Entering into the house, I have the same questions thrown at me.
"Had a good day?"
"Anything interesting happen?"
I sigh and throwing my bag over my shoulder I walk up the stairs. I hate this house, too clean, to big for the three of us. Just cause my parents are rich doesn't mean we have to have 5 so-called bedrooms, one converted to an office/libarary and the other (okay, so this one is important) my mum's art room where she paints.
I finally get to my room and shut the door, filling my room with the sounds of the Scorpians I relax and start with my secret. Art. I sit and start sketching her again. I don't know who she is but what she looks like is etched on my brain and I can see every detail of her as I draw. The curve of her face, the sadness of her eyes I portray onto paper, all my efforts in sketching, shading and her. No one knows I draw like this, or that when I start something takes over and I feel more me. I've been sketching the mystery girl for 3 weeks now since I realised she existed. How could I have not noticed? I've been at college nearly 4 months. The memory of first noticing her was vividly imprinted on my brain.
Outside biology, just the usual, laughing with Matt and Joe. Then she walks past tears streaming down her face, blood pouring down her face from an open cut by the hairband.
As a reminder I pull out my first sketch of her, I see the tears and my body aches from wanting to brush the tears away. I force myself to remember more.
Wanting to see if she's alright but no one else has noticed her, maybe I'm imagining things, not the first time that would've happened. But then she's there in biology and I notice the teacher doesn't call out her name.
I scrunch up the paper and throw it at the wall, burying my face in my hands I wonder what's happening to me. I'm becoming obssessed with this girl. Calming, and coming to my senses, I crawl to the crumpled picture, smooth it out and place it with the rest of the pictures.
My secret: my artwork.