What Are We Searching For, Really?

5.

—1;42am.

Purr

purr

purr

growl

snuffle

yawn

growl

roll over

purr

purr

I was lying on my bed, listening to the sounds Ferry had been making on my stomach while sleeping. She was one of the things I really treasured in life-she was my only company at home most of the time; my parents were hardly ever home.

Most of the time, when they come back, they like to take a rest and watch TV, not interact with me-but that was fine with me. I had my own things to do.

Back to the subject of Ferry, looking down at her sleeping, she had the cutest paws ever, the prettiest dark gray fur, and wide, doe green eyes. She was a cat that preferred sleeping, eating and being cute to running around and playing with a ball. Whenever I had free time, I brought Ferry out in her own little carrier that looked like a shoulder strap bag to pet stores to find treats she liked (no matter how expensive the cost) and small new toys she could play around with when I wasn't at home. I once spent a quarter of my life savings on a new scratching post for her-but it was a hundred percent worth it.

Whenever I got home, if Ferry was awake, she'd run up to me and nuzzle her head against my leg, purring for attention. Sometimes, if it really came to it, I would just bend down and play with her for a while at the doorway before actually coming in. When I was tired, I'd just slump into my room with Ferry following me, throw myself onto the bed and she'd climb up and sleep at the end of my long bed, or on top of me.

Luckily for me, she was one of those cats that didn't mind sleeping near me-she liked to stick around me a lot and sleep on me.

I probably spoil her too much, but she was the perfect cat to me.

I leaned over carefully to my desk and slid my sketchbook into my hands along with my favorite black pen. Flipping over to a fresh page, I started sketching out my general shape for my self-portrait

..for Austin.

My hands, head and heart felt as heavy as a ton of stones as I moved my pen across the crisp paper. All the thoughts from lunch washed into my mind like a tide and in a matter of moments, I found myself putting more pressure on the pen, creating angrier, harsher lines.

After a while, I turned my attention back to what I was really drawing and adjusted my eyes to the dark lines on the paper.

I had drawn a gore piece.

There I was, sitting on a rock in the midst of a lonely desert, my skin ripped apart where my chest was and the bones that made up my rib cage were broken and split into half. My thin, frail hands were forcing themselves into the space in between and trying to fix up the broken, bleeding heart.

I stopped for a few minutes just to stare at the drawing I had just created, and ripped it out quickly, crumpling it up into a ball and tossing it into the bin without looking. I heard the hollow sound of the paper hitting the side of the bin and dropping to the floor.

I switched off the small, cloud-shaped light next to me and slumped under the covers, ready to sleep. Suddenly, the piano notes from my ringtone blared out of my phone next to me. I jolted in surprise, accidentally waking Ferry up on the way-she yowled at me, annoyed, and rolled off to the corner of my bed. Annoyed at myself that I lost the warmth of my cat on my stomach, I picked up my phone and pressed the answer button without even seeing who it was from.