Not Ashamed

'Chapter Two ✓

The next day, classes begin. As expected, they're mind-numbingly boring. It's hours and hours of learning how to lie and decieve. As if that's not a trait that I would have acquired from my father.

I lean over notes on the blankest desk ever. It almost reminds me of my drawing desk back at my parents house, except this one is blank of paints, or colouring pencils, or markers. The most colourful thing I have is my single red pen, lost amongst the array of plain black ones.

The notes in front of me are infuriatingly dull, giving my brain a blank buzz of boredom.

I hear the door creak open, and Axel bounds in, leaning over me and staring at my notes.

"It's your first day of classes, how do you have so much homework?" He chuckles. I sigh and shrug.

"I have no idea. Law school sucks."

Axel smirks above me, shaking his head amusingly. "Then why are you in it?"

I don't reply, because I don't have an answer, other than the obvious, "my parents want me to."

"Hey, wanna take a break? The gang and I are going to dinner. It's totally casual, just pizza," he offers, a gentle smile of hope playing on his lips. I bite my lip, feeling guilty as I shake my head.

"No, I don't think so. I have homework. Sorry."

Awkwardly, Axel rubs the back of his neck, forcing a disappointed smile.

"I understand," he says kindly. "Another time?"

"Sure."

He sighs before turning and leaving the room again, grabbing his wallet from his dresser before he goes. The door shuts, leaving me back with the painfully heavy boredom.

I try to focus my eyes on the words, but they protest. Obviously, my entire body is fed up with homework, and I've barely gotten anything done.

Five minutes won't hurt, I tell myself. Drawing isn't a crime. It's a hobby. Everyone has hobbies.

I take all the class worksheets and notes and plop them onto the end of my bed, and pull out a blank sheet of lined paper.

I didn't bring anything art related to Daring University, because I didn't think I'd need it. Now, I wish I would have.

I accept my fate, and decide that a black pen would be enough for me to draw something, just to relax my brain.

I draw a sweet character. A girl, with short pigtails, her hair so short that the ends peak out near her neck. I give her large, sparkling eyes and a button nose. A bow sits on her head, the only thing I coloured, in the red from the single coloured pen. She wears a fluffy nightgown with fluffy bunny slippers. In her hand is a stuffed rabbit, her fingers curled around its ear tightly. Finally, I draw her other hand, reached up to her face with her thumb in her mouth.

I lay down the pen to shake out my wrist, that's already starting to cramp up. Along the side of my left hand is a black stain. Stupid left hand. Why can't I just be right handed? That would make my life a million times easier.

I smile at my work, before deciding that maybe this girl needs a family. So, I draw a family of people with large, sparkling eyes, and elaborate hairdos in their pajamas. A father, with a comedic combover, wearing a red t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, leaving his feet bare. A mother, with a baby in her arms. She wears a more elligant nightgown than her daughter, with lace around the neck and bottom. And finally, a boy, with a baggy pajama suit, and a sleeping cap resting gently on his head.

I get a strong need to give this little family a name. As creative as an artist should be, I can't think of a single name. So, I write the first thing that comes to mind.

The Harrison's.

Ugh, I wish. I stare at the little family, focusing my eyes mostly on the girl. For some strange reason, I feel a connection to her that's different from an artist - character connection that I feel with every drawing. It's the way she looks, slightly different from her family, but she fits in.

I sigh hard, and decide that I like her. That I want more of her. So, I grab a new sheet of paper and copy down the basic outline of the girl, changing her clothes into a cute little tutu and a pretty pair of ballet slippers. I admire my work before moving on to draw different versions of the little girl, giving her thoughts and a personality.

I dose off on the desk, with only pictures of my characters flooding my mind.