Back at school once again. Yippee. I've made sure to wear my black jumper with the longer sleeves to help cover up my bruised, swollen and scraped knuckles. They still sting from yesterday.
Last night, I once again began thinking too much. I've started to lose faith in the idea that Cassidy can help me. I know she strongly believes in me. It would hurt her to see what I did to my hands. I just know it would.
I don't want to hurt Cassidy. I never do. In fact it would hurt me to hurt Cassidy. Sweet sweet Cassidy. I think maybe, just maybe, I might like her a little bit.
Just as I'm thinking about the devil, she appears. Once again, without a word, she begins dragging me off into the direction of the art room.
"Not even going to give me a hello, how are you? I missed you. Jeez, what is this," I joke.
Still she doesn't say a word. She just stops, punches me in the diaphragm and continues dragging me.
When we reach the art room, Cassidy is quick to dash to some canvases laying again the blank white wall.
She smiles with pleasure as she shows me three paintings. All of me.
The first one is fully grayscale and my head is tilted to the side. I look tired. Do I always look this tired? Perhaps I should invest in some very dark sunglasses.
The second one is also grayscale. I think the background is Cassidy's art room. Its hard to tell when every photo Cassidy has taken of me has happened in some sort of art room.
The third one however, I'm ever so slightly smiling. This time, there's one stroke of colour on me, its not too large and its not too bright. Its a deep purple.
I'm looking at the third painting when it is taken from my grip. Cassidy holds up my hands and examines my knuckles. The happiness fades from her body. Something I haven't yet seen. Something I don't want to see.
"Why?" she whispers with those big green eyes looking into my soul.
I look to the ground as I begin to explain what had happened.
Without any warning, Cassidy gives me a hug. I'm not used to hugs so I stand there momentarily before hesitantly hugging her back. It strangely felt nice to be receiving a hug. After our hug is finished, Cassidy of course had to go rushing for the camera.
Click!
"Please, call me if this ever happens again," she said as she began writing her number on my forearm with a sparkly pink pen.
YOU ARE READING
Grayscale
Teen FictionThis is a story of a teen boy named Elliot. He meets a girl named Cassidy at school who turns out to be a painter. She can see just how unpleasant Elliot thinks life is and begins painting a line of artwork as she helps Elliot turn his grayscale wor...
