I sit outside with a coffee and my smokes to wait and just ignore the stares. I hide in my white walls and sit in silence.
Somewhere in the back of my head, it registers that Gemme is standing in front of me. I look up and say hi, but it takes me a few blinks to get back to reality. I glance down at my untouched coffee.
"Hi. Good gallery?" I ask, gesturing to the place across the road.
"Yeah, although I have no idea what I'm going to fill it with." I pick up my coffee and shrug. It's gone cold.
"Paintings are a good start," I laugh, taking a gulp of my coffee, even though it's gone kinda gross, being cold. But hey, I paid for it. No point in just leaving it there, right?
"Funny." She sighs, shaking her head at my sarcasm. "I meant: paintings of what?"
"Well how am I supposed to know? You're the artist around here, not me," I smile and put the coffee back down. Bleurgh.
"Yeah. I just haven't had any inspiration for a while now," she says, sitting down.
"Sorry," I mutter, but I keep talking before she can cut me off, "I told you babysitting me would be no good for you," well maybe not in those exact words. But the meaning is the same.
"It's not that, it's just nothing's really sparked my curiosity that much." She shrugged. "Perhaps I'll find something, sometime," she smiles, but I don't. How can I? It can't be easy, living with me. Having to stop me from shooting someone when I'm in a bad mood let alone on a comedown.
"Yeah..." I mutter, staring down at the coffee. Is it half full, or half empty? I can't tell, anymore, but I'm willing to bet it's half empty. I feel an edge of paranoia creeping in and I close my eyes, slow my heartbeat again and heal it away.
I wish I could go back in time and show myself what I'd become, how I'd feel if I did any of the things I did. Just that one moment of rage, just letting my telekinesis slip for one moment in a car on the way to a discount store on the edge of town... that one moment.
Realising my hand's clenching into a tight fist, I uncurl my fingers and light a cigarette, pulling the ashtray across the table without touching it.
"You alright?" she asks after a moment. I look up again, suddenly realising I'd drifted off again.
"Yeah, yeah." I nod and half smile, but I can't seem to make my mouth curve all the way up.
"Hmm." She gazes at me critically and then says: "I don't believe you."
"I'm fine," I reply, tapping the ash off my cigarette and watching the glow of the burning end fade as it buries itself further along the cigarette. "I'm fine," I repeat. Just y'know, hating the change, hating how it feels like a vacation and not a proper decision to alter anything. Just living behind a glass wall.
"Okay." She nods. "Well, I think I have a lot of work to do, to fill that place I mean." Good old distractions, eh? Nothing quite like them.
"Yeah, so what're you gonna do next? Or we. Depends what the agenda is. I forgot." I shrug. Something about food. That's all I remember.
"Well, home, I believe," she says.
"Home?" I ask, a note of disbelief slipping in. Then I realise she means the big hotel-house that she got us here, not my shitty little drug den in Cameron.
"Yes, back to the house."
"Yup, that would be what I meant," I nod and smile as if that really was what I meant, but I'm thinking I didn't fool her.
"Although, home is where the heart is. I do believe it may take a while yet." You believe it may be a while? Well, it's not like anyone would adapt this quickly. Let alone me. Always left behind. Never fucking strong enough.
My gaze drops back to the stone cold coffee and I take a last toke on the cigarette between my fingers before dropping it in the mug and pushing it away from me.
"Yeah, well. If that was true, then surely I should be wanting to go back to Nevada." I pause, because I can't even remember where I lived in Nevada, now. Just some dusty shitty road off the ninety-five, I think. But I'm not sure about even that.