It really surprises me to hear Avery insult her own art. Does she really not think her work is any good? It's some of my favorite in the whole school.
She talks like this a lot and I don't get it. Her work is awesome. I've never seen anything like it. I have no basis for comparison, but it's vile in the most spectacular way.
We're always our own worst critics. I'm no different. I hate more than half of the shit I create. I don't even know why. Some of the work I do end up liking ends up being too private to share. Sure, maybe people wouldn't even understand the painting the way I do, but it still feels too intimate, like they're digging through all my secrets.
"Yes, you are!" I practically exclaim. "I love your work!"
She looks shocked by that. "Really…?" she asks. "Since when?"
"Since always, you're seriously one of my favorite artists at the school."
"Aw, wow… thanks," she says, sounding surprised. "That's nice as hell."
She chuckles nervously. She sounds like me when I get compliments. Never knowing how to respond.
"Sure, your style is unique," Cameron tacks on, settling back into the couch and crossing one leg over the other. "But it's just too niche."
At that, her mood seems to return to its earlier state.
"I know," she replies crankily. "No one wants to pay for huge portraits of animals foaming at the mouth."
That doesn't seem right to me.
"There has to be some sort of market for it, right?" I press.
Avery looks disheartened and Cameron laughs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "It's refreshing how optimistic you are, but no, it doesn't really work like that."
"Why not?" I ask before turning to her. "You could get a website or something."
She shrugs. "He's right, Rudolf. It's a bit harder than that. It's hard to get attention."
"Plus," Cameron adds, "you never fucking socialize. How do you expect to do anything with your art if you don't network?"
"I don't network, either," I admit.
"Yeah, and that's your problem," he points out. "You have some cool shit, so you should put yourself out there a little more."
I know he's right. I just don't want to, though. Putting myself out there means risking rejection and I can't handle that. I can't even handle any sort of mild criticism. Every time we do crits in class I feel like I'm going to throw up.
"Anyway," Cameron pats his knees and then stands up from the couch. "I'm gonna go smoke."
He stares at me expectantly for a moment before I realize what he wants.
"Oh, sorry," I tell him, shaking my head, "I don't smoke."
"Oh," he replies curtly. "You should. Even if it's just socially."
Avery busts up laughing at that.
"Don't listen to him!" she exclaims. "He told me the exact same thing!"
"I mean it," Cameron gives her a dirty look before glancing back at me. "It's a great way to talk to people. You offer them a cigarette and then you can get them one on one."
"Well, I don't think I'm any better off for it," Avery argues.
"That's because you just do it by yourself," he scoffs.
She shrugs him off and he disappears after that. I glance at her and she gives me a careless look. I feel like most people would start a fight over some of the shit Cameron does, but Avery lets it all roll off her back. Then again, when it comes to Cameron, everyone lets everything roll off their backs. He's so popular, it's no wonder no one wants to cross him.
"I think Cameron is wrong," I say finally.
She quirks an eyebrow. "About what?"
"Your work," I explain. "I think you can do what you want with it. I think it's still something people would love, especially since it is so unique. I mean, I've never seen anything else like it in my life. Just because it's dark and gritty, it doesn't mean it's not…profitable or whatever? People still like that kind of art. And even if it wasn't profitable… profit and success aren't always related, are they? Success… everyone has their own definition of it."
"Thanks… seriously, I appreciate that."
"No problem," I mumble awkwardly.
I don't really know where to take the conversation after that, so I stick my nose back in my cup. Avery smiles to herself and stares off at nothing in particular. I wonder if she's thinking about what I said. I wonder if it made her feel good about herself. I hope so. Maybe this isn't that bad. I'm glad Avery and I got to talk. She's different from how I expected. She's nicer. Maybe she thinks I'm different too. Less of a loser.
I start to think about getting up and pouring myself another drink, but before I get the chance I hear the door slam with enough force that it shakes the frame of the entire house. I almost jump out of my skin.
"Fuck OFF!" I hear a man exclaim, and a second later he comes pushing through the crowd of people.
I shrink back onto the couch, looking over at Avery who seems equally startled.
"Aw, shit," I hear her say. Before I can ask her what she means, I spot Cameron following the angry looking guy. He grabs his shoulder but gets shaken off.
"Who is that?" I ask.
"Jackson," she mumbles. "Cameron's ex."
I look back at the guy named Jackson. He's tall, blond, and has a piercing through the bridge of his nose. He's attractive, kind of like Cameron. He looks mad, though. More than mad, actually. He looks furious. Cameron tries to grab him again, only to be shaken off once more. Jackson turns around and slams the beer bottle he's holding on the floor at Cameron's feet. It shatters with a loud crash and glass flies in every direction.
"I SAID FUCK OFF!" he shouts in Cameron's face, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. He looks and sounds drunk as hell. When he turns back around, he steps on a shard of glass but hardly seems to notice.
It surprises me and I can't help but gawk at the scene. What surprises me even more is when this Jackson guy starts to head straight for me.
I stay frozen in place as he charges across the room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind himself.
"Stay AWAY from him," Jackson shouts, stopping about a foot away from me and pointing back at Cameron who's approaching quickly with the most pissed look I've ever seen him wear.
I want to get up and run away, but this guy is blocking me into the couch. There's nothing I can do and I don't want to set him off even more, so I just quietly nod.
"I mean it!" he bellows, barely coherent.
"O-okay," I stammer.
I'm practically shaking now. I don't know what this guy's talking about. I just want him to go away.
Avery stands up, puffing out her chest and putting herself between me and this freak.
"Cool off," she tells him threateningly.
"Who the fuck are you?" he practically spits in her face.
"Cameron's friend," she says, holding her palms out and pushing him away. "And I said cool down."
He doesn't look like he's going to cool down, though. He just keeps leaving bloody smudges on the hardwood. Gross. Does he even realize he's bleeding or is he that drunk? On top of being scary, it's just kind of sad…
Before things can escalate further, I decide to cut in.
"You're bleeding," I state, pointing to the floor.
He pauses and stares down at his feet.
"You should probably go take care of that," Avery adds firmly.
Just when I think he might try to slug Avery in the face, someone else pushes past Cameron and grabs Jackson by the arm.
"Come on man," he says in a pleading tone. "Let's go."
Jackson stares angrily at the floor.
"Leave me alone," he snaps, yanking his arm out of this other guy's grip.
His hand flies right back to the fabric of Jackson's shirt.
"I mean it. It's time to go," he says more firmly. "I'm gonna take you to the ER."
At that, Jackson seems to give in. He lets his friend pull him away without giving Avery or me a second look, but on their way out he slams shoulders with Cameron who regains his balance without much effort and sneers after them.