Sketch

Chapter 18

"We'll be back," I nodded to Grayson and grabbed Devon's arm, pulling him to his feet and leading him out into parking lot. We sat down and he leaned back, watching the sky.

"Do you want to go back?" I asked lightly, taking his hand.

"No," He sighed. "Her funeral is being held in Italy where she moved with her husband a few years ago."

"Don't you think you should be with your mother? She could probably comfort you better than I could," I frowned.

"My mother and I haven't spoken to her since she moved. The family didn't approve of her husband and she got really upset about. We had a falling out and she just left."

"I'm sorry Devon," I whispered, leaning my head on his shoulder. He slid an arm behind my back and around my waist and pulled me so I was pressed against him. I layed my head on his shoulder and we sat in silence for the time being, quietly watching the stars.

"You should still call your mother," I offered after a while.

"Yeah, probably," He sighed. I told him I'd be inside with Grayson if he needed me and he nodded solemnly, putting his phone up to his ear.

I sat back down in the booth of the vacant diner across from Grayson.

"Is he alright?" He asked lightly.

"I suppose he's fine," I frowned. "He's on the phone with his mom right now."

We finished two entire baskets of soggy fries before Devon reappeared.

"Mom is gonna fly down to Italy," He announced as he took his seat, "so I'll be staying here."

"Are you sure?" Grayson raised an eyebrow.

"Positive."

When we had finished eating, Grayson drove back to the motel with me in the back seat. I watched Devon as his eyes followed the woodsy landscape flash past the window. It had begun to sprinkle and light slashes of water were streaked across the glass. We arrived at the motel and padded lazily inside, plopping down on our respective sleeping places.

I leaned up against a dank, rotting tree and sighed as the wind flew my curled hair from my face. The wind seemed to whisper through the trees, tugging me to my feet, and I followed it's echoing voice into the forest. As the voice grew louder, I recognized it.

"Devon?" I called.

No reply and the wind died down. I stood in the middle of a circle of trees and turned in every direction, searching for him.

"Devon?" I called out again. "Where are you?"

The voice that replied wasn't Devon's.

"Over here."

I immediately recognized the voice as Grayson's.

"Grayson, I can't see you," I sighed. A figure appeared in the mist that had rolled in. It stepped forward and revealed a girl that I didn't recognize.

"Ask why he really didn't want to go," the beautiful girl sneered.

"What do you mean?" I asked but the words never left my lips.

My eyes flew open and I took a deep breath. That was a really weird dream. I got up gently, careful not to jolt Devon too much, and made my way into the kitchenette. I clicked on the coffee maker and poured in some water. As I waited for the coffee to brew, I glanced at the clock flashing above to the oven.

3:26 AM

I groaned as I poured myself a mug of black coffee and sat at the table with my sketchpad. I removed the bandages from my hand and wiggled my fingers, wincing at how stiff they felt. I'd never actually gone to the hospital and just visited Devon's mother instead. She was an excellent nurse and my hand had heal much faster than I'd expected.

I took my pencil in my stiff hand and gently curled my fingers around it, gaining a sense of safety and familiarity in the action. I put the graphite to the paper and let all my bottled up ideas flow onto the page. When I had finally finished my masterpiece, I glared at the blinking clock again.

6:41 AM

As if on cue, the boys stirred and Grayson was the first to stumble drowsily into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and poured five packets of sugar into it.

"Jesus," I scoffed. "That's a lot of sugar."

"It's because I'm so sweet," He slurred lying his head on the table.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked.

"I think I have a french fry hangover," He groaned, taking a huge gulp from his mug and dropping his head back onto the table.

"Well," I laughed, "you did eat four entire baskets alone and then two with me."

"Don't talk about it," He moaned, his voice muffled by the table.

Devon swayed into the kitchen and plopped down beside me, stealing my coffee mug and taking a swig.

"Hey," I growled, not looking up from my sketch pad, "There's still some in the pot, mister."

"Nah," He sighed and took another drink from my cup, "Yours will do."

I glared at him and flipped my sketchpad closed, letting Grayson wrap my hands back up. Devon watched him closely but decided starting an argument was too much effort.

"So," Devon yawned, "Any more stops here before we head off?"

"Nah," I covered my mouth as I contracted his contagious yawn. "I think we're done here."

"Sweet," Grayson stretched. "Then let's get packing."

Kinda short, sorry about that. Comment and vote if you're digging this story, yada yada. Thanks for reading!