vibrant

twenty one; good sister

Ophelia has another restless night. No matter how hard she tries, she can't get to sleep, even with Jj beside her.

So, much like the morning before, Ophelia creeps out of bed, quickly changing into her glasses, a pair of black shorts, and the black, paint stained, long sleeved shirt she had worn the night they went to the Crain house. Then, Ophelia picks up her sketchbook, a bucket system she had stashed in John B's kitchen, her grinder, Jj's zippo, and her coloured pencils, heading out to the dock.

When she sits down and flips to a new page, she looks up to the sky, appreciating the vibrant colours filling the air as the sun rises. Quickly, Ophelia braids her hair down her back, keeping it out of her face before opening her grinder. She takes some finely ground weed, placing it in the bucket system's topper before grabbing Jj's lighter. She takes the flame to the marijuana, lighting it and slowly raising the bottle to brew the toke. Once there's enough, Ophelia takes off the bottle cap, and inhales the smoke. She holds her breath for a few seconds, taking a blissful moment to feel the familiar sensation of smoke in her lungs before she exhales, picking up her coloured pencils and getting to work as a high settles over her.

The pencils against paper do nothing to portray the wondrous landscape before her, but Ophelia keeps colouring anyways, finding serenity in the action, the weed in her system helping her relax further. She feels as if she could forget the horrible things that had happened, almost like she's distanced herself from the world and found her own quiet space.

Maybe she had. Maybe drawing the sunrises could become her escape.

As she makes progress, she thinks about different ways she could paint the scene, since it's her preferred medium. Pondering an inverted colour landscape, where cool tones replace the warm ones, or maybe a sunset where the clouds seem to be melting into the horizon. With the ideas slowly coming to her, Ophelia feels a bit guilty for abandoning the self-portrait she had started a few days ago. She's been a pretty lazy artist lately.

She isn't surprised when she hears footsteps approach, breaking her from her small trance, but she is surprised when she looks up to see John B.

Ophelia just eyes him as he sits across from her, leaning on a post and mimicking her own posture. She doesn't say a word to him, she just focuses on finishing up her drawing.

After a few minutes, she sets the sketchbook down, sitting with her legs crossed and her gaze fixed on her best friend, "I'm not going to ask if you're okay," Ophelia says, "I know you're not."

John B's stare is fixed on the dock, "Ward found out about the gold," He lowly mumbles, "He took it all."

"How do you know?"

"I just went down there. It's gone."

Ophelia slowly nods, "I'm sorry," She says, "About the gold and your Dad," Ophelia looks down at her fingers, "I didn't get to say that yesterday."

"I'm sorry, too," John B says after a brief pause, "For shoving you."

"It's not okay," Ophelia responds, "But I'll take the apology anyway."

"Are you still...?" John B trails off, trying to find words.

"On your side?"

"Yeah."

"Always."

John B's adam's apple bobs, almost like he's swallowing a lump in his throat, "You're a good friend, Ophelia."

"No I'm not," Ophelia says, earning a confused look, "I'm a good sister."

"I could be a better brother," John B mumbles, a small smile on his face as he looks at the blonde girl across from him.