True P.O.V

I looked at the wall clock, wondering why I hadn't kept my damn mouth shut during Mrs. Troy's class. Like seriously, I could have lived my whole life without opening my mouth and snapping at the teacher, because seriously, I'm afraid of Mr. Troy, but who wasn't afraid of this bastard?

I was currently in my last period class, it was like the final level in a game before the boss battle.

And I had the worst boss enemy to fight.

Mr. Troy.

Since it was a Friday, I didn't have an actual class, I was currently in my little library corner, thinking about my impending doom. It was like waiting inside a doctors office not knowing what was wrong with you, and this time they took a blood test.

Well, maybe not as bad as that, but pretty close.

I had my sketch pad in my lap, and a pencil between my fingers, wanting to put the pencils down and yank my hair right out of the roots they sprouted from. Maybe I was just having mood swings because one second I'm trying to calm myself, the next I'm completely panicked about what was going to happen during and after detention.

I knew I could be scared, any conscious person would be scared.

And I wasn't ashamed to be one of them.

I mean he obviously seems like he is going to try something, since he had been very upset the few days after detention and his mood didn't seem to pick up until after he found out I have detention again, a new creepy smile had appeared on Mr. Troy's face, but Jessica had taken the chance to get Mr. Troy's hands underneath the safety of her extremely short skirt. I don't think this was the first time Jessica had done something like this and maybe it wouldn't be the last.

I didn't like Jessica but I also knew one of her biggest secrets, she already had a child, it's about 3 years old, and Jessica is only 17, so she got jacked up at the tender age of 13, and delivered at 14, but the reason so few people knew about it was because she disappeared for about seven months, and simply told people she went to juvenile hall, which happened a lot, and people knowing Jessica, didn't question it at all, but I had been friends with old Jessica before high school, but that doesn't matter to a majority of these people, they simply saw it as a girl being rebellious but the Jessica I knew, wouldn't hurt a fly, the Jessica now is more concerned about getting into someone else's bed for the night. I'm sometimes glad that I knew Jessica had put her son up for adoption, which I personally think is for the best. I think Jessica had some stress from her parents to put the child into the foster system. Jessica was young and her parents had clearly not wanted to raise it. In a way, Jessica wasn't responsible enough for a child, since she could and would barely take care of herself. Maybe it was for the better that the baby didn't remain with her. Maybe not.

But Jessica isn't like me.

She's popular, she has one-week relationships and the tag whore all over her.

You wouldn't need to be a genius to tell you that, simply follow her for half a day and you'll see it.

Believe it or not, me and Jessica were once actual friends. We aren't anymore though.

I snap my eyes back to the paper in my hands, seeing myself sketching a younger Jessica the Jessica I knew, the one I remember, with me standing next to her and our old friend, the glue of our friendship, Quinnson, who isn't around anymore but was our friend until the end. Quinnson had gotten hit by a car while riding his bike home from school and a drunk driver hit him, and he had been put into a coma before his lungs collapsed and he died, two weeks and three days after the accident.

It had broke Jessica who had been closer to Quinnson than I had but he had been my friend. After Quinnson died, Jessica disconnected and I honestly think this was the root of where Jessica's sadder side of the story started, where the partying and sex all began at the loss of her closest friend, and I think her crush.

I sketch Quinnson on memory, remembering his gentle smile, his sandy blonde hair that was always a color lighter than mine, his once calming blue eyes, that no longer opened for the world.

I remember the days we'd hang out, the days we'd walk through the parks of New York, craving our names into trees and giggling about how much fun it was.

I missed those days but it also showed me what would happen to Jessica if Quinnson wasn't around, and I didn't the Jessica she became and I'm not too sure she is either.

But I wasn't Jessica, and I couldn't tell you she was happier when I knew that obviously wasn't the case, or I don't believe her to be happier, being labeled a whore wasn't what I imagined anyone wanting.

I continue to sketch the three of us, we all looked younger and sitting underneath a willow tree in one of the older parks, one of the last parks the three of us had been to before Quinnson's untimely passing, it was a pity and I miss him, I do, but I knew that something else would have happened that would have torn our friendship circle apart and I knew I'd be left in the dust.

Like I always was.

I had known Kyle then too, but at that age, I was closer to Quinnson at that point of age.

I finish the sketch and looking down at it a small smile breaks onto my face.

I look at the clock and pull myself up in a flash, I wanted to leave the picture in Jessica's locker before school let out, so she'd have it before.

I rush towards where I knew Jessica's locker was, carefully slipping in the piece of paper, and darting away to my locker, across the hallway and down some, I was in the perfect place to watch her reaction.

The bell rang overhead and I smile slightly knowing I may have just made her day slightly better. After Quinnson's death, all pictures of him had been taken from anyone who had a copy, including me and Jessica, who was hurt by it the most.

I see kids fill the hallways, some excitement for the weekend, others groaning about wanting the break to come sooner.

I then see Jessica, but she wasn't hard to miss. In the beginning, Jessica was a pretty redhead with beautiful green eyes, but her eyes weren't the same as they were when she was a kid. Her once beautiful curly red locks were now straight and scratchy, her breast practically popping out her top, she skirt up way too high, her red lipstick was making her hair look dimmer than it actually was.

She swayed her hips down the hallway, getting lust filled looks from a majority of the guys, but not from me, the old her was more beautiful than this, and I was disappointed this is what my ex-friend turned into. She wasn't always like this though, I had to remind myself that.

I liked to think that she didn't actually like dressing this way, that she didn't like the feeling of the stares. I liked to think that.

She unlocked her locker and the paper fell, but she caught it, after she bent down too, and it showed the under-view of her skirt, which I didn't want to see but the other guys in the hall did. Creepy perves.

She had gotten the backside of the paper and she turned it over she gasped quietly, her eyes tearing up as she saw her old best friend on the piece of paper, the only remaining picture of Quinnson out there, that his parents didn't have a hold of.

She looked up and met my eyes instantly, her mascara running down her cheeks, she knew who drew it. Who else would remember Quinnson doing those things with us? Unless it was a stalker but that was another situation.

'thank you' she mouthed to me, and I ducked my head acknowledging her words, before walking to where I knew detention was.

Sadly enough, that was probably the only interaction me and Jessica would ever have.

A sigh left my lips as I walked into my doom, I sat at a desk near the middle so I would be around some people, which was safer at this moment than any.

I saw maybe six other kids in detention and none of them seemed to have Mr. Troy in any of his classes, and sadly my diversion pal Hiro isn't in detention today, so I can't get away like last time, and I doubt that Mr. Troy would let it happen again, since the second he walked in he's been eyeing me, daring me to try and get away again, and I wanted to take that dare I just didn't know how.

I decided that if I was going to be stuck in here I might as well do something time worthy, which is why I pulled out my sketch pad. I may not draw a lot but I've been told I sketch very well, they complimented me on them, but it wasn't like I showed my artwork out to the world commonly, I usually drew for memory.

Like with Quinnson. Or the picture I drew of Kyle and Luke. Those pictures meant something.

I knew that, and the people I gave the drawings to knew it was well.

I began to sketch mom and dad, I don't know why but I felt like that's what I needed to draw. So I did. I sketched their outlines before going into much more detail making sure to draw them perfectly.

My mom had a sweet smile on her face, dad had a cheeky grin on his. I knew the picture I based this off of well, this was when mom was pregnant with Chris, the beginning of a long line of children to come but at that moment they didn't know that. They didn't know they'd have twins or four other kids after the first birth. They didn't know it and this picture was what I wished my parents were like all the time.

But it wasn't like that. Mainly because they weren't the people who were suddenly going to wake up one day and treat their children, and treat me like there child.

It wasn't going to happen, I knew that.

I shaded the picture and made it look nice, and it did. They looked happy in the picture I drew but couldn't tell you if they were completely happy or not. Maybe they weren't happy because of me.

I wonder . . .

But wonder all I want, I wouldn't have been able to tell you at all, mainly because I don't know my parents well enough to explain there thought patterns, on this subject.

I finish the drawings, and then I drew my younger twin siblings Madisyn and Michael, thinking mom would enjoy to have this picture as well. She loved those two very much, much more than she'll ever love me, and that is a fact.

After finishing that picture I drew Bryan. I could draw him better, I spent more time with him than my other siblings. I didn't, however, draw Christin, he didn't need to be drawn.

Right as I finish the drawing, the clock ticks to 4:45 and detention is over.

I try to get up and rush away but a voice stops me.

"Mr. Night can you please stay a moment and help me with something?" Mr. Troy's voice halts my movement, and I didn't want to know what the something he needed help with was. I felt all the air leave me as the last other person got up and left detention leaving me alone with Mr. Troy.

I close my eyes and attempt to calm my breathing, hoping that Mr. Troy only needed help stacking books.

The door closes with a click, and I see Mr. Troy walk over to the door and lock it with a key that he stuffs into his pocket of his jacket, which he tossed over to his desk, at this point I was already creeping away from Mr. Troy, I had a suspicion about what he was about to do, and I didn't want it to happen again, not after two times of the very same thing.

I couldn't let it happen again, not again, not this.

˜

I don't wanna be here anymore, it wasn't worth it.

After a moment, Mr. Troy fixed himself grabbed his papers, grabbed his jacket, and walked towards the door, unlocking it before turning to me, a satisfied look on his face.

"Turn the lights off when you leave." He said before closing the door.

I rubbed the tears in my eyes away, trying to calm my breathing through the attempted was failing miserably. I grab the box of tissues to clean myself and another to dry my tears.

I felt gross.

I threw all the evidence away knowing the weekend staff didn't care about this kind of stuff.

I feel worthless, I feel so damn tired.

I release a sigh and a new set if tears before grabbing my stuff, which was in my backpack, and like Mr. Troy said turning the light off.

I drove myself home, knowing no one would be here to pick me up.

I parked my motorcycle outside the house, and everyone was home, but when I get inside no one was in the kitchen or living room. I pull my sketchbook out and put the three pictures I drew out and left them on the counter, and went up to my room, collapsed on my bed, and letting my tears finally fall.