Friend Of The Dead

A Game

Though Dorian said he would come back, he didn't say when. No time was specified, and I found myself counting the minutes until his return. I was never like this, I never act like this. Like a love-struck girl who has a crush on the football player of the school with the ill-looking blonde hair and arrogant smirk tattooed to his lips. Though he never notices her. I needed to stop it, to regain myself and bring back the girl I was, the girl I am. Sophie swan does not act like a love-struck fool; Sophie Swan never becomes a love-struck fool, especially not to a man half-alive. Oh, what would my mother say if she knew?

To get my mind off things, I did things I would usually do if I were not preoccupied. Things that my special friends had made impossible to do, things like human stuff. I took a cold shower to clear my head, though when I looked in the mirror, I saw someone else. My eyes, usually bright, now held black bags underneath them, standing out against my pale skin. I looked sick. I realized. No wonder Charlie and Bella were worried about me.

I stood under the cold water, descending down my back making chills go to my bones. Maybe it did help in a way because after the shower I looked less like death itself and more like a person close to death. As I dried my hair, I glanced around my room and sighed, it looked like hell. How could I have let Dorian in before? The floor was covered in used and crumpled paper all covered in half-finished sketches that I was never satisfied by. The walls were messily hidden by drawings I'd hung there without giving thought to how it looked. Clothes were littered around in the corners and cloths covered in paint. It really did look like an artist's room.

I started collecting the clothes and washing the paint out of them. My crumpled up papers going straight to the trash bin. Then I went and began organizing through the drawings I'd hung up, setting aside those going to the notebook and those staying pinned to the wall. As I continued to rifle through the papers, each face resurfaced a memory. A memory filled with both love and anguish. Both sweet and hurtful. Each face giving through a new emotion that swells its way into my heart and tightens the muscles.

All those faces, new and old, all those people, had somehow put a hole in my heart and fit themselves in it. I put down the sketches and blindly stuffed them under my bed before I would get too emotional.

I set the canvases side by side and finally, with a huff, I fell back on the bed. Turning my head to the side, I saw that it was dinner time, so I got up and walked downstairs to Charlie, and still no Bella.

"Where's Bella?" I asked as I walked into the room.

"She called saying Esme already made food so she couldn't leave. Looks like it's just you for dinner bub," I furrowed my eyebrows and finally noticed him strapping his holster gun at his belt.

"Wait, you're leaving? But I thought your shift ended?"

"It did, but all officers got called back to the station to check out a scene near Port Angeles." He grabbed his keys and badge.

"Is everything okay?" I asked worried, I still have not forgotten about the missing people.

"Everything's alright Sophie, nothing you should get your mind worked up about." Again with being too overprotective.

"You can order Pizza while I'm gone, be sure to lock the doors."

"Alright, love you," I called and heard his reply as he closed the door behind him. Then the thud that indicated Charlie's departure echoed through the halls. I blew a strand of my hair out of my eye---in a manner scarily similar to the way Jeremy does it----and turned to the phone to call for Pizza. After some time deciding whether it should be pepperoni or cheesy, I found myself watching reruns of Tv shows I've already watched.