Dmitry gave up on his painting for the time being, deciding it’d be better to finish it later. Instead, he began tracing intricate geometric designs over the bandages on his arms, with the intention of making them less… obvious. Or at least, more bearable to look at. He glanced at Harley as he spoke about why he hadn’t done portraits and shrugged. “If you want you can try doing one of me. I promise, whatever it ends up looking like, I probably think worse of myself anyway.”
It was true, Harley’s words seemed somehow lacking, but what else could be said? Things were the way they were, it was not like he had chosen for it to be that way.
“Honestly? It’s a mess, and it sucks a lot sometimes, but not always. Like… if the high is a mild one, then it can be pretty good. Wish I could bottle it up, you know?” he said with a slight smile.
At Harley’s question, Dmitry sighed and thought for a moment. “I mean… no, not really. For a really long time I didn’t even realize something was wrong, and when I did, I just ignored it. I’m just particularly stubborn, I guess. I’ve been in places like these before, but generally not by choice. The only time I came voluntarily was because I was running away from someone, and it felt like the only safe place to be… which I guess probably sounds strange. What about you? Why are you here?”
Harley scoffed a laugh at Dimitry’s comment, his eyes rolling. Although
he knew what low self esteem could do to someone, he couldn’t help
himself. There was literally not a single flaw on this guy’s face; capturing
his likeness would ultimately end in failure, and he knew that even without
One day, you’ll see, you’re a good-lookin’ guy.
It’d be hard to do a portrait of you any justice.”
Harley looked down at Dimitry’s arm, where he was making small designs
rather than working on his painting. He watched the way the brush
traced, delicate, smooth. He had excellent control, although that
was no surprise considering the meticulously painted landscape
sitting before him, unfinished.
Harley assured, offering a smile to the comment about his disorder.
It was sad to hear someone talk about it -- to watch the pain on their
face when they searched for the right words to explain themselves.
It was a desperate scramble, and Harley knew it all too well.
“Isn’t that something they teach you in places like this?”
Harley nodded along with Dimitry’s story until the same question was
posed on him. He should have known that was coming, but it still
made his heart flutter. It made his stomach turn to think of it.
“Doesn’t sound strange. People do weird shit when they’re
desperate, especially if they’re running.”
With that, he shrugged, letting out a small sigh.
“I’ve had a substance abuse problem for years.
It just ended up getting really bad and I kinda had
a freak-out -- like -- I don’t know, I don’t really even
remember a lot of it ‘cause I was so fucked up.
But I hurt some people, and then swallowed a shitload
of pills. My friends brought me here as soon as I got out of
He rolled his eyes at himself.
“It was bullshit, I wish it didn’t happen the way it did.”
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