"Hold still," I ordered, finishing up my sketch.
After settling in Camille, Carson and I quickly became bored.
He was currently sitting obediently on his bed, not moving a muscle, while I scribbled away on his notepad, trying to capture his essence in one picture.
Which was hard, because he had a practically flawless essence.
Pancake was resting his head in his paws at the foot of his bed, watching me draw.
The presence of Pancake was really reassuring. I had grown up around dogs, and the fact that he had one himself meant that he couldn't be a completely terrible person, right?
I think I need to remind myself that attractive doesn't equal good.
Anyways, I was finishing up my drawings, but unfortunately, I was no artist. His eyes looked like walnuts and his mouth was way too small. Also, an important fact to mention, I forgot to add a neck, so his head was completely attached to his chest.
I quickly shaded in some wavy and curly hair for him, and set the pencil down to admire my work.
As sad as it was, this was one of my better drawings.
"And ta da!" I sang, turning the paper over to he could see.
I watched Carson's eyes narrowed as he squinted at the page.
I waited for him to say something, but he just stared.
"What is that?" He said finally.
I frowned, turning it back to look at it. "It's you!"
"It looks like a horrible mistake."
"No it doesn't, I drew it completely accurate!"
"That really hurts my self-esteem."
I shot him a glare and tore the page out before crumpling it up and throwing it at him. He caught it with ease right before it hit his face, which was highly annoying.
"Can you do any better?" I challenged, throwing the pad of paper at him too, which he again caught with ease.
"Probably," He grinned, tucking it back into the drawer of his bedside table. "The standards aren't too high right now."
"Why don't you try?" I asked, watching him put the paper away.
Plus, if he didn't like to draw, then why did he have all these sketch books and pencils under his bed?
At the same time, I could also ask why he had an oven mitt and a cactus under there too.
"I need to be inspired. And also I don't really draw people," He said. "At all."
This peeked my curiosity. "Why not?"
"You ask a lot of questions," He told me, reaching over and plucking the pencil out of my hand.
"I'm naturally curious," I defended, a blush heating up my neck. "Answer the question."
He shot me a sideways smile, and his fingers tossed the pencil into the drawer too, then closed it.
"I'm not really sure why, I just have never done it," He admitted.
I swung my legs up and down, enjoying the feeling. "What better time to start then the present?"
"I lied. I don't draw people because they turn out horribly and it's embarrassing."
This brought out a laugh from me. "Please, it can't be any worse than what I just drew!"
"That's definitely true," He said. "But I still wouldn't want to test that theory."
"Fine," I conceded, not wanting to push him. "What do you draw then?"
"Whatever I feel like."
My stomach rumbled, and he quirked an eyebrow.
Then it rumbled again, and this time even I grew annoyed. "You're right. I'm hungry. But I'm also lazy, so I don't want to go downstairs."
"No need!" He announced grandly. Then he made a big show of reaching under his bed, and coming back out with a bucket of fried chicken.
I eyed it. "I'm not even going to ask."
"Smart choice," He agreed, also taking a two plates out.
He handed me one, which I took gratefully, and then gave me a leg and a wing.
He kept the thigh for himself, which was fine with me; I loved the wings and legs.
Before he ate, he took of a small bit of meat and tossed it over toward Pancake, who effortlessly raised his head and caught it.
As I tore off a chunk of meat with my teeth, he asked, "Do you have any siblings?"
I chewed, and swallowed. "Yeah, I have an older brother and younger sister. My sister is in eighth grade, and my brother is in grad school."
"Quite the age gap," He observed, biting into his thigh.
"You?" I asked.
He put his chicken down and said, "Yeah, I have an older brother. He's never here though- he has duties and whatever with his job."
"I'm sorry," I said. "What does he do?"
My question momentarily stumped him. "He, um, works at a water company."
His answer sounded more like a question, but I let it go.
I finished off my leg quickly and went to the wing.
It was almost peaceful, with the sound of crunch and chewing.
I felt myself begin to relax for the first time since I arrived, which was nice.
I hadn't realized just how tense I was the past couple days, and I could feel my joints becoming sore.