sweater weather ↠ markle

eight ↠ the memory

Maya' s P.O.V.

I stepped through the building's doorway and made my way to the elevator, pressing my floor's number. All the while, I kept trying to erase that boy's stupid smirk from my mind. He really thought he knew me, like reading a book cover and making a complete judgement of the overall literature. My pages held an entirely different story. No matter how much Farkle Minkus thinks he knows me, he'll never uncover the true fairy tale of my life.

I throw the thought into the elevator and leave it behind me as I make my way to the apartment door. Stepping in, the temperature doesn't hold much change with my barely-heated home. I don't mind it, merely closing the door behind me and heading to my room. My mother wouldn't be home for another few hours, probably until midnight. Her jobs had her working around the clock.

The first thing I grab is my sketch book, tucked neatly away under my pillow as if it was some sort of magical fortress, protecting my dreams and sanity. Almost instantly, a pencil is in my hand and a pattern begins to unfold on the paper.

I hadn't truly realized what I was drawing until about twenty minutes in when the braided patterns and neatly-cut lines began to form a familiar shape. I thought I had just been sketching an abstract personification of my mind, but in reality, my subconscious had undermined me.

Upon the paper, that resilient sweater lives on. I want to stop, to rip the page up and start a new, but my hand keeps going, the picture forming into a portrait more than a sketch. I can feel it in my fingers, the unforgettable feeling of the cashmere against my touch. It's a feeling I wish I could burn away, but something keeps pulling me to the memory.

Another twenty minutes pass and the recreation has come to life, my color pencils lying beside me and the picture gaining a vibrancy of hue as my fingers work to finish the piece before my brain is lit ablaze.

I can't resist it, this feeling of nostalgia that has set into my body and taken over. My eyes glance towards my desk every so often, my gaze landing upon the piles of drawings from before when the sweater had controlled my mind. But they were nothing like the art gripped in my hands. This, this was lifelike.

I can feel my muscles relax as the final stroke of my color pencil lays it's mark on the paper, shoulders leaning against the wall and crystal orbs scanning the picture with a feeling I can't quite pinpoint. Why I had drawn this, I don't know. Why I continued to the end was a more unnerving question.

That sweater, and that boy, took over my mind for the rest of the night, the sketchpad still gripped firmly in my palm as my eyes lay to rest until morning.

↠

The light shining through the thin curtains of my window was the final strike of my awakening. A groan fell from plump, chapped lips, eyes finally cracking open to the blinding light cast upon the room. My feet moved to sling over the bed, planted firmly on the floor. The usual sensation of an icy touch failed to meet my toes, and at a further inspection, I realized I had fallen asleep in my clothes from yesterday— shoes and all.

Yet another groan fell from my lips, my traditional morning routine. Eyes glanced to the clock, and it looked like I had enough time to take a shower and get ready before I absolutely had to be at school.

Throwing my prior clothes to the floor, I stepped into the bathroom and enveloped myself into a piping hot waterfall, just the way I like it. Scrubbing myself clean and getting in a quick shave, I jumped out and rushed through the rest of my morning requirements, opting for no makeup and just a quick hair dry before returning to my room and throwing on some clothes. After a few moments, I settled on a simple pair of black leggings, a plain white tee, and an over sized green denim jacket, along with a random pair of shoes.

Glancing once more at the clock, I still had a few minutes to spare, so I glided over to the window and took a longing gaze upon the morning streets of New York. While the view of my apartment building could see off into the golden streets of the city's center, it was also placed in a not-so-good neighborhood, which only made the glimpse of a shining silver Lexus all the more questionable.

I took one look towards the sidewalk of my building, and there stood the inescapable Farkle Minkus.

"Minkle!" I yelled down to the ground, not entirely sure he could hear me from all of the city's usual noise. But, to my surprise, he glanced up, a warm smile on his lips. I almost wanted to chuckle, but I held it back. "What the hell are you doing here?"

It took him a moment to register my question, but as soon as he did,  he waved a set of car keys at me. "You didn't have a ride home yesterday, it's reasonable to think you might not have one this morning. I thought I'd drop by and see if you needed a ride."

Oh yeah, my truck is broken. Fuck.

I was just about to reply, but he beat me to it. "And, I have jumper cables in my trunk, we can get it rolling again so you don't have to attempt to deny my ride offers anymore." There was a smirk on his lips, and I almost wanted to jump down and smack it off his face, but a quick look towards the clock, a calculation of how long it would take to find me a different ride, another calculation of how long it would take to get to the train station and wait for the appropriate train, and a quick sigh, I turned back to the incessant boy.

"Fine, but no fucking techno, got it?"

I raced to grab the random books lying on my bed to shove them in my bag, knowing if I took any longer I'd make us both late. Grabbing my phone, I was ready. With one final glance in the mirror, I headed out the door.

↠

Look at me, two chapter in two days, and already having ideas for the next one, I'M BECOMING A TRUE HUMAN.

Okay but notice the little changes in Maya's behavior over the last two chapters and the next two to come, it's key to the story.

As always, lots of love to those who vote and comment! We are #2 in the markle category, let's show them why we should be #1!

- dani <3