My apartment is on the second floor of the apartment building, the third nicest apartment complex in the city. I know I could have the penthouse on the thirtieth floor- there's nothing stopping me. Well, I still haven't removed the old owners and I'm far too lazy to climb thirty flights of stairs each day.
But my apartment is a comfy size, three bedrooms and a bathroom. It smells like burnt hair though, and the walls are a peeling everywhere. The kitchen cupboards are mahogany, but empty, except for maybe a few mac and cheese boxes I'll never touch. The counter tops are the same way, I only keep Toby's old notebooks on there. I don't look through them, out of privacy.
In my bedroom, as tiny as it is, is filled to the brim with clutter: blankets, fire extinguishers, spray paint cans, miscellaneous clothes, broken glass- the whole nine yards. I only have one mirror and couple notes hanging on the wall, that remind me of things I have to do. The mirror is broken.
I look into it and I see a five foot three inch girl with incredibly curly, frizzy blond hair and sickly blue eyes and thin lips that make me look older than I am. In reality, I'm about sixteen, I think, because I can't keep track of the time. According to my estimates, it's been about three years since the Parade and exactly one year since Toby left. I do keep track of how long that's been.
When I get home, I'm in tears because of the pain in my arm. I set down the ravioli and hydrogen peroxide down then run to grab the bandages and tweezers and cotton swabs from the bathroom. Then I quickly pull the rest of the glass out onto the counter as the little tears escape me. Blood droplets come out of hiding onto my pale arm.
I clean the cuts with the peroxide and put on the bandages so that it covers my entire arm in it's white cloth.
I sigh in relief.
Just as I go to cap the peroxide, it slips from my grip and splashes all over the counter- and on Toby's notebooks.
"Shoot!" I shriek and grab them all in my arms and put them onto the ground. I don't have any paper towels, so I just leave them there. I'm too exhausted to go back out anyways. I sit down on the floor next to the notebooks.
They don't look ruined, just a little wetness on the covers. I want to read them, suddenly. So I do.
I pick up a blue notebook and flip to the first page and start reading. Mostly it's just poems he wrote and sketches and notes from classes he's taken. I devour every word and mention of my name. When I finish that one, I pick another one about the city, things he's found or noticed. I read about a museum he wishes he could save, but can't, and I read about interesting things he's found in other apartments like sculptures and paintings. I like this notebook a lot. The next is the same as the first one and so is the one after that, but when I get to Toby's fifth notebook, it's obviously different from the rest. It's really nice, like leather bound with a clasp to open it. I open it slowly and a single note falls out of the first page. I pick it up and unfold it and read it.
"Dear Harmony," it says in neat little letters, "You're reading this probably sometime after I've left. Wherever I'm at, I miss you. After the Parade, I think it's almost positive, there's no people.
"Harmony, read carefully. I don't know if I'll be back. I just don't. I will try my hardest, though. Maybe, I'll find someone, out of luck, maybe I won't. Take care of yourself Harmony, remember not to let the city burn and make it bright with your graffiti. Shine your light to the world, and even if nobody sees, be yourself and never give up hope.
"Sincerely, Toby."
I feel betrayed. Utter betrayal. I feel pain in my heart worse than anything I've ever felt. It's been so long without a person. He couldn't guarentee there would be any people left before he went away. But now it seems he couldn't stand hurting me any longer. Like he wanted to give me hope by leaving so that I would continue on.
I don't want to think any longer. My brain feels like it's turned to mush. The tears threaten to come back and I just shake them away and breathe deeply.
Ravioli sounds good right now. Comfort food. I leave the notebooks where they are- minus the note, which I shove into my back pocket- and go to my room with a can of ravioli and a spoon. I eat slowly, even though I'm really hungry right now. After I finish, I toss the can onto the floor with the spoon still in it and fall back onto my bed. Curling up in my soft blanket feels really nice because I washed them in the lake outside the city. I feel myself almost drift to sleep as the comfort of my bed numbs and smothers the pain.
When I finally fall asleep, I have no dreams, just walls of dancing color, and sometimes, if I listen well I swear I can hear music playing softly, the shadow of a lullaby.
~~~~~
Hey!
PBP here!
Hope you enjoy the second chapter. I worked really hard on it. I'll try to have the next one sometime next week, maybe?
I would REALLY appreciate some votes or comments-pweasepweasepwease?
Thanks!
-PBP is OUT.
