365 Days.

I had spent all of the next day working over Magnus,
or rather his portrait,
with Ghostie walking around at my feet and purring stuff to me.

And then,
back for the second week of school,
I was still inspired to draw.

I finished the painting in art within two lessons,
and the teacher was proud.
Apparently,
I did a job that was too good to be true.

I only smiled and thanked him softly,
being humble was my instinct.

Now,
four days later,
I’m sitting under the tree in the school yard,
working on a drawing in my sketchbook.

I hadn’t seen or heard Chase in ages,
but that doesn’t bother me,
or so I tell myself.
Some part of me thinks otherwise.
It’s been oddly quiet.

He didn’t have an overdose and die,
did he?

As much as it is mean,
I want to laugh at this little joke of mine,
but fate seems to want to laugh at me.

Insane.
Purely insane.
Fate is insane in all the purest ways.

Or maybe this is karma?

“Hi,”
I reply indifferently,
though inside I want to scream and run away.

Chase sits down next to me,
takes the sketchbook from my hands.
“What are you drawing,
colorful?”

“Nothing interesting to you,”
I reply shortly.

“Whatever your hands do is always interesting to me.”

I stare at him,

he smirks,

and I feel a massive blush color my face.

I quickly try to change the topic,
taking the book back from his hands.
“Why do you keep calling me colorful?
I have a name you know.”