Doing art without her parents finding out was harder than Polly thought it would be. She had no privacy, and nowhere to hide her art. If she tried to sketch, someone was bothering her, and she was afraid of her parents finding her art things and throwing them out.

She needed an alliance, and she needed one fast. However, the only people she knew were her siblings, and Alex.

Her eyes lit up. Alex. She didn't like him, nor was she interested in who he was as a person, but he was her escape. The only way to get out her house and out from under her mother's thumb.

She stuffed her art supplies in the plastic bag they came in, but she wondered how she was going to get out of the house with them. She'd come home with no adult in sight, so bringing the supplies in was easy.

Getting them out was harder.

Downstairs, she eased open a window, took out the screen, and dropped the bag out. She was silent, praying her mom didn't walk in. Her dad was at work; he wasn't an issue. Her mother, however, was more noisy.

After wrangling the screen back in the window, she closed it then approached her mother in the kitchen, where she was cooking something in the oven. Her mother looked like any other ordinary mother when she cooked, but Polly knew better than to trust the illusion.

"Mom."

Her mother spin, startled. "Polly, what? I'm cooking." Even those words sounded accusatory, like Polly was up to no good. Like she was the devil child her mother always painted her as. If she were weaker, she'd begin to believe that perhaps she was a devil child. Completely evil, to the core.

"Is there anyway you can ask Alex if he wants to... hang out today?" By hang out, Polly was hoping he'd let her draw at his house. As far as she was concerned, Alex didn't care about her wellbeing at all, or who she was. He knew she was gay. He wasn't interested in her. There was no reason to pretend to actually like him.

It was getting her parents off of her case that she was interested in.

Her mother smiled, clearly pleased. "Let me call him! Go put something nice on!"

Polly looked down at the dress her mother had given her this morning. It was considered 'nice' in Polly's book, but she was going to argue. Not after her mom was about to help her achieve her goal of practicing the art of her story.

When she returned to the kitchen, she wore a new dress, a frilly blue thing, and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, high on her head.

Her mother smiled her approval. "He'll be here in a little bit. Let me get you something for that outfit."

Like what? Polly wanted to ask, but she held her tongue as her mother disappeared into the bathroom, reemerging with a blue headband. Of course; accessories meant everything. Polly wanted to tell her mother that dressing up like a doll wasn't going to make Alex like her, and it wasn't going to make her like Alex.

Her mother messed around with the dress collar, then she took a step back and smiled, really smiled, and clapped her hands. She was happy in that moment, seeing her daughter dressed like she thought little girls should always be dressed.

"You're such a pretty girl."

Polly's cheeks reddened, and she hated that. She hated that she like her mother's praise. A few days in this house and she was already becoming someone else, someone to please her parents. She told herself it was all for the game, but even then she didn't feel like it was a rational reason to act like she was.

She was pretending nothing happened. She was acting like her parents had never sent her to a torture camp, then abandoned her.

It was her mother who had painted her with harmful words, nicknaming her Devil Child. Polly had to remember who she was, who her parents were, and she couldn't forget that. Couldn't forget that her own mother was the worst type of person.

The doorbell chimed, and Polly's mother rushed to open the door, a large smile on her face at the sight of Alex, dressed like he was ready to go sailing. Polly was beginning to see that was just how he dressed.

"Polly, I see you couldn't wait to see me." The grin on his lips wasn't playful, it was deceitful. Polly caught it immediately, and she too was deceiving her own mother as she looped her arm through Alex's, pulling him from the door.

"Yep, now let's go."

Before the two could get into the car, she rounded her house to grab the bag of art supplies. Alex followed her, confused as she clutched the bag to her chest, but he said nothing as she slid into the passenger seat of his car.

"So, what's the real reason you had your mother call me?"

Polly fastened her seat belt. "You need me to act like you're some sort of prince charming, right? Well, I need something in return. I need you to let me escape my house."

He pulled out of her driveway smoothly, glancing over at her, wondering what type of girl she was. She wanted to escape. But, he knew that he'd put up with whatever she wanted, if she played her part right. He needed this marriage deal.

"So, you want an escape. What's in the bag?"

She held up the art supplies. "I need somewhere to practice my art. My parents would not let me do that there. That's... how they found out I was gay. My sketchbook was full of drawings of this girl from church."

She ducked her head, wishing her hair was down so that it would hide her face. She could feel her cheeks warming, reddening at the thought of being outed because of something as stupid as a sketchbook.

"This deal is getting sweeter. I'll let you come to my house daily to practice art if you tell your mother just how charming I am. Make it believable. Like you aren't gay."

Polly snapped her eyes to him, anger filling her veins, coating her insides, making an appearance on her face. "I am gay, and always will be."

Alex let out a laugh, amused at her little outburst as he pulled into his own driveway, the car crunching over the crushed stone in the turn-around-driveway. He parked the car outside of his front door and stepped out. "Polly, I know that. I'm asking you to pretend."

She stormed out of the car and to the front door. "I'm not ashamed of who I am."

Alex unlocked his front door, then opened the door for Polly. She looked at him with a glare, then stomped inside, taking off her shoes in an angry manner. "I'm not saying you have to be. I'm just saying, you want freedom. Without me, you don't have that. And if you don't act like you like my company, your mother will take it away from both of us."

She eyed him, then let out a long sigh. He was right, and she hated it. She hated his pastel shorts, his boat shoes, his groomed hair. He looked like he belonged in a rich town, like Nantucket or Kennebunkport, but instead he was here. Butting his head in on her life.

"Fine. Where can I draw?"

He led her up the stairs, then down the hallway to an empty room. There was a desk and chair, and the windows let in the perfect natural lighting for drawing. Polly was a little in awe at the sight of the room, then turned to him. "I can draw here? Really?"

"Really. I'm going to my room." He spun on his heel, then walked down the hall. Polly didn't focus on which room he entered, but rather sat down at the desk and set up her drawing station, still not believing the situation she was in. So, Alex could be an asshole, but at least he was allowing her this escape.

She pulled out her sketchbook, and pondered about how she wanted to do this. Comic style? Individual paintings telling a story? She wasn't sure, not yet.

The content was too serious for perhaps a comic, but she figured that it was the best way for her to be able to show her story in a cohesive way for everyone to understand. She wanted it to be deep, coming from the heart, but easy to read and understand.

She wanted everyone to understand. She wanted them to see just how broken she felt because of how people treated her sexuality. There was nothing wrong with her; why did people assume there was?

She put her pencil to the paper, and drew the first scene. It was her, in the corner, cowering away from her mother and father. It was dark, it was sad, it was soulful. Her mother stood there, pointing a finger at her, hurtful words pouring from her mouth. Devil child! Belong in Hell! Not my daughter!

Polly reached for the markers and colored it in, going for a rich, dark pallet, full of blues and warm reds, a mix combination that created a dark scene, showcasing the hurt behind the words her mother spit at her time and time again.

When she finished, she held it up in the light, feeling tears prick at her eyes. This was it: the beginning of her story. Where it all began. And now she only had a handful of years to cover in the span of a single sketchbook.

* * *

Is Alex... good??? idk, what do you guys think??

Also, how do you think Kenzie would react to seeing Polly in a dress (;

I love you all, Happy TUESDAY XOXO