Spin. Click. Spin. Click.

Pretty.

Spin. Click. Spin. Click.

"Jimmy!"

Spin.

I put it to my head and pull.

Click.

"Jimmy! Dinner!"

I sigh and put it under my pillow.

"Jimmy, get your ass down here!"

I look longingly at my bed before heading downstairs.

The vibrant colours never fail to amaze me.

Splattered all over his light blue jeans and his checked shirt. Almost like a deliberate pattern.

So pretty.

The room's always chaotic, students shouting, laughing, calling out for him.

"Sir!"

He always goes over, looking at their canvases, dropping a little advice here, a little advice there. I watch him all the while and wait for him to come over to me.

He never does.

So I carry on watching him, the way his eyes light up when he smiles and the dimple that appears in his left cheek. He's so full of life, so inspirational.

So I draw him.

I hastily hand in my work at the end of the day and rush out. I hope he likes it.

"Ten green bottles, sitting on the wall..." I mumble to myself.

Spin. Click. Spin. Click.

I look at my reflection in the mirror hanging above my dresser. A gaunt boy stares back at me. His skin is pasty and looks sickly. His eyes are steel, cold, grey.

No emotion.

Spin. Click.

The next day my mother falls ill and demands I stay home.

"You think I can stay here by myself? Stupid boy."

I cook, I clean, I wash. She stares.

"What?" I ask, slightly irritated.

She stares for a moment longer, then turns her head away. I sigh and carry on.

I get to bed just after midnight. I lie on my bed, listening to muffled screams and cries. I ignore them.

School passes slowly and I start to worry as I approach the art room. When I enter, nobody notices. I try to catch his eye, but he's talking to a group of girls by the sink. They laugh and he laughs with them. He doesn't notice me.

At the end of class, he calls me over. I feel my heart jump and start to beat faster.

"Jimmy?"

I nod, looking into deep brown eyes.

Pretty.

His checked shirt has been replaced by a light green polo today. It sets off his eyes nicely. I tell him and he frowns.

"Jimmy, why did you draw me?"

I'm slightly thrown off by the question, but I answer anyway.

"Because I love you."

He stares for a moment. I smile shyly and he smiles uneasily back.

"You can go now."

I do.

The house smells bad when I return home. My mother sits at the cluttered dining table with a bottle of wine in her hand. I glance at her quickly, noticing her eye is black.

I ignore it and go upstairs.

It's not under my pillow when I get to my bedroom. It's not fallen under my bed or walked across the floor to my dresser. It's not here.

I arrive at school unnaturally early. I'm sat under the grass when I get called to the principal's office. I knock quietly on the door and enter.

The principal is stood there. He is too.

His eyes are downcast and he has the painting in his hands. I look to the principal and she motions me to sit down.

"Jimmy, this has got to stop."

I don't know what she's talking about. I tell her.

"Ollie tells me you drew him in art."

Ollie. So that's his name.

Pretty.

"What I want to know is why."

I don't answer and she sighs.

"Jimmy, you're lucky Ollie hasn't decided to move schools. His career is on the line. Do you understand?"

I nod. I do.

I understand he doesn't want me.

I lift my head and look him in the eyes. He shuffles his feet and looks away, uncomfortable.

I understand perfectly.

I skip school in the afternoon, not wanting to have art with Ollie.

Instead I go home. My mother is sat at the table again, this time sober.

I look at her and she smiles, beckons me over, and hugs me.

"Love you, kid," she whispers and lets me go.

I ignore the weird mood she's in and head upstairs.

It's back under my pillow. I sigh contentedly and I pull it out. I open it to find a single silver bullet.

Suddenly, I understand everything.

I pull the gun to my head.

Spin. Click. Spin. Click. Spin.

Bang.