Chapter Five

The Russian Wall Painter

Even though I hadn’t really listened to Mother in the cafe, I did take note that she mentioned something about the walls in the lounge getting repainted. She wanted the house to look a bit more ‘pleasant’ so she hired someone to come around and do the job himself. But the thing that got me thinking was the fact that she had not money to pay for his service? Where was she going to get the money? She didn’t work. Neither did I.

On Wednesday, the painter came for the first time. He was a tall man, with a Russian accent, who had ratty brown hair, a beard, moustache and dirty overalls that were covered in paint. When I first saw the red paint I really was convinced that it was blood. But that was just a stupid accusation. Anyway, whilst he painting the lounge, Mother turned on some of that really terrible music she listens to all the time. I also noticed that when she spoke to him, she sounded flirtatious. But Mother would never flirt with anyone. She believed flirting was a thing for s***s and ‘the scum of the Earth’.

Later when he finished one wall he decided that he had done enough. Mother did in fact confess that she had no way of paying him until she saw him next. He found this OK but he stayed in the lounge for an extra while. I was upstairs by now. It was quiet down there. What were they doing? But it was kind of too late to go find out as I heard him at the door.

“Good evening, ma’am!” He shouted to Mother. Then he left. A short moment of silence followed after. But, since she couldn’t bare the silence, Mother broke it.

“Have you seen the lounge?!” She appeared at the bottom of the stairs with an ecstatic look on her face.

“Yeah, in fact I was there when he was painting it,” I rolled my eyes at her. How could she have not seen me?

“Oh, yeah...sorry...” she muttered as she sloped away. I could tell she was going to be drinking again.

*

The next, I was out walking. Amethyst was with me. We didn’t hold hands. I still felt a bit awkward from that night she basically ate my neck.

“I saw some guy go into your house yesterday. What was that about?” Amethyst asked, “Your Mother never really allows visitors except me.”

“Surely you saw the van outside,” I stated then regretted. She didn’t deserve this rudeness.
“I didn’t see a van,” she replied knitting her eyebrows together in confusion. She then sort of flipped her pink hair out of her face. Her pink hair was so cute, “who was he?”

“He’s a painter,” I answered.

“Who’s he painting? Your Mom’s portrait?” She laughed.

“No, he paints walls, Amethyst,” I corrected her.

“Dude, I was kidding,” she retorted. I must admit she sounded a bit hurt. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just getting a bit frustrated,” I admitted.

She then looked at me with a concerned face, “why?”

I gulped and took a while to gather my thoughts for a few seconds, “I had a weird dream recently...” I paused as I glared at the ground, “I was with this girl from a magazine I saw and she was really damaged. She was just like me. Lonely. Then I nearly ended up doing ‘stuff’ with her.”

Amethyst slowly nodded as I confessed this s**t to her. She then tucked her hair behind her ear, “have you ever had a dream like this before?”

“No.” I admitted.

“So, it was a new sort of thing...”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve never thought of anything that could bring this dream to your head?”

“I don’t think so...”

“So it was out of the blue?”

“I guess.”

“And you’ve never had a dream like that before?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’ve never experienced- -”

And then I snapped.

“Oh my God! What is with all the questions!?” I snarled at her, “Christ! What is with you?!”
She only stared at me. Shock was written all over her pretty face. She looked so innocent.

“I’m sorry. I’m just really frustrated. My Mom has no money to pay the painter guy, that dream creeped me out and I just...” I took a deep inhale as I held her by her shoulders, “I just don’t understand how I’ve survived. All these years living with the b***h. In the dream I asked the girl why she did what she did. She was a hooker. A nobody. She kept saying no one really cared. I feel the same. Why am I still alive? No one cares.”

“I care,” she cut me off, “I care so much about you. If you were ever hurt, I wouldn’t be able to cope,” we then began to walk again, “Do you think i can talk to her? I know she really doesn’t like anyone but it’s worth trying to break her out of her shell.”

“I don’t know, maybe. She thinks you’re a bit of a floozy though. So wear something...decent,” I rambled.

“Callin’ me a hoe, boy?” She put on a funny voice, “imma slap yo’ head off the curb!”
She playfully slugged me on the arm.