Thank You, Connor Murphy

Chapter Three: Connor

Helloooooo! Connor's point of view again. He's going to be kinda the one I'm gonna most, since I write a lot faster and better from his POV for some reason. But I will have Jared, Alana, and Zoe's point of view at some point. But mostly Connor and Evan, cause this is a TreeBros fic. Duh. Anyway, this chapter starts off from a little before the last one ended. Enjoy!

-Kitty

I drop my bag on the carpet as I walk through the door. I don't take off my muddy shoes as I  stomp up the stairs to my room. Cynthia will yell at me for that later. 

"Connor!" I hear Zoe screeching, "Did you finish my milk?!" Oh yeah. I did. 

"Yup!" I yell, annoyed. She could just get more from the store. (Ha. That rhymed.) 

"Are you serious?" She wails from the kitchen. I'm still at the top of the stairs. "That was my strawberry kefir! It's super expensive!!" It is. That's why it tasted so good.

"Oh well!" I scream back.

"Fuck you!" Zoe calls up to me. Awesome. We have a great relationship, my sister and I. 

I trudge to my room. I open the door and come face to face with the stupid yellow walls Cynthia made me paint my room a couple years ago. I had wanted this dark blue, but she insisted, saying that the yellow will make the room look bigger. Why do I care whether the room was big or not? I wanted the dark blue.

I flop onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. There are clusters of peeling glow in the dark stars arranged in made up constellations from when I was little. I never bothered to take them down.

My room is pretty empty, there's not much besides my bed, my desk, a beanbag chair, and my bookshelves. Cynthia always said I could put up posters or something if I wanted to, but I never did. 

My bookshelves are filled to the brim, though. All my favorite books, a couple of sketchbooks, and a box stuffed with some random things. 

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and walk over to the bookshelves. I pull the sketchbook that isn't filled completely with drawings. All the other ones are. I go over to my desk and take out a pencil, a eraser, and a hair tie.

I pull my tangly, unwashed hair up into a bun so it'll stay out of my face. I sit back onto my bed and open the sketchbook. I had seen this gigantic tree the other day, at this place called Ellison Park. I was trying to draw it from memory, but I couldn't really remember parts of it. 

I groan in frustration. So fucking stupid. I stand up, grab the sketchbook and writing things and go downstairs, making sure to be extra loud. I walk into the kitchen to grab a bar or something before I leave. I open the fridge, and hear a concerned voice behind me. Dammit.

"Connor, honey," I turn and see my mother standing there, arms crossed, "Are you going somewhere?" 

"Yeah, to Ellison Park," I say, not bothering to lie. She thinks I'm lying anyway.

"Are you sure?" Cynthia says, stepping closer to me, "Not anywhere else?"

"Yeah, Mom," I say (She doesn't like it when I call her Cynthia to her face). Why would I not be sure?

"Okay," She says, "Just call me when you get there, alright? And if you need a ride back, too."

"Sure." I say. We both know I won't.

I walk past her and into the hallway. I open the door and step out into the cool afternoon breeze. I start walking to the park, sketchbook in hand.

I arrive at Ellison a couple minutes later. The trees are fairly big at the entrance, but they start to get bigger the farther I walk. I don't know how long I wander, searching for the tree I had seen, lost in my own thoughts.