Sketch

92 - Emmy

I can tell by the look on Sam's face that he can't believe this is happening again. Just when all his dreams seems to be on the cusp of coming true, Michelle, someone he used to trust, knocks everything down again like it's made of sand and she's an unstoppable wave.

Tabs won't come out of her room, feeling like this is all her fault even though I've assured her it isn't, and I'm kind of glad she's going home tomorrow. We were supposed to be going to the studio today. Tabs was going to get to see what I've been up to these past months and I couldn't wait to share it with her. Now I'm not even sure if we're welcome there anymore.

Ollie and Vince are subdued versions of themselves and Sam seems to be in a daze, doing everything he's normally does but I know his mind is somewhere else. I feel helpless, and when no-one's looking I sneak out of the flat and down to the wide, open spaced foyer. London looks unchanged outside of the huge glass windows even though Sketch's world has fallen apart. It makes me wonder how many things change each day that the majority of humanity doesn't know about. People are born and people die and unless it directly affects me I don't even realise it. It's not until you stop and think about these things that you're reminded of how massive the world is. For all I know, there could be someone on the other side of the world going through exactly what I am. What if they feel like it's all their fault too? I feel like a hypocrite telling Tabs that none of us are to blame when in fact I can't help feeling like it's all on my shoulders.

I take a seat on one of the plush sofas next to a giant vase of pink flowers. They smell sweet and the colour clashes violently with my sunshine yellow t-shirt. I stroke the petal that brushes my arm and get lost in the feel of how soft it is; like silk or velvet. I don't know how long I'm staring at the flowers before a familiar voice startles me back into the room, chasing away the distant hum of phones ringing and the secretary's voice.

I blink hard and look up at Sam. His hair is sticking up at the front and I guess it's from where he keeps pushing his hand back through it whether in thought or frustration I'm not sure. His brown eyes are warm and I feel myself relax from tension I didn't know I'd been harbouring as he sits down beside me.

"I know what you're thinking."

I offer him a half smile even though I don't feel like smiling at all; it's like I can't feel completely sad in his presence. "And what's that, oh psychic one?"

His expression softens at my sarcastic answer but then he seems to stiffen again. "Michelle would have done this anyway, whether you were here or not."

I try to feign ignorance, but by pulling at a thread on my hem I know I've given the game away. "Oh yeah?"

"Emmy." He sighs. "Michelle is a complete jerk. She can't be happy unless everyone else is sad. It's stupid and unreasonable but she's always been like it." Sam laughs but it comes out more like a grunt. "Granted, I didn't know she was this twisted, but still."

I shrug. "I still feel bad."

Sam holds a finger up to my lips and his eyes soften. "I need you here."

I frown, unsure of what he means, until I shock myself as I realise I've been thinking about leaving. It hasn't even got to the surface, but it's hovering just beneath. It's like he saw it in my expression. I bite my lip. "But what if it means Sketch can carry on?"

"You are Sketch. It can't continue without you. It wouldn't be Sketch otherwise." He says it simply, like it's obvious.

"But just say Walter's will have you back without me."

"Then I know that I wouldn't take it, and neither would Ollie or Vince. We need and want you here."

"Even though we don't have a record contract?" My sentence is open ended; Why stay here when what I came here for is over?