I Sold Myself to the Devil for Vinyls... Pitiful I Know

I Sold Myself to the Devil for Vinyls... Pitiful I Know (84)

Hey guys!

So, sorry, this is shorter than usual and I know I made you wait a while again, but hey, what can I say, I’m always fracking busy! -_-

Anywho! I have this cute little goal going on, one upload per day for as long as I can pull it off. Yesterday was “Myosotis”, today’s “I Sold..” and tomorrow it’s probably going to be “Half Immortal..” if my plans don’t change. Not sure what next though! lol

Oh and I have a bunch of group therapies for you too that I will upload from day to day! Check them out, usually it’s mostly “I Sold..” characters in it.

 

Well, I hope you enjoy this… this story is slowly coming to an end. There aren’t ten chapters left. I know I know, it’s sad, don’t cry, but it’s going to be two years that I work on this… it has to end! ;P

 

So, again, enjoy! :P

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“I have issues,” Blake offered, his voice obviously worried, putting down on the floor, by the door, the FedEx box he had been holding in his hands.

“If by issues you mean stalker than yes I think that’s the correct explanation,” I looked back inside the box still in my hands. My ring was obviously the first thing that caught my attention, but there was also the torn small school type picture, with me on it when I was in sixth grade, and then an eraser that looked like one of mine when I was younger—I used to draw on them—and a little hair pin with a butterfly on it, but the butterfly had a missing wing—mine again. There was also a piece of paper with my name written on it, by me obviously, that I had done around the time I was still trying to find the right signature. 

Basically everything in that little box had something to do with me, had belonged to me. And Blake had that, had kept that. “Why do you have all that stuff?” I whispered, almost in disbelief.

Blake ran his hands through his hair—he looked worried, and like he was feeling bad or something. “I…” he pinched the bridge of his noise, and then tried again. “I wanted to give it back to you,” he let out a loud breathe “well the ring at least, the rest I would have gotten rid of it or buried it somewhere…”

“That still doesn’t explain why you have all that old crap.”

Why, oh why would Blake Eaton keep things I had obviously thrown out, because that was probably the case for the picture—it was cut all wrong—the eraser—it was getting too small—the hair pin—it was broken—the piece of paper—why would I keep that? The ring was the only exception in the lot, the only thing I hadn’t thrown out. But even then, it wasn’t worth anything, it wasn’t like he wanted to steal it for drug money, and it’s not like he needed drug money! The guy was loaded!

“I’m glad to see you’re still as unobservant as you were,” he said, his eyes not exactly looking at me, a somewhat sad smile on his lips.

Oh yeah, that was the perfect moment to bring up to the table my many flaws! “Blake, seriously not the time to kid around.”