I draw the people I hate at school. I hear the gossip, I hear the lies but I draw what my own eyes see. And I see the embarrassing, devastating, beautiful secrets my peers all try to hide. I have quite the collection of their paradoxes; a sketchbook...
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I remembered being carried out of a vehicle. I was helped to the ground, stumbling but held firmly against something. I fought when we got to the door, trying to break out of my stupor. I didn't want to be home. Mom was here. I couldn't be here. Please...
But the room smelled different. Familiar. Stale cigarettes and washer detergent; it was the motel room I had paid for. I groggily remembered a voice harassing me to say where to go. I wanted to tell it to shut up and let me sleep longer, but knew that would end with being yelled at. That someone had smacked my thigh again until I grumbled a place.
Sleep strangled my mind again and I was out like a light. Until the movement of being carried out of something and towards another stirred my thoughts again. I was unceremoniously dumped in a bed. I opened my eyes long enough to realize an annoyed man glaring down at me. Aw, yes. Hayden. I smiled softly. He could keep mom away. He could keep them all away.
"Scary bastard." I murmured groggily into my pillow.
I was commanded to fall asleep, but the light had already faded from my eyes. The rawness of my mind finally found peace and quiet in the aftermath of so many screams echoing through my skull. I scooted closer towards the warmth that had settled in beside me, feeling an arm drape around my side, and let a sputtered sigh take me away.
The last thing I felt was a soft pressure on my cheek. A warm breath stirred afterwards.
The fear of that letter seemed so far away.
.
.
.
Monday
I stood silently, fingers outstretched and pressed into the cool stone. My eyes were closed firmly, yet I was still more than aware of what was around me. My feet had waded into a river of obstacles containing paint buckets, spray cans, and hundreds of brush sets. I had removed my shoes for this reason and had tiptoed over the mediums around. But now I stood still as I pressed my fingertips a little harder into the wall; locking the joints further. The tremor still remained.
He was coming home...
He was coming home...
Harder I pressed my fingers against the wall before me, harder the joints strained. Finally, I collapsed forward, pushing my forehead against the chilled surface. "You're okay." I whispered forcefully. Right? I knew I was well rested, and it helped, but yet this new day only brought clarity; crystal clear memories, of all that had happened. And all that was going to happen.
Remember Alys, Doctor Hathaway's words always seemed to guide me, forged into the back of my skull to remain when all else was lost, Don't let it take over. Don't keep the chaos inside of you. You have to let something out; you have to breathe or else no sanity will remain.
