Fractured Minds (Rebels of Sandland 3)

Usually, whenever I’d given her something like this, I posted it through the door, or left it on a brick wall somewhere, hidden from the rest of the prying eyes of Sandland. This was the first time I’d stood in front of her and put myself on the line.

When she saw what was on the paper, she gasped again, only this time she covered her mouth with her hand, and I saw tears well up in her eyes.

“Oh my God, Finn. This is… it’s beautiful.”

I could see the paper shaking in her hand as she held it and took in what she saw drawn there. I hadn’t gone for the usual portrait, and I’d spent a lot more time on this one than I had on the drawing of her dog that I knocked out in ten minutes with an old pencil whilst I leant against her neighbours’ fence a few months ago. This one had colour and depth. This was how I saw her.

I’d sketched her looking down, a side profile with her gaze cast to the floor. That way, I could show the delicate upturn of her nose that I loved, shade in the glow of her cheekbones, and the way her hair fell so beautifully over her face as she tried to hide from the world.

Or was it from me?

I loved that she had a quiet confidence. A gentle beauty that radiated from within. And I felt honoured that I got to see it. Sometimes, it felt like her smiles were only for me. She was mine, in my head and my heart, anyway. But in all her understated elegance was a beauty even my pencil couldn’t capture. So, I’d used washes of colour around the outside of her face to symbolise what she meant to me; how she made me feel. Blue for the calmness her presence always gave me. A tranquillity and peace that was always lacking at any other time in my life. Lavenders to symbolise her grace and poise. She wasn’t like any other girl in Sandland. She danced to the beat of her own drum, lived by her own well-crafted, caring and respectful principles and never failed to make others feel uplifted whenever she was around. And finally, purples, the colour of royalty, because this girl was noble, regal and a million miles out of my league.

“I’m speechless,” she whispered into the cold night air and stared at the drawing in awe.

I willed her to look up at me, to make the next move, because I didn’t have a clue what to say or do in this situation.

“I can’t believe you made this for me. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given to me.” She looked up at me then, but the warmth I expected to see flickered and died, leaving behind confusion and hesitation.

She didn’t trust me.

And I couldn’t blame her.

“I love that you’ve given this to me, truly I do, but why have you come here, Finn?”

Because I can’t ever seem to let you go.

“I felt bad. I said some awful things to you earlier.”

And those words will haunt me just as much as any of my nightmares do.

I stuffed my hands into the front pocket of my hoody, so she couldn’t see me wring them together nervously.

She smiled to herself, taking a step towards me and blasting another brick from my wall of insecurities. But as she got a bit closer, she hesitated, and her smile faltered.

“I can’t ever read you, Finn. One minute I think we’re getting somewhere, and then it all changes. I know you’re not a bad person. You have a good heart. But you don’t make it easy. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

I understood what she was saying. It hurt to hear it, but it was the truth. Being around me wasn’t a walk in the park. I knew that. It’s why I kept myself hidden away most of the time.

I hung my head in shame but willed myself not to back down or turn and run away. Something was happening here, something worth fighting for, and I had to man-up and see this through.

“I think you know by now I pretty much forgive most of the crap you pull.” She sighed, giving me yet another lifeline.

She forgave me.

“I don’t mean to pull crap…” I answered, a little too defensively, and in an instant she jumped in to explain herself.

“I know you don’t, you just… ugh, you confuse me, Finn. I never know where I stand with you.”

“Well, right now, on your porch freezing our tits off.” It was a lame response, but I was going for the humour angle to deflect from the fact that I could not stop shaking and my face probably looked the shade of a beetroot.

“I didn’t mean that. You know what I meant.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I responded, bypassing my brain and answering straight from my gut.

“I don’t want you to say anything, just tell me what’s in your heart. What do you want? You obviously came here for a reason and it wasn’t just to give me this.”

She held up the drawing and I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me. Had I made a dick move giving her a picture like that after being such an arsehole today?