Streets of Gold
"You're way too young to fall apart...
The house was empty. Quiet. Dark.
Just how I liked it.
But I trusted Tom on his word, he'd be back. I know he would be. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to let you into his heart then forget you... He seems different. In a good, kind way. Not the bad, bitchy, douche bag way. If he was like that, I wouldn't even have gotten near him, much less kissed him.
Hell, did I really kiss him? A boy? I've never even kissed a girl! But a boy? My God... I've changed too much just by meeting him.
I sighed deeply and sat down in front of the couch yeah, you heard me. In front of it. I stared down at the floor for the longest time. What was I thinking when I asked him over? What the hell was I even letting run through my damn mind. Ugh... But what if I was right, what I thought of last night? What if he is cheating on someone, with me? Of all people in Germany, Europe, the WORLD. Me? Why me? Am I that special? Am I really needed by someone that much; that they feel the need to cheat on them, with me? Crazy, that's so crazy. Nobody likes me that much, not a soul does. I have a face only a mother could love, nobody else does. I'm hideous. I'm creepy. I'm scary. I'm weird.
I'm so different from Society.
My hand twitched, as it does when I'm too deep in thought. Way too deep; I'm a thinker, a dreamer, not a maker, a creator. I'm a nobody. I'm Bill. Bill Kaulitz.
Wait... What the fuck was his last name? Shit! Did he even tell me? I don't even think I told him mine... Ugh. I'm such a fucking retard.
"Biiiillllll, a voice called from behind my front door. "Billiam, you in there? then a knock. I got up quickly and swung the door open, only to be tackled by a heavy Gustav. "Hey Bill! Long time no see, eh?
I squirmed slightly under his weight, him being more then 50 pounds heavier then me. "Yeah.. It's been a while.
"It has! Where you been? What happened? Anything new? he asked while he crawled off of me and sat upright on the floor, in front of me. "I haven't been anywhere... And nothing really happened. I met someone last night, shut up voice. "And nothing is really 'new.' Gustav's eyes lit up with enlightenment. "Oooh who are they?! What's their name? Is she hot or what? he beamed at me. I looked up at him, sitting myself up. "Well... I started "He's okay looking, I guess..- "He?! Gustav leaned towards me as if I was insane, he had that look about his face that said it all; shocked and wanting to know more. "Yeah.. he. His name's Tom... I don't know his last name though.
"Well how did you come to meet him? Or do you know him already? I hesitated. "Well he really kind of approached me when I was standing outside that gas station down the street. Weird, eh? I looked at him with an eyebrow raised slightly. Gustav leaned back so he wasn't so close to me anymore. His face still had a quite clear look on it, as before. "Yeah... Did he try anything? Do I have to beat his ass?
Gustav, I thought, You're too over protective of me.
"No, Gus, you don't have to 'beat his ass.' He said he'll be back, sometime...
"A few days, a week maybe.
Gustav peered down at the floor for a second before standing up. He held his hand out to me, as an offer to pull me up too. I grabbed his hand and he jerked me up off the floor to standing. "So how's everything been, besides what you said already? "Good, I guess. "Did you.. Draw anything else?
Yeah, I lied to Tom. I can draw better then anyone I knew in high school. I just kept it quiet.
I lingered over what words to say next. "...Yeah. I did actually. I'll show you. I grabbed one of Gustav's hands and pulled him into the back room, to the small closet in the corner. I slid one of the doors open and knelt down on the floor, crawling back into a small space under the shelves. I felt around in the dark for the sketchbook I had laying on the floor until one of my hands ran onto the smooth, cold surface of the top cover. I pulled it out from under the shelf, sitting up. Gustav had already sat down next to me. "Who is it this time? Just someone you thought up? Me again? Or one of your parents? he watched my hands slowly lift the cover up and over, flipping through pages of portraits and scenarios, charcoal drawn and pencil, pastel and light paints, this and that from page to page.
"You'll see. silence possessed us then.
My hands started to tremble looking through all of them, though, because I did draw a lot of pictures of my parents. Black and white sketches, detailed pencil and charcoal portraits, things like that. I had canvases with paintings on them slid under the same shelf all my other work was under, just to make sure I knew where they all were.
I stopped at one specific page, where the lightly drawn portrait of a boy stood alone on the page. I held it out to Gustav. "This... This one. I said the words slowly, as he took the drawing from my hands. He peered at it, from every angle, trying to get good light on it. He looked up at me after about five minutes, I looked back. I read his expression, yet again. Confused and slightly dumbfounded; a small hint of amazement in there.
"Billiam... he started.
"....Did you draw yourself as a child?
I stared at him, long and weak. I did. I drew myself for the first time. A sick, horrible attempt it is. I know. But I chose one specific picture for it, one from when I was only 6 years old. The facial expression fit how I was feeling at the time I drew it, a few days ago. Deep and detailed, thoughtful, with a small crease of a frown in the brows that were drawn together, and on the forehead. Eyes slightly black, appearing from the picture, heavily shaded with the black rings of makeup, that yes, I wore at age six. Jet black hair, spiked in all different ways, shaggy and un-kept, slightly styled with hairspray. I didn't like it, one because I didn't take time to really finish it, and two because I don't like myself from back then. I was dumb, young, ugly, and just down right idiotic.
"Yeah.. I said after a while. Gustav peered down at the drawing again before I slid it out of his hands, closing the cover of the sketchbook. He then looked up at me. "Why?
"Because I felt like I looked in that picture.
"Billiam... tell me what happened.
Gustav sighed slightly as he said that. I looked at him, frowning a bit. "Nothing happened. I just felt down and wanted to draw that... is it bad? Gustav shook his head. "No it isn't. But Bill you've changed. A little too much.
I glared at Gustav, hard. "How dare you say I've changed. I've been the same since I was born, don't even say I'm different. Gustav frowned slightly, standing up. "Well I wont then, even though it's true. he walked back across my apartment and I followed. "Where do you think you're going? he looked back at me. "Oh, I'm leaving. I don't want to disturb you anymore. Sorry, Bill. Didn't mean to.
He pulled the door open and left.
"Stupid bitch. I muttered as I went back and sat down on my smaller couch. He was weird. Automatic, more like. I don't know, I never had the right words for anything.
Now, nothing to do again.
I looked around mindfully on what to do. Draw, maybe? While I'm alone. Go somewhere, maybe finally go talk to one of the people who lives around me. Bah. They don't want anything to do with me so I wont bother them.
Days passed. Weeks.
A month and a half, to be exact. I hadn't gotten contact from anyone. Not Tom, not Gustav, nobody. Absolutely nobody. I got fired from where I worked, now all I had left was the fund I had in my savings account in the bank.
I knew this would happen.
My house was just how it had been the day after Tom left. Everything in the same spot, I didn't even move much around. I wanted everything exactly the same as it had been. I don't know, I just wanted it to look the same, exact same, as it had when he left. I'm just a creep like that.
I didn't try to call anyone, I waited for them. But what if nobody ever called? Or tried to contact me? I don't know. I don't know anything.
I laid back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. The white, empty, cold ceiling, staring straight back at me. I had nothing to do, nowhere to go, again. Actually, it's been like this for a long time. I didn't mind though.
Hell, I didn't seem to mind about anything. Heh, I was dumb that way.
Every so often I would look out one of my windows like a creepy stalker. I dunno. Waiting for Tom to show himself again, I guess. Maybe he forgot me, maybe he didn't, maybe he was just a fag, maybe not. Who knows. I don't, that's for damn sure.
I kept my focus back on the ceiling, I was still laying on my bed. It's too blank, I though. This room needs some life.
I got up, looking over to the corner where my closet was. Should I? Or should I not... I don't know. I got up, opening the door to my closet. I slid four buckets, sealed, full of paint. One neon green, one bright and vibrant red, one electric blue, the last one was just brown. I had others, but I didn't feel like reaching for them. I crossed my legs and reached for the screw driver in which I pried open the lids with. The colours stood out fantastically against the white background of my floor as I looked down into each bucket, rim-full with the designated colour. I also got out a set of brushes, large, medium, small, each with a different texture of them. I looked back over to my walls and ceiling, which had nothing on them. Bare, clean, boring white. Bright. It was too much, my OCD for making anything look like art had been building up since I moved here, it's so empty in here. I hate it. It makes me wanna take all the paint I have and throw it on everything naked of colours.
I know, I'm weird that way. An OCD of "Art isn't exactly so normal.
I picked up the paint buckets, two in each hand, taking them over to the first wall. The one that had not a single thing touching it. I looked down at the red, cautiously and slowly dipping the medium-light-texture brush down into it, slowly pulling it back out and looking back up at the wall. I didn't need a basis for where to start, I just knew. I dragged the brush with paint on it across the wall for about four feet, making the line curved down slightly. This made me smile. I did the same, one line above the other, none of them touching, for the next colours. And it was a pattern, red then blue then green then brown. Red then blue then green then brown. To the ceiling and down to the floor. Up the whole wall in front of me. Then, having that part finished, I dragged out the next few colours. Yellow, white, orange, and black. I did the same, but instead of making them next to the original lines, I made them go over them. Only, the second ones, went down the wall instead of across. I did this about 12 times, making them layer up on each one and another, making them thicker and thicker each time. Soon enough, I had the whole one wall covered with colour. In a criss-cross pattern, one set across or over the other. But I didn't use the white, not yet.
I'm saving the white for the effects.
I picked up the smallest brush, dipping it into the black and staring at the wall I had been focused on for hours. "What to do, what to do next... I crossed my arms, holding the wooden part of the brush between my teeth. This is what an artist should do. Not keep himself hidden in the fears of embarrassment all the time.
I got it.
I had a perfect idea. I painted the outline of a circle, in black. Thin, delicate, black lines. Then, the inner part of the circle. Same black lines, only on the inner part of the circle. Then, inside that circle, I drew a straight column. Then a sideways column on top of that one, like a block letter of a "T. I tilted my head slightly as I did so, just so it didn't come out looking squiggly. Then under the first sideways column, I did another, only smaller and a little further down. Then under that I did the same as I had on top. Same size, same shape. Just under the smaller one. Now that I had that, I painted the lines around the outside. The effects. It made it look like it was literally "Smashing through the wall. but, around the inside of the circles and the symbol, I covered up the original pattern colours with white. I finished up the effects of the area around the circles and symbol and stepped back a little to see it all. Perfectly in line... I thought to myself. Now to paint it black.
This all humored me. I'm not quite sure why, but this just made me happier.
I took the black paint bucket and studied the wall once more. I still needed to make it a lot more different. More effects.
I dipped the large brush in the paint and filled in the empty circles, the symbol, and used the smaller brush to make it look like it was smashed in some parts. I covered up part of the circle on the left with white, then took black and made it look like part of it was actually "Falling out for lack of better words. It looked kind of three-dimensional. I intended for it to look like that. I set the paintbrush down and stepped back to examine my final work. Goddamn...
It looks too perfect. My eyes shifted down to the bottom though. I picked up the smallest brush again and painted my name in black. Cursive, perfect black cursive. Right under the symbol. The whole thing topped off with the "Bill Kaulitz at the bottom of it. I don't know, it just did.
I loved it.
All of a sudden, I heard a knock on the front door. I looked at the paint-covered watch on my wrist. Fuck. Seven hours? Damn! Took a while. But who the fuck could that be at 12 midnight?
I ran down the hallway to the front door, opening it.
Tom beamed at me, his face looking at appalled as ever. I looked just as surprised.
He looked me up and down. "Uhm... he was staring at my hands. "Why are you..-
"No reason. Just taking care of a few things. Come on in, Tom. I said, smiling and standing away from the door. He smiled back, walking past me and inside. He wasn't wearing a coat, much less a long sleeved shirt. Just simple pants and a tee-shirt. "So how have you been? he looked over at me as I closed the door. I looked back at him. "I've been okay. Actually, I've been way better. Getting fired and all-
I sat down on the couch and looked down at my hands. They were splattered with every colour of paint I had. Tom sat next to me, also looking at my hands. "What were you doing? With... Paint, I mean. his expression seemed empty, like he didn't know me. Bitch. I looked up at him. "Oh.. Hm? Nothing. It's just paint- ...That's all.
"You were doing something, Bill.
"Just drop it. Where the hell have you even been? You broke your promise and I'm not happy about that. my mood changed completely as I choked those words out. Tom looked at me in utter disbelief, his brows pushed together slightly forming a frown. "What do you mean, 'Where have you been?' I've been at work where I said I was. I grunted after he said that. "You said, what, a week at the most? Two. Okay, two. How long ago was that? Oh, right, a month and a half, Tom! A month and a fucking half! I raised my voice slightly and shot up from where I was sitting, still staring down at Tom. He stood up also. "It's not like I'm your fucking boyfriend Bill! I barely fucking know you! Just back off, okay? Back the hell off.
That crossed the line.
I pulled my arm back and back-handed Tom as hard as I could have. "LOOK WHO'S TALKING, ONE-NIGHT-STAND PLAYING BITCH!! I shouted as I kept my eyes set to kill on Tom's. His jaw had dropped, his hand over where I slapped him.
What had I just done.