graffiti (completed)

Seven.

Hey guys! Long time no see!

I apologize for such big update gaps--lately, I've been quite busy, and I wasn't exactly sure how to advance this story.

In fact, my mom had surgery today, and I updated while in the waiting lobby.

I've figured out what I want to do with it, and the old Seven that I had didn't exactly go with it.

In fact, that sucked.

So, I decided to make up for it, like I promised months ago, and give you guys a brand new chapter seven.

I hope you all enjoy this, and I promise, there will be updates way more often.

Hope you all had a good Valentine's Day, and I'll see you soon!

Thank you for the votes, the reads, the fans, and the support. It means a lot to me.

-Shelli (RayBansAndBlackVans.)

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I sighed through the darkness, rolling onto my back to simply stare at the ceiling. I absolutely hated the thick and eerie silence that settled throughout the house, the way you could probably hear my breaths from two floors down since the house was so Goddamn quiet.

It was a Friday, the end of my second week in this sorry excuse for a town, full of fake people and fake houses and fake smiles. Caleb, Ricky, Drew and I somehow ended up hanging out together very often, and Derek was still a blue-blooded asshole. The day after the locker incident, he had a bandage on his head, and whenever someone asked, he either snapped loudly or mumbled quietly. Something was probably up.

I knew just sitting there and drowning in the silence would drive me insane, and I had already used most of the paint Drew lent me. So, I decided that now was the time to start planning my escape. There were three strategies, three methods I had for running away--every one mattered on what kind of parent I had, and who got close to me.

The first was the blunt approach, which I used with snappy, strict, or argumentative parents. There would come a day where I decided that, after a certain amount of fights, I would leave. And when that final fight set off, I would say I was leaving, pack my bags. Of course, the parents think they have control over everything, they're always right, that they're the shit--so they say "Go ahead, you'll be back." and I walk past their folded arms and smug expression, walking out the door and never going back.

Then, there was the wild and brash approach, which I used with abusive, possessive, or creepy parents. I would quickly pack up and walk near the door, acting as casual as possible (which is easy to do when you're a street artist), like I'm going to get some water or watch TV. Before they can ask what I had the backpack for, or what I'm doing, the front door is slamming behind me as I run. Not a single thought of looking back or stopping crosses my mind until I can't feel my legs and there's a burning in my lungs, like hot shards of glass with each breath.

The final method was what I planned to use. It was made for when parents and people got too close to me. I would act completely normal the day of, and that night, silently leave without a single clue of where I planned to go. Leaving no evidence makes you easier to forget.

The sudden rumbling and lit up screen of the phone Melodie bought me took me away from my thoughts, my arm immediately reaching towards the phone.

The caller ID made a small chuckle spark on my lips as I pick up the phone. "Go for it."

"Get whatever paints you got left and your board. Meet me by that Checkers near the school. We're going to have some fun." Drew said on the other line, smile obvious in his voice when he hung up the phone.