Sketch Chapter 2 Novels & Stories

Sitting on the floor near the window, I open the blank page of my sketchbook, then hovering the pencil on the page, I pause, rattling my mind to get some inspiration. My lips stretch into a smile as I know what I want to sketch, and before I know, my hand is already moving across the paper, giving a form to my thoughts. I don't know what time or how long it has passed, as I am too consumed in my sketch that all these things seem unnecessary. Some more time passes, and my eagerness to finish the sketch makes me ignore the growling of my stomach as I haven't eaten anything since morning. I lift up my head from my sketch when I hear the sound of the opening of the door and watch Samuel walks in

Danny's owner. I stepped into his space, my hands shaking, and grabbed the edges of the sketchbook. "I can get you out of my head, Chad," I said, my voice barely a whisper, forcing it to sound bored, detached. "I just needed to get the image out on paper. It was stuck, like a glitch. Now it’s out, and I am free from the tyrant." I slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the quiet hall. I didn't look at his face. I didn't want to see if he believed me or if he was laughing at me. I just grabbed my bag and walked out, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

Useful. When I finished the sketch, I sat back and stared at it. Natalie looked back at me, soft and beautiful, caught in stillness forever. Just like Damon wanted her. I swallowed hard. The sharp edge of jealousy pressed against my ribs again, but I refused to let it take me under. No tears. Not ever again. I reached for a second sheet of parchment. This one was for me. The plan poured out in clipped, ruthless lines. No flowery language. No sentiment.

But I сhаngе mу mind whеn I ѕее the pages of thе first half of thе notebook are fіllеd wіth flоwеrу, cursive ѕсrірt. [Next POV: 'Blake' in Chapter 73]

“Can I see?” Another breath. Then he nodded. I flipped the sketchpad open gently. The first page was a forest scene—shaky lines, rough shading. The second page was better. The third… better still. But the fourth page stole my breath entirely. It was me. Not a perfect rendition. Not a flattering or glamorous one. But real. Me holding Aria as a baby. Me laughing with Cassian in the kitchen. Me sitting on the porch steps staring at the sunset. Me asleep on Lucian’s chest.

The silence in my throat was no longer a storm or a peaceful sea; it was a cold, hard ember buried deep beneath the gray ash—small, quiet, but burning with a quiet, dangerous heat that refused to die. ​I reached out and picked up a piece of smooth slate that Yusuf had pulled from the broken roof tiles outside. I didn't use paper. I didn't use ink. I took a piece of sharp white chalk we used for marking paper reams and pressed it against the dark, cold stone to open Chapter 170:

"The rough is what lasts. It's the part they couldn't change." With the layout approved and the foundation set Elena knew the next day would bring the drafting of Chapter One. There were no ghosts in the archives, no more contracts to outrun and no more pseudonyms to hide behind. The raw material was finally in her hands. She had all the time she needed to shape it.

My head kept thudding like something was trying to escape from inside it. It was after midnight when I opened my drawer. I wasn’t even thinking about her—I swear I wasn’t. I just needed something. A distraction. Something stupid. And then I saw it. The sketchbook. Black leather cover. No title. Just hers. I froze. My breath caught, sharp, right in my chest. I sat on the edge of the bed, opened it. First page—me. My eyes. Just my eyes. Staring. Dark and sharp and real. Too real. Her pencil strokes made me look more alive than I ever felt.

The girl I’d lost. I tore the page out of the sketchbook and almost threw it away. But I couldn’t. So I tucked it into a drawer and told myself it was just practice. --- The Second Sketch The second sketch came a week later. I’d had a bad day at work—a bug I couldn’t fix, a meeting where my boss implied I wasn’t pulling my weight. I came home angry and restless, and before I knew it, I had the sketchbook in my hands. This time, I didn’t fight it.

I take hold of it and fling it away from my sight , but due to my weak strength it does not go far. I try to get up once more , I almost get up but my knees being to shake and unfortunately buckles – this causes me to fall harshly on my knees. I cry out in frustration and pain ,underestimating my movement as I start beginning to lean to the side. With in a split second , I fall against my side. The sudden collision makes my strips burn with pain , as the skin around it is tender.