Deciding on You || a.i. (Book 2)

19 | Ashton

I can't get it right.

It's one measly drawing of a cartoon superhero, and I can't get it right. I've drawn things like this over and over again, on sketchpads and notebooks, with pencil, paint, and even crayon. They've all looked better than this.

What's worse is that I've drawn things other than this, too. I've drawn cartoon elephants and lions on Harry's birthday cards, comics for random school projects, random cartoons of famous people for practice. Even those looked better than this.

Everything I have ever drawn has looked better than this -- even the drawing of my mom that I did when I was three.

I groan, smacking my forehead down on my desk. This is useless, and it was foolish of me to think that it could be worth something. I don't need $1,000. I'd just use it to buy more comics, or stuff for Harry.

And recognition from well-known, professional animators and cartoonists? If I somehow by the grace of God won the contest with this piece of shit, they'd tell me to stop drawing. Like, just end your career before it starts, boy.

It isn't after long that I pick my head up, now that I have caffeine racing through me. Not only has it replaced all of my blood, but it has also replaced all of the water in me. I am literally walking coffee at this point.

Sitting atop the stack of comics I bought after school today is the flyer for the 'Draw Your Own Superhero' contest. The worst part is that it ends tomorrow at midnight. I could not have picked a worse time to try to enter a contest, but I thought it would give me an incentive to distract myself.

All I've been doing this entire day is thinking about Maddie and trying not to. I failed when I tried to take notes in every class because I couldn't focus, I failed when I went to the comic book store because everything I used to love on its own somehow reminded me of her, and I'm failing now because I can't think about anything other than her long enough to draw something that isn't either awful or her.

Yesterday, I held her until she dried out. And then I took her to the back room and got her a cup of water, but she would not speak to me. We sat in silence on the drive home, and she didn't say a word to me when she got out.

I'm worried about her, but as far as I know, I still need to back off and she still wants space. Until she says so, or until she comes to me, I cannot cross the line again. I have to focus on other things in my life.

Sighing, I tap my pencil against my lips before biting at the eraser-less end. I use the eraser in my other hand to try and fix the mistakes, but it's no use. I end up crinkling up the paper and throwing it among the others on my floor.

Maybe I should just try again tomorrow. It's already three a.m., and I've been at this all afternoon. If I just force myself to sleep and maybe not have brain zaps from the caffeine every five seconds, I could draw something worthwhile.

It's not likely, but it's worth a shot, I guess.

As I grumble to myself, I get up off of my seat and walk to the bathroom down the hall. My mouth tastes as shitty as that last drawing looked and, again, it's because of all of the coffee I drank. I think I must have had around eight cups, and I don't know how I'm not dead yet.

I start to brush my teeth by the sink, but back up into the hall to confirm what I just think I saw. Harry's light shines out from under his door, and I can hear whatever kid's TV show he's watching from here.

Narrowing my eyes with my toothbrush still in my mouth, I open up his door. He starts to hide my mom's iPad under his pillow, but relaxes when he sees it's me.