Elven Love (SAA Book 1) ✔

Part One

With heavy eyelids, Clayton drew in an exhausted breath. It fanned into the air like a soft spring breeze, just as the sound of four people talking drifted into his ears... then back out.

The TV across the room produced sound that to him, was simply a blur, and random images seemed to float aimlessly in the pool of his drowsy thoughts.

The whole world felt low resolution, like a bad quality movie. Fatigue blossomed in Clayton's mind and he knew that sooner or later he would need to fall asleep, just to wake up and stare reality in the face all over again.

Clayton sat with his legs up to his chest, lap supporting a blank white notebook and a pencil that slowly slipped from his fingers. He sighed, trying to fight the invisible weights that pulled his eyelids to a close.

The pale walls of his room were decorated with various paintings and art pieces. Now they were just blurred frames and blotches of color. Succumbing to his brain's desire to sleep, the blond let his eyes rest, just as he was sucked into a silent, wallowing darkness.

His bed was small, made to fit one person his size. The mattress was covered with black sheets and three flat white pillows. Next to the bed stood a wobbly wooden nightstand, holding a few empty water bottles and a wooden mannequin hand for Clayton's inner artist. At the foot of his bed stood a white fan that whisked back and forth, circulating cool air around the bedroom.

Beside the nightstand and right in front of his window, sat Clayton, where he had dozed off. Short blond hair had fallen over his eyes and glasses had gone crooked over the bridge of his nose. To his left, stood a three-level cage that was home to a snowy white ferret named Nutmeg. He was comfortable in his bedroom... It was his little safe place.

As hours passed with the abandoned TV playing video after video of people playing Prop Hunt, the door to Clayton's bedroom opened to reveal his mother, Ava. She was a wonderful woman, frizzy brown hair framing her angled face and beautiful grey eyes adorning her appearance. Despite the stress wrinkles, permanent frown and sunken cheeks, she was open-minded and lighthearted.

She peeked between the door frame and the door itself, pushing her face into the crevice. Ava sighed when eyeing her slumbering son. "Clay, wake up. Your dad is coming in ten minutes to pick you up." she announced. Although her voice rang over the chatter coming from the TV, Clayton didn't bother stirring. He fought his sleep until ten in the morning and was exhausted from staying up all night.

"Clayton!" she hollered, opening the door a little wider as she stepped into the room. That's when her son finally moved, resulting in his notebook falling and the pencil tip jabbing him in the side. He yelped with raised eyebrows and brushed the sandy hair out of his face.

Throwing his mother an unintentional glare, he stood and stretched his arms with a satisfying crack. "Your father is coming in ten minutes, make sure to get your things ready." Clayton shot her a glance before nodding. Ava shut the door and gave her son privacy to change into new clothes.

In only a matter of minutes, Clayton went from looking like a normal human to seeming like he came from an underground concert from the 90's. Worn jeans covered his legs and tore at the knees. This accompanied a frayed leather belt and a faded Metallica T-shirt that clung to his torso. His messily tied army boots were caked with dried mud that stained the rubber outsole.

Dark circles laid beneath his teal eyes as he brushed his blond hair back to make it look less greasy than it really was. He turned for the door right as he heard the doorbell echo throughout the house. It rang through his ears with an irritating buzz, even though it was a low pitch.

"I'm leaving, mom!" he called, to which there was the slightest yell from inside his mother's bedroom.

"Okay, love you!"

"Love you too!"

He then trampled down the steps with his notebook in hand and a pack of brand new pencils and MONO erasers. Throwing on a jacket that was made of jean material, Clayton then slipped his phone into his pocket and threw the front door open. The afternoon sunlight poured into the living room, pulling a wince to dawn on Clayton's face. There stood his father with a hand raised to press the doorbell again. Clayton narrowed his eyes towards his father, sending him a telepathic message; 'do NOT ring it. The whole world will explode if you do.'

Then he paused.

'On second thought, ring it.'

Exiting the house, Clayton locked the door behind him and turned to his dad with a reluctant smile. "You could've let me drive to your place. You wasted gas getting here." he said. His father, Eric, simply grinded his teeth as it's been a nervous habit of his.

His balding head was speckled with short curly hairs as he dragged a calloused hand over it. His rough fingers and unnaturally short nails were muddled with dirt from his job. He worked at a trash company, repairing trucks and reviewing other broken vehicles.

Eric had nothing to say in return.

»»--------««

"What's your newest project so far?" Eric asked, flopping down onto the beige recliner of the living room. Clayton lowered his notebook, shooting his father a deadpan. He knew all too well that his dad didn't care. He was on his phone, texting his slut of a girlfriend. Clayton's eyes could even see their conversation, which sickened him and left his stomach with a nauseating swirl to it. He sighed, turning back to his notebook with the pencil gripped tightly in his hands.

'Of course. Jen is more important than your own son. Don't try to play that shit with me.'

"I don't know yet. I'm thinking of something mystical. Like, science-y. Or, maybe a witch... A merman? Mermaid.." he pondered aloud, his mind racing from species to occupation to personality and back to species. Then, an idea clicked and settled warmly into his head. The lead of his pencil began to move on it's own, mapping out sketchy round shoulders.

Clayton moved onto sketching out the hair lines after creating a gentle jawline. Two patches of short, puffy hair fell in front of the pointed ears and one large patch of shorter hair fell directly between and above his eyes. The eyelashes were empty of any color, symbolizing snowy white. His pencil then moved back up to the hair and gently shaded the tips, jotting down 'soft green tips and white hair' next to the bust.

"I'll be in the garage. If you need extra art stuff, you can check my room. Forgot to give 'em to you last time we met." his father sighed, groaning as he sat up and pushed himself off the recliner. Then, the room was enveloped in silence. Clayton hummed in acknowledgement, even after his dad was out of earshot.

He glanced up from his doodle to see an empty living room. It was about time that excuse of a father let him be. Shrugging, Clayton resumed sketching. He made sure to make more notes such as, 'nature powers (whatever that means)' and 'lots and lots of freckles lol.'

"More art supplies, you said..?" he muttered, half to himself and half to his father, who wasn't even inside the house anymore. "That gives me a chance to myself then." he stood from the couch and brought his notebook and pencil with him, first making a stop to his bedroom to sit the notebook on the ground. Then, he strolled a hasty beeline to his father's bedroom and opened the door. It was dark, for the curtains were permanently drawn.

It was gloomy and felt like some sort of off-limits territory. Who knows what he could find in here.

_____

Thanks for reading Part One!