You´re human just like the rest of us. This is the proof."


"Please don´t spread this around; I´m in the middle of something important and I need the attention. The media wants to see a strong character to go with its work, not some neurotic kid who´s afraid of everything."

"Alright. I know he´s become a sort of obstacle but you have to stand up for yourself. We´re in this together now; I don´t care if you give me credit for this. I may not be like Daniel but I am willing to work as hard as he did to make this exhibit something amazing."

"He didn´t work that hard..."

"Whatever; so do we have a deal?"

"Yes."



This was one of the very few times I actually admitted that a woman was right at something; I´ve been tripping with the same stone too many times. I guess this event was my wake up call, hitting rock bottom, or whatever you wanna call it. Beyond feeling used I was

ABUSED, as in self abuse.

How can a breakup bring you down so low to commit self harm? I was under the impression that it ended in slitting your wrists or taking a shitload of pills or something.

In my case I tormented myself with bad memories, lack of sleep, ill communication and lots of liquor to go with it.



----------------

interview from CB Art Magazine; winter edition.



AT THIS POINT IN YOUR LIFE CAN YOU DEFINE YOUR ART AS SURREAL, MR. BLACK?


"Surreal is just an excuse some people add to things that look very far-fetched but very handsome at the same time. It´s supposed to have a strong effect on the viewer, and if doesn´t then it´s meaningless. I tossed many of my own works because of that. And something surreal doesn´t always has to be pleasant."


LIKE WHEN YOU DRAW THINGS OUT OF YOUR NIGHTMARES?


"I´ve had some very potent dreams and haven´t woken up from them, does that mean they´re pleasant? I´ve seen myself drenched in blood and I think that every sane mind knows that should be something to be concerned about. I haven´t painted those things yet, if so they would hang me."


THUS YOU BECOME MORE SELECTIVE WITH THE THEMES...


"Why should one censor ideas that quickly? It´s like an abortion, but you do it unconsciously because you´ve been already trained to do it for generations. It´s not the same thing when one kills an insect just because you feel it´s threatening. Those things are taught even at school. We grow afraid of inner demons and angels. If we fear it, we don´t touch it, but at the same time we award more power to it. I guess that proves your point."


DO YOU BELIEVE YOUR ART HAS BEEN CENSORED SOMETIMES?


"No, but I have contained it..."


But I couldn´t contain myself anymore. After a couple of weeks I was free to go home but I had to avoid getting heavily exposed to the crazy weather.


Nevertheless I had some works almost finished and after careful analysis they all had a rabbit included in them.


It was the first time I decided to bring it to the real world; it had bothered me so much it was sickening me. Let´s hope that counted as actual therapy. I agreed to show them at a local gallery, Chloe Smith, my agent insisted. "A MAJOR COMEBACK," I suppose, from what, from the dead? Then again, when I think about it I was already agonizing and I wasn´t aware of it until now.

Lots of times I avoided the sunlight because it announced the beginning of another long day, and I had literally nothing valuable to do since some essential things were done for me. So an emptiness came to rape my mind and I was drained from inspiration.


I despise those so-called artists like Danny Boy who live under the shadows of the great ones; they polluted me.

Every person who gets involved in this industry has this fixation that they´ll someday come up with their masterpiece, thus they work hard on that dream until it comes true. Yet, in reality it doesn´t happen quite like that. For me it´s been more about the technique, like a journey to the bottom of the sea, the deeper you go the more you feel. Like a very intense orgasm. Now there´s a fucking masterpiece. Can´t reveal if I did this last thing on my own or with someone else...


"It´s so good to hear your voice again, son."


That was my mother. She called and lectured me about caring for my health, but these days I´m more concerned about my mental health.


"I see you have a new assistant now, why did you hire a girl this time?"


"It´s so much easier; it´s not pleasure, just work. Besides, I´m helping her out with career."


"That sounds very good; are you taking your meds?"


"I´m supposed to but the side effects are giving me a hard time if you know what I mean," and then I gently caressed my stomach.


"Is that why you´re in a bad mood today?"


"Hell no! Though I feel like I drained many things off my system these last few days."


"I see. Well have some patience, Dear; these things need to be handled with care."


"What things?"


"You know..."


I like that warning, "HANDLE WITH CARE" I should put a sign with it over myself.


I sat down on the maplewood floor as I was opening my diary and flipped through pages of earlier years...some spirals showed up, they looked more like a rabbit hole, or it could stand for other things, I´m not sure.

That´s the beauty of art; there are no right or wrong answers, that´s why they can never accuse you of implanting evil ideas in people´s heads. The meaning is obtained after careful observation and from there on it becomes a symbol. So, I see no harm in putting rabbits in whatever situations I can possibly imagine. It means nothing until you want.


--------------

A diary is not like a story like I advised since the very beginning; there is no particular order in it. There are only events that I consider relevant to me in here like a chest full of my favorite things.

During my slow recovery, secluded at home like an animal in a cage, I continued to have one intense dream after another.

I this one, which was more of a lucid dream I sat down and stared at the mirror in my studio. I was wearing some kind of a gray shirt, when I noticed some little girl wanted my attention and I gave her the cold shoulder. I couldn´t make out much details because I wasn´t looking directly at her.

Then I remember going downstairs to the kitchen. It looked like the one in my old home in Elyria and there sat this lonely boy dressed in black at the head of the table.

As I had some breakfast with him I gave him some special advice. The boy felt better but the girl who I was ignoring said hi to me and I ignored her for the second time.

I needed some peace so I went back to my bedroom with my ´wife´, uh, which was Edith, of course.

I´m no guru so everyone can come to me for infinite wisdom, I’m just a very lucky guy who’s still discovering for what he’s worth.

-------------

The afternoon went slow;I looked ar the time in my phone and it was 1:11 PM. Edith got me back into the habit of keeping track of time again because it was becoming scarce.

But there was a time when it made me horribly anxious; I kept looking at it every five goddamn minutes and when I did I became paralyzed.

Or paranoid; afraid of everything including going out.

When Edward K., a painter of Jewish origin came to live in this building he spent most of his time alone just like me. The disencouraging part was that it happened in a moment of his life when he moved away from his wife and kid. He claimed to have powerful visions about a tragic future.

Then he became wrapped up in studying the work of Kandinsky who had been close friends to a certain Madame Blavatsky; a gifted seer and leader of the Theosophic Society.

He also happened to research about her practices down in New York City and claimed that this exact place was where she held seances or sessions to invoke spirits and such. Edward K. mistook these findings and began to create his own art at unconventional hours between three to five in the morning.

It was accidental in the beginning but the results were something incredible to look at. The use of color was bold and dinamic. There were strokes that suggested internal battles perhaps of the mind.

Although he gained fame quickly and had a very prolific period, somewhere between 1973 through 1983 he progressively damaged his reputation by becoming elitist.

"Only the chosen will understand for here is their mission."

Lunatics.

Ever since then this art was considered highly suggestive and even worse than pornography. Mr. K. gained many copycats who were quickly rejected.

By the time I came to consider renting the space they flooded me with all sorts of questions whether I was another fanatic of this painter. I simply showed them what I had done within the past five years and they were very pleased.

And shocked. So in the end it was agreed that any attempt to produce any single piece that resembled the work of Mr. King was to be frowned upon and with it my stay in this beautiful sanctuary.

As simple as that. No shenanigans of any sort. That´s why many aspiring artists considered some kind of hero and begged me to make these unholy things.

You may ask yourself; how could some art expert know the difference between a regular painting and a so called "spiritual" painting?

Because of certain patterns or recurring elements. When I told Edith all of this nonsense she thought it was all smoke and mirrors.

Au contraire. When I told her how the man died she freaked out. We had a nice, casual conversation over lunch.

"I´m sorry but this all sounds like one of those urban legends you read online," she said.

"Evidently, " I said, "have some more wine. It´s Spanish Cabernet from 2009."

"Thanks, I´m not much of a drinker myself."

"I wasn´t implying that at all. I know what you´re talking about, by the way. If I didn´t know any better they could have turned this place into an attraction and make a huge profit."

"Yeah, if they could they´d do it."

"Do you believe in the supernatural?"

She paused, "Oh no, not really."

"Seriously, you never sat around the campfire and told ghost stories, that sort of thing?"

"No!"

"Where were you raised then?"

"Okay, do you really wanna know? I was born in Ann Arbor."

"That where Iggy Pop began to play."

"Really?"

"And you came all the way up here because..."

"I was accepted; that´s all. And I´m hoping to work my way up to be a curator. I´d like to be more behind the scenes than the actual painting."

"I trust you."

"Who is putting this all together, by the way?"

"A good friend of mine named Mark. You´ll meet him soon.




















Perfect Day

I´m Adrian Black, like the color although black is technically the sum and the abscence of color depending where it´s applied. I am everything and nothing at all and can reinvent myself if it pleases me.
I stopped writing in these pages since I was like sixteen. Most of it was because I simply didn´t care anymore.The pressure and humilliation was so huge. So I made a promise; that I would continue recording my experiences until I became a famous person who successfully escaped from my sleepy little hometown.
I was running away and I can´t even remember why. I could think of a million reasons and probably it was myself I despised so much, wishing I wasn´t brought into this world. Then one day out of the blue came a dark figure infused with so much anger that I would happily embrace; a symbol of my darkest passions and a  giver of infinite strength.
Like the one I was painting at the moment.
SEPTEMBER 2011
It was late at my house around eleven o´clock. The air smelled humid and it was about to rain. Edie was asleep because she worked and studied day and night. She is not my girlfriend but I let her into my life anyway. A smart, curious woman she is like Alice who once fell down the rabbit hole.
I had been a rabbit; a prisoner in a dark Wonderland, a slave to many queens and kings. A silent, harmless creature who wanted nothing but affection and got great attention in return. This wasn´t even enough to define love. I never had any of that, just torture. If I didn´t feel pain I had nothing but it was the catalyst for my emotions which I carefully translated onto a canvas.
And music in the background, and a bottle of wine.
piggy
I was working on a new collection for an opening of an art gallery in Chelsea, in Manhattan.
I was currently living in Soho on a penthouse loft on Mercer Street. It was located above a psychic shop run by an old egyptian family which I visited every now and then. Next to it were high end shops made to look just like an outdoor mall. I could care less about that. Sometimes all I needed was an afternoon with Edith in the coffee shop on the corner of Prince Street.
As you can see I seldom left my neighborhood spending hard time in my studio, secluded most of the time and avoiding getting distracted. Being left alone was ideal to me but especially that night I felt
CONSUMED.
The moments when I was more productive were between the hours of ten to three in the morning. Anyone who has ever worked with me was aware of that rule; I couldn´t be bothered at all.
I would blame the sound of the rain for triggering memories I had buried for so long and now threathened to slow me down.
Or it could have been something else like a trance. Whatever it was it made me restless.
A storm was coming and I went out to the terrace to get soaked.
"I have to finish this" I kept saying in a lower voice. "Nothing can stop me now."
Edith heard me and went outside as well. She had a light blue top and cardigan. I had shirt no on and had no guilt for being under such terrible weather.
"Adrian, it´s pouring and cold; please come inside," she said as she shrugged.
"Sorry, I didn´t realize it was so bad."
"Are you sure you´re alright?"
"Yeah, don´t be afraid or anything; maybe I could explain later."
"Fine, take care."
That was a warning that I was about to experiment violent changes and not what she probably had in mind.
 After I finally got some decent sleep in my own bedroom I had this intense dream. In it I travelled back to Elyria as if I was paying a visit to my old man

Edith Paige was like the storybook Alice; she was raven-haired with bangs, milky white skin, blue eyes, underdeveloped.

Edie was a swell tenant. She asked me why would I could choose for a girl who has nothing to do with the art world to live here. It was simply because she wouldn´t be such a huge distraction. Later on I would refer to her as my "non-artistic follower" with my colleagues in reference to the insane regulations of Soho living.
She was in her final year in Psychology at NYU but we had met when she was a freshman.
And a fighter. I could sense she was running away from home and her conservative family.
Edie was always more careful with the way she behaved around me and I was like an open book; my crystalline green eyes couldn´t hide the sadness.

I lost the habit of writing a journal since I was sixteen; it was because I made a promise that I would continue it when I became a famous and successful painter.
Well it all came true but it was absolutely necessary to leave Elyria, the town that I grew up in to establish myself in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Manhattan.
I was named Adrian; only child of Mary and Adam Black, hard working, conservative citizens. I was born with these enchanting olive green eyes but was rather scrawny and pale.
The "quiet one" they always called me; at school, church, even the elders who lived downtown knew who I was. That easily became compensated with an insatiable appetite to record everything on paper.
Everywhere I went I carried a backpack full of loose paper and pencils. It became more frequent when I was six or seven years old. I used to take long walks around Cascade Park near the Black River.
And when there wasn´t much to draw I read a lot. What else could a lonely child do with so much imagination in a boring place anyway?
That´s when I discovered the strangest and most gruesome creature; the Black Rabbit of Inle; the messenger from the underworld from a book called Watership Down. I learned that it meant Death and it would follow me around wherever I went.

Consumed

My name is Adrian Black, only son of Mary and Adam Black and was born on the city of Elyria, Ohio; a town that had seen better days. A place where many grew up on but probably will never go back to.
Like me.
Because I was an exceptional child blessed with beauty, a voracious creativity and the infused fear of death.
This last one might have occurred because I lost my grandpa when I was about six or seven years old. We were very close and used to take me for long walks in Cascade Park.
Since then I secluded myself at home tormented by the thought of something wicked out there waiting to come and get me. Then in a dream it took the shape of the Black Rabbit; the infamous servant of the underworld from Watership Down.
My last name is my fate. Black is not a color: it´s the sum of all the colors and the abscence of all at the same time. I am nothing and everything at all.
I was everything I always wanted to be; a successful young painter based in New York with a big studio in the heart of Soho and about to present my greatest achievement in my career.
To quote Mattise, one my biggest inspirations, “An artist should never be a prisoner of himself, a prisoner of style, a prisoner of a reputation, a prisoner of success.”
I always thought I would live up to these expectations; to feel like I was in control yet such a thing needed to be won.
Fot the first time I felt wanted and was worshipped by many but on that particular September night at home I was
CONSUMED.
Daniel Hyde, a former assistant of mine commited the crime of falling in love with me. He was also very sure to have possessed me to the point of reaching creative control.
Until I beheaded him, metaphorically speaking, just fired.
The feeling of love has a friend that shows up every now and then called tragedy. And since tragedy is close to the concept of Death it´s pointless to me and it slows me down.
It didn´t mean that I was a cold-hearted monster; I was just very disciplined. And it was here, in this decadent city that I would find the meaning of life. It wouldn´t be hidden in the depths of the crowded subways or in the words of some über experimented film critic; it was down a rabbit hole.

Daniel was about five years younger than I was and I fished him out of bunch of attention whores especially from NYU where I came from. Sometimes it was a steady, live in job, at others times per project.
I couldn´t deny he had the hots for me since day one  He was five foot ten, kind of scrawny, hazel brown eyes, dark toussled hair and a sweet ass.
At first he was very diligent and punctual trying to impress me and earn my respect. It was a damn good privilege already to live under such and expensive and constrained neighborhood. In the old days it was an artist´s haven and everyone was allowed to crash and pitch in every once in a while.
What he lacked in age he made up for in debauchery; he was my Mad Hatter and with him I attended one tea party after another. No harm done until then; I had a reputation to sustain and it continues to be flawless.
I was working hard on a new collection of acrylics that would be shown in a new gallery in Chelsea. Being left alone used to be some kind of comfort but at that moment it felt like pulling the plug after a coma.
I needed to clear my mind and focus on finding a replacement for little dweeb; someone who wouldn´t prey on me and knew nothing about me.
So I took my chances and decided to post it on the social networks and see what I was able to catch. This time it happened to be a girl and it was perfect because I had no interest in them.
The post said
INTO THE HOLE.

It was Wednesday and it had been drizzling. I headed down to the corner of Prince and Mercer Street around five in the afternoon  She was standing there with her arms thrown on her back with a very optimistic look.
Edith was like the storybook Alice; she was raven-haired with bangs, milky white skin, blue eyes, underdeveloped.
I lived above one of those psychic shops which was owned by some lady named Ava who was very solicited.
We continued to make small talk in the elevator; I could noticed she was frittering and somewhat avoiding me.
"The name´s Adrian Black by the way; sorry if I keep going online by odd usernames. What should I call you?"
"Oh, Edie is fine."
"Strange; like Edie Sedgwick."
"Yeah except I´m not that beautiful and rich like he was."
"I suppose you´re not a junkie either, sorry!"
She laughed, "No!"
"Oh, don´t be that disencouraged; everyone here looks like a rockstar. I´m simply white trash from Ohio who got lucky."
"Ok, now my turn! Why Adrian?"
"I don´t know. I think my mother got so hooked on "Rosemary´s Baby". Like I´m the Antichrist."
"Is that a true story?"
"No but I scared you, didn´t I?"
"Not one bit."
"Why this place is just around the corner for you, isn´t it?" I said.
"Oh, absolutely! But how did you manage to snatch this loft just like this?"
"It was no walk in the park, I´ll tell you that. You have to be some kind of artist. The former owner was Edward King. There was an urban legend that he used to lurk the campus at 3 AM because he went sleepless ."
"Well, that´s intriguing!" she cried. "I haven´t heard of that story."
"I wanted to be here so badly because I prefer to have a piece of history around me instead of something brand new. And because I´m a sucker for nostalgia."
"How come?"
"Because all people live or dead leave an invisible trace behind. Say like burned toast."
"Now you´re quoting Mr. Hallorann in "The Shining"! she cried.
"Are you some kind of film geek?"
"No but I have a very keen memory."
"And I'm an artist, it's not that unusual to have some scars in my life to inspire me. Actually I wondered if that was my fate; to have a tormented existence watching everyone around me being hurt or let me hurt them back.”
“God no,” she said swinging her hand in mid air, “you’re too young to be carrying too much grief, what are you, twenty something...”
“I’ll be thirty next january.”
“Oh, that’s bad, that’s way too bad,” she said cynically. “In a number of societies and subcultures being over twenty means that you’re practically washed up.”
“I’m not old!” I replied, “I’m just experienced. How about you?"
"Was that a trick question?" she snapped. "Well; I came all the way down from Michigan to study psychology and currently I´m working on a thesis which describes using art as therapy; you know, to help people recover from trauma."
"You could never finish your work in a city like this! We´re all mad here. I´m mad, you´re mad."
"How can I be mad?" she asked.
"You must be; otherwise you shouldn´t have come here."
"Wait that sounds familiar; Alice In Wonderland, right?"
"Yeah, you got me. As a kid I used to quote it all the time; it applies to a lot of things in this crazy world."
"What other things?"
"Success in life. It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that! I´m always ahead of my competitors."
"You have competitors?"
"All artists are like that. Secretly we want to devour each other. The rest of the time we´re poking each others´ egos. Only a small number are your actual friends."
"Right. I´m not so much into that because I´m a real down to earth person."
"Stick with me and I´ll show you some of my work and tell me what you think."
"Are you any good?"
"I´m a badass; that´s all you need to know."


Away from all the high end shops and decadent flair of Soho was my private fifty five hundred square foot lair which was a literal flashback to the nineties. My comrades lived in a large set of vinyls and CD´s which were most of the time old Johnny Cash and Nine Inch Nails.
"There are two levels and a terrace up here. It´s like a freaking mansion with ghosts and all."
"Why are you saying that?" she laughed, "are you trying to scare me out of here?"
"No; I´m dead serious. There´s something bad here. No one believes it, of course but it´s an amusing story. Just like the one right here."
The entrance or foyer consisted of a large brick wall decorated with a copy of a painting I entitled "Home." The theme was a giant hole with a mixed media technique mostly acrylic and in the style of abstract expressionism.
"I have no idea what it means but the use of color is incredible. So you say this is a copy, where´s the original one?"
"It was sold to some art collector in London. I was lucky that she appreciated my earliest work."
"How is it that I know so little about what you do?"
"You really need to get out more. Come; I´ll show you the way to kitchen because I could really use a drink. What´s your poison?"
"Oh, no thanks, really."
"I insist but don´t worry I don´t bite. My teeth might too worn our anyway."
"You have a big imagination, Adrian."
"Yeah, among other things."
Edie was a swell tenant. She asked me why would I could choose for a girl who has nothing to do with the art world to live here. It was simply because she wouldn´t be such a huge distraction. Later on I would refer to her as my "non-artistic follower" with my colleagues in reference to the insane regulations of Soho living.
Her constant need to question and analyze everything served me well. Little by little I confessed her about my ill-fated relationship. She was eager to know because there were moments where I failed to express any emotions; I stood by the large windows in my studio.
The day the world went away
"Is everything alright?" she said one afternoon. "Or is it the rain that´s making you all melancholy?"
"Sorry, I didn´t notice you were here. What time is it?"
"Around six thirty. You don´t like to keep track of time, huh?"
"I used to but then I became very obsessive and I didn´t like who I was back then. I felt like a goddamn slave."
"I´m sorry, did I make you feel uncomfortable? I was going to make myself some tea; do you want to join me?"
"Now that´s something I can never refuse."

I wish I was actually doing portraits because Edie never looked so wonderful that afternoon; her little blue navy halter dress that went well with her sapphire like eyes. At least I could take a picture for the impression to last longer. It wasn´t a hint of attraction but she was mesmerizing.
"Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes."

"I feel unapologetic with you," I said.
"How come?"
"I haven´t told you about my previous tenant."
"That´s ok; you don´t have to tell me everything."
"You do it all the time; from the moment you´re out in the street till you come back."
"Would this confession be something I´m not supposed to hear?"
"No but you may have seen the majority of my online pictures with a certain Daniel Hyde."
"Oh, yeah; the model, what about him?"
"He´s my ex."
"I knew that! That´s not such a big mystery. Here, this is a special blend red tea. It helps to relax."
"Red; my favorite color besides black. You don´t the whole story, do you?"
"I´m not into gossip or prying into people´s lives, Adrian."
"Please do! It will help your career, I promise."
"Alright so what happened between you to?"
"Well," I said as I proceeded to take a sip of tea, "This is rather good,by the way. He´s the main reason why I was all lethargic just a few moments ago."
She said laughing, "So why didn´t you say so in the first place?"
"I´m a gentleman despite my deviate lifestyle. I feel so timid around you that I don´t want to scare you so much. Anyway, Daniel came into to live here like all the rest but he´s still impossible to forget."
"My, this doesn´t sound like small talk anymore..."
We took our conversation elsewhere to the living room exactly where I had my huge black leather couch; that´s where I crashed most of the time when I was fully exhausted.
"He had the hots for me since day one. I didn´t care at all because I´m fully concentrated in my paintings. There is an unwritten rule here that whenever I requested for a new exhibition no one and I said no one can ever disturb me."
"Just like now?"
"Sort of. I must work under very specific conditions in the style of Edward K. There are hours where I am severly productive like at eleven or three in the morning. Sometimes I stay up all night and sleep in the daytime. Even my agent knows; it´s effective."
"I have noticed that."
"It takes a while to get used to. Danny didn´t fully understand this so at the beginning he begged me to go to sleep. As soon as he entered my studio which is cluttered all the time not messy he approached me."
"And?"
"You would have said he was waiting for the right moment to strike me.
So I was in there doing my thing when suddenly he grabbed my waist but his hands were incredibly cold."
"And then?"
"I felt powerless. I tried to set myself free but he kept going. He pulled down my pants and fucked me."
She paused for a moment raising an eyebrow, "And you didn´t put any resistance, did you?"
"I honestly did! Like I said I was so concentrated, possessed even. I was thinking that maybe it would all clear up the next day but it got worse."
"In which sense?"
"He wanted control; it was something I couldn´t give him no matter what. We had an agreement."
"Why didn´t you just throw him out?"
Then it was me who paused.
"Daniel was so great in bed; that´s what."
"Well, I think that pretty much wraps it up. This is completely irrelevant to me!"
"Don´t be mad. I had a very hard time swallowing it."
"Really? How?"
"Actually I might be depressed right now but I can´t notice it because I have too much stuff on my head."
"Adrian, I´m not mad but I think you´re playing the victim here when you knew damn well what he was up to. I see no reason to weep for that bastard."
"I´m still going with the theory that there´s something bad here. You know, I´m glad you came along."

But I knew this piece of advice would not be enough; it was a wound that was still fresh. Unbelievable as it sounds Daniel was the Queen and I was nothing but a loyal subject. My failed attempt to seek help from the outside worsened these episodes of deep silence.
One fine day he found out I had a passion for drawing animals. He liked too but in a sexual way; fetish to be more exact. So he took me to this party over in Chelsea where many queers and other strange beings gather.
What a mistook for a costume ball was in fact