Love Like Cyanide
A Surprising Visit
It was depressing, knowing that I lost a family member (an aunt to be precise) and no one ever told me. Though I guess I shouldn't have expected that anyone would have.
Sometime in the afternoon when Derrik was organizing his art supplies and I was practicing my "style" of drawing (Derrik told me practice makes perfect) the door bell rang. It was very unexpected so I jumped a bit at the sound.
"Derrik?" I called loudly, for he was upstairs in one of the extra rooms that he called his art studio.
"What?" he yelled down the stairs.
"Someone's at the door."
"Could ya get it for me? My hands are kind of full."
I got up from where I sat at the living room coffee table and went to the door. I opened it and gasped. "Mark!" I gasped.
"Hey you," he said and smiled his sweet yet cocky and sarcastic smile. He was always the charmer.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, bewildered.
"Is that really how you treat your best friend?" he accused. "I'm insulted."
"I'm seriously, Mark. How did you know where to find me?" I hadn't told him where I'd be. In fact, the last time I saw him it was the last day of school, which had been a month ago. Now, the last time I talked to him it was in a text message. But that's different. The point was that I missed him like crazy.
"I wanted to see you, so I went to your house. You weren't there, so I called your mom's cell phone." He chuckled. "She pretty much yelled at me until I forced it out of her where you were."
I shook my head. "You're unbelievable."
"Who is it, Cyanide?" Derrik called down.
"Uh...it's Mark," I said. There was a pause and then footsteps coming down the stairs. When Derrik came over to Mark and I he was wiping his hands with a towel. He had paint all over him; on his face, shirt, and hands. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbow.
"Who's this?" he asked, staring intently at Mark.
"Derrik, this is my friend Mark." I gestured with my hand as I introduced one another. "Mark, this is my father Derrik."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Mitchal." Mark stuck out his hand.
"Actually, it's Shay...not Mitchal."
"Oh. Well I just thought since..."
Derrik cut him off. "I know what you thought." His smile was friendly.
"Right...so may I talk with your daughter?"
I turned to Derrik with a pleading look. "Alright," he said, looking at me. "Don't be long. I want to have time to show you something before I start making dinner."
I smiled. "Thank!" I hugged him quick but carefully so I didn't get paint on me, and rushed out the door with Mark by my side.
We walked around to the backyard for some privacy from the neighbors but not out of sight completely to make Derrik suspicious. In the backyard was a pool and some white benches. We sat down on one of them and started to swing slightly.
"So," Mark started, "he seems nice."
Sometime in the afternoon when Derrik was organizing his art supplies and I was practicing my "style" of drawing (Derrik told me practice makes perfect) the door bell rang. It was very unexpected so I jumped a bit at the sound.
"Derrik?" I called loudly, for he was upstairs in one of the extra rooms that he called his art studio.
"What?" he yelled down the stairs.
"Someone's at the door."
"Could ya get it for me? My hands are kind of full."
I got up from where I sat at the living room coffee table and went to the door. I opened it and gasped. "Mark!" I gasped.
"Hey you," he said and smiled his sweet yet cocky and sarcastic smile. He was always the charmer.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, bewildered.
"Is that really how you treat your best friend?" he accused. "I'm insulted."
"I'm seriously, Mark. How did you know where to find me?" I hadn't told him where I'd be. In fact, the last time I saw him it was the last day of school, which had been a month ago. Now, the last time I talked to him it was in a text message. But that's different. The point was that I missed him like crazy.
"I wanted to see you, so I went to your house. You weren't there, so I called your mom's cell phone." He chuckled. "She pretty much yelled at me until I forced it out of her where you were."
I shook my head. "You're unbelievable."
"Who is it, Cyanide?" Derrik called down.
"Uh...it's Mark," I said. There was a pause and then footsteps coming down the stairs. When Derrik came over to Mark and I he was wiping his hands with a towel. He had paint all over him; on his face, shirt, and hands. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbow.
"Who's this?" he asked, staring intently at Mark.
"Derrik, this is my friend Mark." I gestured with my hand as I introduced one another. "Mark, this is my father Derrik."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Mitchal." Mark stuck out his hand.
"Actually, it's Shay...not Mitchal."
"Oh. Well I just thought since..."
Derrik cut him off. "I know what you thought." His smile was friendly.
"Right...so may I talk with your daughter?"
I turned to Derrik with a pleading look. "Alright," he said, looking at me. "Don't be long. I want to have time to show you something before I start making dinner."
I smiled. "Thank!" I hugged him quick but carefully so I didn't get paint on me, and rushed out the door with Mark by my side.
We walked around to the backyard for some privacy from the neighbors but not out of sight completely to make Derrik suspicious. In the backyard was a pool and some white benches. We sat down on one of them and started to swing slightly.
"So," Mark started, "he seems nice."
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