Sleep No More

Chapter Four

Thank you AJK_127 for always making me laugh. You da best! And see I finally updated😇.

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The name Mason Hale freezes me. I put down my toast and anxiously wait for whatever Dad is about to say.

"Mason Hale is being transferred soon from where he currently he is being held to Los Angeles, California."

I look away and try to breathe slowly. "He is not getting out anytime soon, Harley. Not after what he did," Dad quickly reassures me after seeing my sullen face.

I nod my head in reply as I subconsciously pick at my buttered toast. The thing is, I don't even know what to feel. Should I feel happy that he's going to rot in jail or worried that something might go wrong?

"Lee, could you please stop doing that?," he stares pointedly at the mess I've made on my plate. The toast is broken into small pieces.

I drop what is left of the toast onto the plate and grab onto the edge of the counter to calm my racing thoughts. My knuckles turn white as I tighten my hold on the counter. I breathe in and out slowly.

Finally when I feel a bit better, I nod my head to show Dad that I'm fine now. I force a smile on my face and face Dad so he doesn't worry.

I think about what Dad just told me and immediately Mason Hale comes to mind making me lose my appetite. I throw my messed up toast in the bin and place the plate in the sink.

"School's starting soon so would you like me to go buy your stationery for you or do think that you can manage on your own?"

I can hear Dad rambling, but to be honest I stopped listening after the word school was spoken. "What was that?," I ask.

After Dad repeats himself, I assure him that I can manage on my own and that I will go tomorrow because I have something important to do now.

I actually don't have anything to do today but Dad doesn't have to worry about it. And besides, I doubt he'd even notice because he works from home and he is always locked up in his office.

I pause as I walk up the stairs when my eyes land on a photo of my mother hanging on the wall. In the photo, Mom has her arms wrapped around me meanwhile I'm busy pulling a face because I don't like hugs. I wish I had hugged her back then...

I shake my head to get rid of the memories assaulting my brain as I walk into my room. I quickly grab my sketchpad off of my bed and some charcoal pencils off of my desk. I run down the stairs, walk out of the house and plop down onto the veranda. I look around to see if I can get an idea to draw something. I look towards the house beside ours and see the little girl I saw a few days ago. The little girl is running around her mother while singing.

I continue to stare at the two of them laughing together and I look at the older woman- she is beautiful but seeing her laughing with her daughter while she was in so much pain the other day was even more beautiful.

The woman looks so happy now that I can't imagine why she looked so sad and broken the other day. I recall the way her eyes were downturned;  how her hands were clenched so tightly as if she was in pain and how she had quickly wiped stray tears away before someone saw her. I keep that image of the woman in my mind as I put my pencil to the paper and I sketch.

I think of the woman's pain, her sadness and her anger as I sketch. I can feel the tension and stress escaping my body as I continue to sketch. 

When I sketch, I lose myself I forget about the world around me. All my troubles and worries disappear. Sketching, drawing or writing- they are my way of escaping. They help me forget...

When I'm done with the sketch, I feel tired. Emotionally, mentally and physically. The news that Dad told played a huge part in me feeling this way.

I look down at the completed sketch on my lap, scrutinising it. It is then I realise that it wasn't the woman's pain, anger and sadness I was feeling when I was sketching. All those mixed emotions and feelings were mine.  I trace my finger on the page, smudging the pencil a bit then look away.

I smile bitterly because the person that I sketched wasn't the older woman at all. The person's that I had actually  sketched was me.