“Asheen! This is the third time I've called. Don't make me come in there.”

Groaning, I rolled over, hand fumbling across the tossed sheets, fingers stretching out in search of my phone.

“The time is six forty-seven, and your Mom is getting irratated.”

My eyes shot open, Andy stood at the end of my bed with his arms crossed, dressed in a white Misfits shirt which was little more than a holy rag with a neck hole and oversized arm holes cut into it. He'd already done his makeup, probably finished packing, and like the organized fuck he was, he was probably already ready to go.

“Do I seriously have to go?” I groaned, rolling over to cover my face in my pillow.

“Yes. Now get up and get ready. We're leaving in a half hour.”

I heard my mother's retreating footsteps and groaned. What a nice Sunday I'd had, and a nice sleep I'd been having, and it was wall destroyed by the reminder of the dreadful trip to California today. We'd be stopping at the halfway point, somewhere in Nevada for the night.

All I really did yesterday, was procrastinate about packing, and playing chess and checkers with Andy in the backyard. Remaining just out of view of all the windows, it felt like to me he was real, and to anyone looking our direction, I was playing a one man chess game.

Around ten last night, Andy began pestering me about getting packed, and even threatened me once that if I didn't, he would. And I wouldn't like what he'd pick out. I begrudgingly, grabbed the first things I saw in the closet, and shoved them in my suitcase to appease him, before passing out on the bed.

Now it was morning and I had to face the fate that awaited me on the otherside of the long ass drive to California.

Part of me wondered, if I hadn't gotten in trouble, if my parents would have considered me mature enough to stay home alone. It's a bit of a long shot, but it was a reachable goal a week ago. Now, with all the agony I'd caused, it was unlikely I'd ever hear the words home alone and me together in a sentence again.

“Get up, lazy ass.” I felt Andy shake my shoulder, and I rolled over onto my face swatting lazily at him. "No." I growled, determined to slip back into the nice sleep I'd been having.

Abruptly, the covers were yanked off my mattress, and the mattress itself disappeared from beneath me. My eyes opened to find I was levitating... Well, after I regained my senses, no levitating, (major disappointment) but I was scooped up in Andy's struggling arms.

“You're a lot damn heavier than you look.” He grunted in a strained voice before finally settling for dropping me on the floor. I glared up at him, slowly, I picked myself up off the floor. "Thanks for the nice wakeup call, sweetie." I told him in a flat, unamused, sarcastic tone.

He smiled cheekily, patting his trusty leather suitcase by the door. “I can't help that I'm more prepared for this trip than you.”

I scoffed. “No one likes a showoff, asshole.”

“Well, I'm glad to see we're good enough friends that you no longer scream at me about being in your house.” He replied grimly with a frown.

I laughed at his comment. “That was your own damn fault. You were unannounced, in my room like a gust of mist, and you wanted me to hear you out. Unlikely.”

“I didn't think you'd pass out...” He sighed, shaking his head at the memory. “Anyways, stop procrastinating. I'll be downstairs when you're ready to go. And don't forget the headphones!”

“Why?”

A michievious smile crossed his face. “It's my turn.”

“Your turn for what?” I demanded, and he laughed, disappearing before I could squeeze in another question. I groaned, but continued reluctantly with my jobs. Putting them in order as I went.

I didn't bother putting on makeup, so I just tossed the bottles and canisters into my makeup bag without much care, brushing my hair out quickly before tossing it into my suitcase, as well. I changed into a light, white cotton t-shirt, and blue jeans. I wasn't in a great mood, and it certainly wasn't the morning I'd dress like a beauty queen.

Pushing all my weight agaisnt the reluctant suitcase, I managed to drag the zipper all the way around, and when I let go, it puffed out like a bomb had gone off inside, but hadn't physically blown up the suitcase itself. Sighing in relief, I grabbed my Flyleaf hoodie from the closet, yanking it over my head, messing up my hair in the progress.

I made sure my phone was fully charged... Kinda unofficially given back to me at first, Andy had put it back where he found it, so my Mom could give it back to me yesterday afternoon. An event accompanied by a lecture on responsibility that I didn't hang onto too well.

Snatching my headphones off the bedside table, I was fairly sure I was ready to go, tied up my dark green converse, noticing the bits of mud from the forest, still caked in the tread.

I paused thoughtfully, wondering how many eyes watched me now... It made me feel uneasy, so I shook it off, took a deep breath, slining my backpack over my shoulder, reaching for my suitcase.

I flipped off the lightswitch as I made my way out of my room, closing the poster clad door behind me.

Dad was on the phone when I came down the stairs, the rumble of my suitcase clattering down each step, even on the plush carpet, stirred up some attention.

"Almost ready?" Mom called to me on her way towards the living room, checking all the rooms to be sure things were off, and okay to be left for a week. I nodded slightly, looking around the foyer for Andy. When I didn't see him immediately, nor any trace of him or his luggage, I wandered around discreetly, looking for him.

“Lose something?”

I looked up, my Mom standing there with her purse over her shoulder, looking at me with a puzzled expression. I shook my head,
“No.”

“Okay...” She continued to look at me uncertainly. “We're heading out now.”

I nodded in agreement, following her to the front door, wondering if Andy would turn up before we left.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and picked up my suitcase, sending one last glance around the foyer, I sighed and followed my parents out so my Dad could lock up.

As I walked down the stone path to the driveway, I recognized someone sitting in the backseat of the car. I yanked open the door to glare at him. He sat there with his feet propped up on the console, sunglasses on, flipping through an issue of Kerrang that he'd managed to get somewhere.

“Thanks for telling me you'd be here.” I muttered before my Mom could overhear, tossing my backpack at him, going to the trunk to put in my suitcase.

“Are you mad?” He called to me, and I ignored him. Not because I was really mad at him, but because if I shouted "No" at nothing, while my neighbors were mowing their lawns and pissing their dogs, I might be a subject of rumors for the rest of my life.

“I heard her parents took her to California for mental treatment...” I could already hear it now.

My Dad was cheerful as he approached the car, a mood I wished I could syphon from him.

As I sat down in the backseat, ending up with the left window seat, Andy rephrased his question while I buckled up.

“Are you mad?”

I shook my head, concentrating on the simple task.

“Then why won't you talk to me?”

I gestured sharply at my parents sitting in the front seat, literally a foot and a half away.

Understanding broke out across his face and he gave me a goofy grin. “Sorry... That was dumb. Anyways, where's the headphones?”

I glared at him without being obvious, wishing I could demand why he wanted them. But instead, all I could do was sulkingly hand them over. He beamed, sitting up in his seat a bit to fish something out of his back pocket. It was a silver iPhone.

“Something borrowed.” He explained, shoving the headphones into the jack and powering it up. "Here." He handed me the left earbud, leaning against my shoulder so the cord would reach, careful not to get so close I'd disappear. He scrolled excitedly through his music library.

“It's been so long since I heard this stuff!” He sounded like a little kid. “Misfits Motley Crue, Alkaline Trio, yessss!”

I lifted my hand to cover my mouth to prevent the muffled laughter of amusement, that would erouse some suspicion from my parents. He was so absurd, that even his brooding, dark makeup and satanic clothing choices couldn't cover up the childish attitude he sometimes had. He grinned uncontrollably, trying to decide on which songs to play, finally just creating an entire playlist.

“Listen to these. They're amazing.”

I looked down at the small, dimly illuminated screen and read the familiar Misfits song title, about to say my gym teacher, Mr. Carry, sometimes played their music during our exercises and games... But once again, that would have been asylum worthy, speaking to the seat beside me as though it was someone sitting there.

As the songs continued, on shuffle, he constantly wanted feedback, questioning what I thought. All I could give him was a thumbs up, and he'd scoff, still grinning like a fool.

A few questions popped up that I wanted to ask him, but once again, the no communicating thing made it impossible. I pulled out a chapter book from my backpack, and began reading instead. Andy flipped through his Kerrang magazine, which had Alex Gaskarth and Jack Barakat from All Time Low gracing the Christmas issue cover.

I did notice, too, that when he was done reading that one, he leaned over the seat, and pulled out another seven issues. I shot him a surprised look, and he snickered. “Just don't look, alright?”

I leaned to the side a bit to get a glance. But before I could, my Dad hit a bump in the road, causing the heap, orobsessive hoard of Kerrang magazines to fan out across the backseat floor. I groaned, looking at him, trying to express the surprise and amusement I found in the situation.

“Just about every issue.” He claimed somewhat proudly, patting the seat. I noticed how embarrassed he looked by the fact.

I ripped off a corner of my book page, pulling a pen from my backpack, I scrawled a quick message:

Obsessive much?

I handed it to him, and he read it curiously. Glaring at me afterwards, flicking the piece of discarded paper at me. I picked it back up and adjusted my note, handing it back to him, which he accepted with an annoyed groan.

Don't worry, that and your Batman obsession is safe with me. :)

He narrowed his eyes this time, but said nothing. Nodding once, he tucked the slip of paper in the front pocket of his jacket.

“I'm not obsessed with Batman.” He defended, looking out his window while an Alkaline Trio song played. “I'm madly in love with him.”

“Okay...” I whispered under my breath, and he laughed, continuing to flick through his magazines happily.

When I'd gotten bored after an hour and a half of riding, I reached into my bag and pulled out my journal, flipping to the small section of pages I reserved for sketching. I looked idly out the window, trying to think of what to draw.

I'd always been an avid artist, though I didn't like calling myself that, because I felt like it was cocky to be like “Oh! I'm an artist because I can hold a pencil and doodle!”

I never drew ambitious things, though. Basically, just concept sketches and such. I never really sat down and drug out all the paints to create a Mona Lisa or anything. I just drew what I felt like in the moment.

Nothing interested me right then, though. And Andy's page flipping was distracting. Then I had an idea...

I angled myself against the window so he couldn't see what I was sketching, and I went to work... He fidgited so damn much it was hard to keep things straight, so I also worked from memory.

I tried not to start grinning to make him suspicious. I didn't draw his makeup, though. Because I'd never really seen him without it, it was more of a curious adventure as I tried to imagine what he looked like without it.

After I'd drawn one, cheeky smiling cartoon sketch of him, I began doodling another, and then one of the back of his fascinating Prophet jacket. It kept me occupied for a while, sketching details and shading.

I noticed when he glanced out of the corner of his eye, and saw me smirking. Instantly, he frowned. “Why do I feel like you're doing something to disrespect me?” He groaned.

“If you call this disrespect...” I whispered almost silently, trailing off, I handed him my notebook. He stuck his tongue out at me before looking at the sketch.

His expression was somewhere between shock and confusion. Baffled and speechless, he finally shut his mouth, which was dangling, stuttering for words, taken back by the cartoonish sketches in front of him.

Then his expression shifted into a flattered smile, he dramatically placed his hand over his heart as though he were about to faint, smiling fondly at the paper the way a parent does when their kid brings home a drawing of their family from school.

There was the undeniable level of pride in his eyes as he chuckled, "I had no idea I fascinated you enough to draw me."

I snorted and shoved his arm. “I'm being serious.” He laughed, “I'm really flattered, actually.” He struggled to comprehend, and properly process a coherent reply.

“You don't fascinate me.” I mumbled under my voice to keep my parents from noticing. “You’re just an absurdly interesting mythical creature.”

He shrugged, still smiling, looking at the array of sketches again. “Hell, I’m just happy you got my nose right.”

Notes

Yes! I finally figured out what I did to my keyboard before to get the curly quotation marks! Ctrl + Shift + the quotation mark key. I'm haapppyyy. :D
Chapter inspired by Cassie (Acoustic version) by Flyleaf
I'm So Sick by Flyleaf.
Shoutout to!

- anathema
- Jess_BVBARMY2639
- blackveilkitty
- Allie_BVB