Anthony and I sit down for a movie marathon in the living room. I put in perks of being a wallflower and I bask in the warmth of Anthony's lap. As soon as I had sat down, he had put me on his lap and we snuggle, stretched out the long way on the sofa, under a warm, soft blanket. My head rests on his chest and I breathe in his smell which has now become familiar to me. I begin to fall asleep and I move my arm up to my face to wake myself up.
"You can sleep if you want. You should considering that you're probably still a little sick," he says. I nod and he moves his left arm over to my left arm. He makes a fist and his slides his hand up and down my upper arm. The constant motion is so calming that I'm asleep in minutes. When I wake up, Anthony is gone again, but the area of sofa that he was on still feels warm, so I think he's still here. There are a few pencils on a table near us and I see his sketchpad on the table. Since I suspect he's in he bathroom, I grab the pad. I go back to where I left off yesterday on the pictures of me. I stare at the new picture, blurry images of a snowy street full of headlights, an owl in a section of forest, a tree, whose branches are weighed down with snow. I'm astounded by his skill with just these pictures and that's before I come across the new pictures of me. The first one I see is one of me sleeping with my head on his chest. He draws me much prettier than I am and I appreciate that. He has my bangs fall just the way they do when I sleep and that makes me wonder if that's what he was doing when I was sleeping, drawing me. I go to the next picture and it's me standing sideways in shadow. I don't know when he saw me stand like that, and before I can ponder further, I hear something and look up. Anthony is standing next to the sofa, looking over my shoulder.
"Like what you see?" he asks, referring to the pictures.
"They're amazing and realistic and beautiful and I think that you are very talented,"
"What about the ones of you?"
"I think that they're beautiful," I say, not knowing what else to say. He nods, not smiling, and runs upstairs. When he comes downstairs he's clutching three notepads. He sits down next to me and puts me in his lap, plopping the books in my lap.
"These are my full sketch books, if you want to look at them..." he says. I open the first book and he starts explain the pictures, although typically, I can figure out what they are because they are so well drawn. I pour over the beautiful images drawn in oil pastel, marker, colored pencils, watercolor, and normal paint. I can't get over how realistic all the images are. There are drawings that range from the night sky to a beautiful sunrise, from a raging waterfall to a dry section of sand. He has images of ocean that stretches across the entire page. I could just stare at his art for hours and it's some of the most amazing I've ever seen. We finish the first book and he hands me the second.
"This is my newest book that I just started a little while ago," he says.
"And you've already FINISHED it?!" I practically shout. I open to the first page and it's a drawing of me in pencil. I'm laughing, and a ray of sunshine falls across half of my face. The next one is another of me, but this one is of me sleeping. I'm lying on my side , my hair falling over my face a bit, and my feet brought up close to my body in the usual way that I sleep. I glance at his face in awe and he just smiles slightly. I go to the next page and it's of me standing, wrapped in a blanket, another ray of sunshine falling across the very top of my face. I go to the next page and it's me standing with my arms open outside with the sunshine falling across my entire body, the scenery around me making it seem like that perfect time between spring and summer. How could he have drawn that? He's never seen me in a scene that looks anything like that. I stare at him and he smiles saying,
" I already knew how to draw the sceenary, so it was just a matter of inserting you..." He motions for me to continue to the next page and I do so, revealing another expertly painted picture of me. I peek at the next few pages showing pictures of me. I skip through the book showing all pictures of me and I stare at Anthony again,
"Are they all... Is this book..." I stutter.
"Yep, every image in this book is you..."
YOU ARE READING
Sinking Through the Cracks
RomanceAlly has never had friends. Ally has never had parents who really cared for her. Ally has never had a peaceful day at school. She is anorexic, though she has never had it treated. She has horrible times of depression though she always just puts...
