365 Days.

Despite his tendency to interrupt you at the start of your sentence,
Malcolm,
or rather M,
turned out to be a pretty cool guy.

We talked for about an hour,
before Chase sought me out,
grabbed me by the arm,
and pulled me back to the car without an explanation.

He drove me back home,
lecturing me while he did so.
Apparently,
I was not allowed to talk to M,
not even a short greeting consisting of two letters.
That apparently,
all Malcolm wanted from me was the sex,
and that he honestly didn’t care about anything I had to say.

“And what,
you do?”
I asked then flatly.

This made Chase rave on for about another ten minutes,
before I asked about what his problem was.
Chase then went over the moon to explain to me how he cared
(pfft)
and how M,
once again,
didn’t.

The argument lasted for about another ten minutes,
before I finally ended it with a scream of

“Why are we having this argument anyway?!
It’s not like we’re dating!”

The rest of the way home,
we kept to ourselves,
gloomy and silent.

He dropped me off without another word,
though I honestly didn’t care about that.
He could have a fit all he wanted.
I like M,
he's a cool guy.
And unlike Chase,
he respects my choices.

The moment I had stepped into the house,
Father was all over me,
piling me with questions about where I have been.

I confessed,
(what else could I do? He seems to read your mind!)
and was grounded for a week from school.

Beautiful.
Like I have time to waste in this life.

Instead of going out and making the most of my life,
I sit at home and stare out the window,
solving maths equations and learning stuff I won’t need in a year anyway.

So like I said,
I’m sitting here,
doing pointless work.
Father had taken away all the paints and brushes and canvases,
so I can’t paint.

But like that’s going to stop me.
I’ve already doodled the back of the exercise book
with many miniature random creatures,
that I’m sure will tick Father off even more.

You can’t stop an artist.
Even if you bind him in chains.