Devoid [Bruno Mars]

Chapter two

Chapter two

“Ready?”

I held my pencil steady, the tip close to the paper. “Yes.”

The bow began sliding graciously across the strings of Michelle's violin. I began sketching, my hands moving across the paper at a normal pace. With Michelle's music surrounding me in eerily mellow waves, dark yet beautiful, it was I that drowned away it, not the other way around. It was just me and the drawing. My hand developed a mind of its own. It moved in a rampage along the paper, creating black, indistinct lines with blurry shading. I dropped my pencil and pushed myself away from the desk. “Done,” I declared, turning towards the window, a view of dorm building E. An ugly off-note sounded as Michelle abruptly stopped. “You're too damn fast, Adrian.”

“I know. Sorry.” I blew out a puff of air, turning back around. “I'll go slower next time.”

She sat the instrument down, picked up my sketchbook. “Spectacular. Picturesque. Kick-ass.” She seemed impressed but inquisitive. “What is with you and deserts, though? It looks the same as—wait, those tire tracks?”

“What?” I grabbed the book. I was looking at a gray version of a desert. Empty land. Grayish sand and horizon with a black sun in a colorless sky. In the sand were zig-zaggish lines. “Those are tire tracks,” I whispered, mostly to myself, quietly stunned.

“Thought so.” Michelle grabbed her bag that was thrown on her bottom bunk. “I'm going to get food. I'll buy you're favorite. And we can meet up with R.J.”

“Why?” I flipped the book closed and put it away in the desk drawer. “Because I'm hungry,” she answered. “Why else?”

“No. Why meet up with R.J. and buy me food? You're never this nice. Really, I don't trust you.” When I met Michelle as my roommate, my year at college was going to be hell. All she did was ignore me and when she had no choice but to speak to me, annoyance tightly laced her voice. But once while the students across the hall were loudly playing music, I walked in on her playing the violin. She made me swear her to secrecy. I told her she wasn't alone. I secretly draw. Because of that, we grew close. I would (try) to draw in time with her music, which relaxed us. I learned later that she was angry because of her parents not enrolling her in a non-private school for the wealthy. Her parents did not want her attending a school full of snobs. She shrugged. “I can't be nice?”

“Can the world be artificial?”

She smiled at that. “Touchè.” She went to the edge of her bed, patting the seat next to her. I walked over and sat, ducking my head a little to not hit the upper bunk. “You know how my dad owns hotels?” I nodded, drawing my knees under my chin. “He has another grand opening.”

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows. “That's amazing.”

“Not for my life,” she sighed, picking at her nails. “The grand opening's in Africa.”

If she was going to Africa, that meant. . .  “Michelle,” I groaned. “you bastard.”

“Suck it up.” She flicked pieces of black nail polish onto the drab, tan carpet. “You won't be without my presence for that long.”

“Two months of doing absolutely nothing with no one? Sounds pleasant.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, frowning. “We had plans.”

“Plans change. You won't be alone, you have Brook.” She smirked. “And maybe a little of R.J.”

A sigh left my lips. “It all makes sense now.” No wonder she introduced me to Rob, kept inviting him along with us when we traveled to the far back of the dorm building, out of the eyes of administration to do certain unallowed things.