AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Maybe one day.”
“When?”
“When it’s finished…” Then under his breath, he’d murmured, “If it’s ever finished.”
He hums along to the song playing in his headphones, completely oblivious to the fact I’m standing here on the threshold. I know this, because a second later, he’s softly murmuring the words again—singing them.
And I find myself resting my head against the door, just watching him as his raspy, slightly off-key voice sings about lies and love, and dreams of colors and red. And finding a better man…
Inhaling deeply, I bite my lip, knowing he’d die if he saw me right now.
Whatever he’s drawing must really have his attention, because I never get to see him this unguarded. Never.
The black long-sleeved shirt he wears is rolled up to his elbows. Around his wrists he wears chunky black bracelets. When he moves his hand just right, I catch a wink of black on his nails too—something he started doing in recent months, now that he’s homeschooled again.
It makes me happy, seeing it. Like a glimpse of the Jeremy that I know is buried under there somewhere, the Jeremy who was nearly completely snuffed away by small-minded assholes who just couldn’t be bothered to mind their business and leave someone too pure for this world alone.
His hair’s been cut recently, though not by much. It still falls in a messy heap of gold over his forehead. Every couple seconds, I catch curls fluttering up, like he has to blow it out of the way.
He’s humming again, as the song I know by heart cuts into an instrumental break. His voice mingling with the familiar scratch of a pencil is…oddly soothing. Hypnotic even…
My fingertips start moving along my thigh, tracing keys and chords that aren’t there. Notes fly across my mind’s eye, and there’s something….there…just out of reach.
Spinning, spinning?—
“Fuck.”
Trance broken by his muttered outburst, I stand up straight, and fling open the door, making my steps loud and heavy as I help myself into his room, and throw myself on his bed.
He flinches with a soft yelp, eyes wide as they shoot to my grinning face. He shoves his sleeves down.
“Sup,” I say when he shoves down the headphones, “Better Man” by Pearl Jam still playing, only slightly muffled by his skin. Normally, he’s listening to his angsty, emo music he loves so much. I love it too, but it’s fun to rib him for it. I wonder what brought on this change of pace…
I glance down at the open sketchbook in his lap, and get a glimpse of color and thick, black, bold lines, before—snap.
Pouting, I look up at his red face. “Come on, JJ. I’ve been so good.”
“No.”
“But JJ?—”
“Drop it, Mase Face,” he says with very little bite. Climbing to a stand, he pads over to his desk, and sets the blue binder down, the one hiding his most sacred of drawings.
One day I’ll see what’s inside.
I have to believe it.
“What do you want?” he asks, tucking his sleeves around his fingers. Like every shirt of his, there are holes torn into the sleeves for his thumbs to slip through.
Pushing up to a seated position, I grab a gray throw pillow and hold it in my lap. “What? Do I need a reason to come hang with you now?”
He shakes his head, his blond hair swinging with the motion. “No. Sorry, I just?—”
“C’mere.”
His amber brown gaze lifts, meeting mine.
I pat the bed in front of me, and he rolls his eyes.
