The Normals | ✓

S E V E N

I've barely closed the door before I break down again. I can hear Arden yelling something at me from the dining room but my sobs quickly drown him out. Sliding down the door, I crawl over to the bed and sit against it. Things had been going so well, but now I feel so lost.

My hand reaches up on the bed, looking for Sniper's sketchbook. I find it and pull it down. Wiping my eyes, I try not to spill tears on the pages as I look through it again. I brush my hands over the worn pages, rounded and softened at the corners. His drawings were so beautiful. It pains me to know he'll never be able to create one ever again.

I flip the pages, watching as his drawings get more and more complex. I can't help the tears that start falling down my face again. We had everything more or less under control. The escape from the Core, taking out the Masks sent to find us, even when we were being chased by the pack of robots. We put our minds together and made it out alive. My blood boils at the thought that the Mask who killed him is still out there somewhere, walking free.

I stop at a page with a drawing of a person. He's blended the pencil into soft shapes, yet the drawing radiates chaos. The person is a simple dark figure, but two white bird's wings sprout from its back, shedding feathers. However, the wings are chained up. I remember looking at this drawing back at the Core, on one of the rare days he would let me look at his art, and not understanding it. Now, I fully understand the weight of it. I feel like the person in the drawing -- lost. Just a dark figure trying to navigate a confusing world. And I feel restricted too, as if I also have chains on my nonexistent wings. I have potential, yet I don't know how to free it.

I turn the page, wiping my eyes on my already wet sleeve. I can see his drawings evolving. They go from simple studies of rooms or people or trees, to complex drawings that only someone who's experienced what he has can really understand. A person with chained wings. Birds dropping from the sky to transform into fish, stuck underwater. The forest at night, eyes peeking through the trees, watching.

And then there's the last collection of pages, which are almost all me. I flip through them, lingering on each one. He's drawn my eyes, my lips, my nose. There's one he must've done while I was sleeping one morning, and one of me in the glowing cave that he must've drawn from memory.

My favourites, however, aren't the ones of me. They're the ones of him.

There aren't many, but there's enough. Of course, nothing can replace him actually being here, but seeing the sketches of his hand or his hair, or the few full drawings he's done of himself in the mirror, makes me miss him a little less and a lot more at the same time.

I flip to the back. The sketchbook isn't even completely full, but he's written a note on the very last page. I've read it before. It's addressed to me.

Arthemis,

There are two reasons why you could be reading this. Either I've let you see it, which if I have, I'm not sure why, or I am not here for some reason and you're looking through it without me. I really hope it isn't because I am dead, but what's done is done, isn't it? Anyway, I was looking at you just now (I promise I'm not a stalker. You're just really pretty when you're lost in your thoughts) and I thought I should write you a note should anything bad happen. It's been three days (I think) since we left the Core. Maybe longer, but we're currently in Old Victoria. In the building we decided to spend the night in. You're sitting on the bed and I'm watching you from the sofa while I write this. And I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you being here with me. I know it was a hard decision for you to leave the Core, even if you won't admit it. But you really gave me hope. You made me believe, for the first time, that maybe we aren't alone out here. And look where we are now. So many discoveries in so little time.

So thank you. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for staying with me. Thank you for believing in me. If something ever happens, I hope you know I'll miss you so bad it will most likely kill me.

Oh dear. I think I might have made myself cry. I'm going to go lie with you now and hope you find an excuse to kiss me.

I close the book and curl up on the floor, letting myself cry. I don't think I've ever experienced so many emotions in under a week before, and every day I find myself discovering new ones. Once again, I cry for Sniper. But I also cry for the rest of the people I knew back at the Core. Captain and Bear were far from perfect but my teammates were the closest thing I had to friends. I cry out of anger at Arden. I cry simply because I never got to at the Core. I know I'm indulging myself. I should be wiping my tears, getting up, confronting Arden. But how can I when the only plan I had has fallen apart? I don't even know what I'm still doing here. What do I do now, now that I've made it to the Normals' city? Make a difference? As if I could do that. They're so much more complex than I would have guessed. So much more rule-abiding. So much more perfect than I could ever be. How am I supposed to go out there and talk to Arden about his next move when I don't even know what my own will be?

I'm lost. And right now I don't have the motivation to find myself. And honestly, I think that I kind of don't even want to. There is a part of me that is hiding from it all, avoiding everything. It hides behind the sadness and the guilt and the anger and hopes not to be noticed.

I'm afraid. And I hate it.

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A/N: late update today sorry! (lmao I'm saying this as if people actually read this-)