The §ketchBoøk

Chapter Two

Qloie POV

Patrick seems to be walking home after getting dropped off at his stop.
Should I go talk to him?
He's perpetually in my head, and I can't repress my thoughts about him.
According to the school psychologist, Mrs.Scarry, my abnormal thoughts are beneficial to have.
I believe that I don't intentionally harm people.
Although, if people don't do what I need... they become an annoyance.
Maybe sometimes I want to cut their heads off.
Doesn't everyone have a hard-hearted side to them?

The bus was going to start again, so I had to make my decision.
Stretching my hand up into the air, I exclaimed "Stop! I want to get off here."
The bus doors folded open for me.
Time to find Patrick.

Patrick POV

My mom crossed her arms and twitched her eyebrows at me.
"What do you mean you can't explain your day?" silence filled the room.
"Patrick, What happened!?" her voice raised, and her face was angry.
Though, it was out of fear for me.
My whole body was trembling from her voice.
Quickly, I spoke up "I miss home!"
Regretting what I said I looked down at the floor and avoided eye contact with her.
She shuffled towards me and uncrossed her arms.
Tears stung my eyes, and then all at once like a dam breaking, I found myself soaking her t-shirt in tears.
her voice spoke calmly "Patrick, We will always consider New York our home but please, give Montana a try." She rubbed my back.
I nodded my head in understanding.

My eyes are bloodshot and full of a stinging sensation.
What hurts even worse though? I thought I could hold back my tears.
I just couldn't.

Qloie POV

I managed to figure out where Patrick lives.
Peering into his living room window, I see him having an emotional conversation with what seems to be his mother.
I don't have empathy for any of that.
I've been in and out of foster care my whole life, so why is he crying about such small issues?
Once a family adopted me, they would return me in less than four days.
I don't understand why?
I know I'm pretty.
Maybe it's these thoughts in my head.
Across from the living room window, I spot another, even smaller window.
It looks like a bedroom window.
I get down on my knees and start crawling towards it.
Hopefully, I don't make too much noise.

Finally, reaching my destination, I slip my waist through the window managing to not make a ruckus.
I quickly stand up from the fall and examine the teenage boy's room.
It smells like cologne, pleasant.
A small black book catches my eyes, it has bold lettering that spells "The Sketchbook."
Upon opening it, I was struck with fear by these sketchy drawing of a shadowy figure.
I swore at first the figure looked friendly towards me, then the face swiftly distorted into a frown.
I couldn't believe my eyes, drawings don't change.
But, I felt like it knew what type of person I was.
Like how I think, what I say, and how I treat others.

I slam the book shut breathing rapidly and collapsing to the floor.
Who am I kidding? No drawing could read my mind.
I began laughing uncontrollably.
Suddenly there was a noise from the bedroom door.
It opened to reveal a teenage boy.
He was staring at me, and his wide eyes looked frightened.

I know, I should feel bad about what I did.
I just feel disappointed that I got caught.
My face made a smirk "Hey Patrick, I know where you live now." I giggled.

Confusion filled his face "W-What are you doing in my-my room Qloie?" He said studdering.

It'll be nearly impossible to talk my way out of this.
Dodging his question, I slowly get closer and closer to Patrick.
Close enough to hear his heart throbbing in his chest.
I leaned towards his ear "Go out with me, I want you to be mine." I whisper softly, breathing into his ear.
He nodded when out of the blue his doorknob is jostled.
I knew that was his mother, and it was time to leave.
Quickly I planted a kiss on his cheek and made my escape.
"Patrick, do you want me to make you dinner tonight?" She asks.