6. Willow
6
WILLOW
“ Y ou asked for me, Miss Robinson?” I say, poking my head into the art room. The familiar scent hits me immediately—a rich blend of turpentine, acrylic, and oil paint, layered with the faint metallic tang of drying brushes and the earthy undertone of clay.
It's an aroma that clings to the room, seeping into the wooden floors and peeling plaster walls, like a warm, old blanket that feels like a strange sense of comfort that feels like home. I take a tentative step inside, the scuffed floorboards creaking underfoot, and draw in another breath, letting the memory settle.
“Ah, Miss Carter, thank you for blessing me with your presence.” Miss Robinson sighs, staring as a colorful masterpiece of acrylic painted flowers bursting out of a child’s chest.
I let out a small laugh as I shut the door. Miss Robinson's long braids cascade down her back in that boho style, with strands of blue and purple peeking through. Her skin glows with a smooth, brown radiance, and despite the scent of chalky paint in the air, she always has a subtle aroma of shea butter and honey.
“Just busy, Robinson.” I shrug, moving closer to her, and the painting she is working on.
“Too busy for your unfinished senior art project cluttering up my room? Or are you avoidant?” She huffs and I push my bookbag onto the floor, looking closer at the child’s face.
“New portrait?” I ask, hoping she will let me avoid her question and any other pointed questions she has about my art absence.
“Started it a couple of weeks ago. You like?” She sighs, leaning forward, eyes narrowed as she adds some details to a daisy on the edges of the bouquet of flowers exploding out of the child’s chest.
“Let me see..” I lean in to take a closer look at the little black boy's face. Despite his closed-mouth smile, I can see the glossy shine of tears in his eyes. He may be smiling, but he is clearly crying as well. “Sad boy with a bursting bouquet in a 3D acrylic paint style, what's not to love?”
She snorts, turning a perfect brow in my direction. “It’s my signature style, Willow.”
I let out a deep breath and lean against the desk beside her. Amelia Robinson is an incredibly talented artist, blending the beauty of nature with the complexities of human emotion in her paintings.
According to the Washington Post, she is “the reigning queen of emotions, born from the very soul of Mother Nature.” But Miss Robinson says she just paints what she loves, and hates nothing more and nothing less. Why she is teaching at a private high school in Texas? I don’t know.
Why she has invested so much in me as an artist? Well, that’s a bigger mind fuck than the first question.
Miss Robinson sets her brush down and wipes her hands on the stained apron tied around her waist. She tilts her head, scrutinizing me as if trying to see beyond my casual shrug. “You know, Miss Carter, every artist’s work reveals their soul. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me. You’re scared of what your paintings might say about you.”
Her words hit a little too close, and I shift uncomfortably against the desk. “I’m not avoiding you. I’ve just been...busy.”
“Uh-huh.” She folds her arms, her gaze softening. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not just a painter. I’m also annoyingly persistent. So let’s talk about what you’ve been avoiding.” She motions to the far side of the room, where my unfinished pieces lean against the wall, half-hidden behind a drying rack.
Reluctantly, I push off the desk and walk toward the series. The scent of linseed oil and varnish grows stronger as I approach, and my stomach churns with a mix of pride and self-doubt.
The first piece in the series is almost done: a faceless figure standing in a barren valley of skeletal hands reaching out of the ground. The figure is dressed in tattered clothes, with streaks of ash smudged across their undefined features and yet the only color are the bright yellow streaks of the sky.
The second piece shows the figure kneeling, pulling a flood of yellow light from beneath her feet despite the darkness that surrounds her.
I crouch in front of the second piece, my fingers brushing the edge of the canvas. The blackness surrounding the valley seems to press in on the figure, an oppressive void that I know and yet also feel stranger to.
The next series of paintings show the woman’s chest, and a skeletal hand reaching towards her. “I don’t know where the series is going,” I mutter, pointing to where the faceless character’s fingers stretch toward the bony hand of the skeleton. “I can’t get the story right. I don’t know if she ever leaves the dark.”
Miss Robinson crouches beside me, her long braids brushing against my shoulder. She studies the canvas for a moment before speaking. “It doesn’t look wrong, Willow. It looks raw. It looks like the girl is comfortable in the dark.”
I shake my head, frustrated. “No she was supposed to escape the darkness, not welcome it. I-I don’t know. I thought I knew what I wanted to do.”
Her hand lands gently on my shoulder, and I glance at her. Her warm, brown eyes meet mine, filled with the kind of certainty I can’t muster for myself. “It means something to you. And that’s enough. You’re painting what you’re scared of, and that’s brave. Art isn’t about perfection. It’s about honesty.”
I look back at the canvas, the faceless figure’s outstretched hand almost touching the skeleton’s. My chest tightens, the weight of my doubts pressing down on me. “I don’t feel honest.”
Miss Robinson stands, brushing her hands on her apron again. “Every artist feels that way, even the greats. But here’s the thing: you don’t get better by giving up. You keep painting, keep reaching, just like your figure here. Every Friday, I’ll check on your progress. You’ve got something special, Willow, but you have to believe in it, even when it’s hard.”
Her words linger in the air, settling into the cracks of my self-doubt. I glance at her, feeling a flicker of hope, small but warm. “Thanks, Robinson.”
She winks and unties her apron, slinging it over the back of a chair. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a lot of work to do. But for now, I’ve got a hot date, and you need to get home. Go on, Miss Carter. Life doesn’t wait, and neither does my man.”
I laugh softly, standing up and grabbing my bag. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” I call over my shoulder.
“Girl, I’ve done more than you probably ever will!” Miss Robinson calls back as I slide out of her classroom, my laughter growing as I start walking towards my locker.
My art lies in my honesty. That’s laughable, because art is easy, like breathing, but honesty? Honesty is hard. Honesty forces you to confront things you’d rather bury, like the swirling darkness in my paintings or the deal I made with the Chessmen.
The thought tightens in my chest like a vise. I’ve been trying to balance everything: my father, school, the art I love but don’t trust myself to finish, and the deal I made to keep us afloat. But the Chessmen don’t care about balance. They care about control.
I glance down at my hands, imagining the faceless figure in my painting, kneeling in the valley of death, reaching toward something it might never grasp and the closer I am to the Chessmen the further I get, the more I drown.
The sound of a locker slamming shut makes me jump, and I quickly turn to face my own locker. I spin the dial on my lock and pull open the door, which lets out a loud creak. As I gather my things from inside, I hear footsteps approaching from behind. Without looking, I know exactly who it is. Just as I finish stuffing my items into my bag, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket.
Jasmine: I’m outside. Hurry up before I leave you behind!
I sigh, rolling my eyes at her impatience but feeling a small smile tug at my lips. Before I can reply, the faint sound of footsteps behind me makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Hey Willow, ” Jasper says, leaning casually against the locker next to mine. “What are you doing lurking around this late after school?”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye as I grab my books. “I could say the same thing about you. Thought you had practice?”
He grins, his eyes flicking to the mess spilling out of my locker. “Cancelled. Coach pulled a hammy, so we’re free. Thought I’d go do some work for my physics final, but then I stumbled upon you.”
I snort, shoving a loose paper back into my locker. “And you decided bothering me was a better use of your time than studying? Sounds about right.”
“Hey, I’m multitasking,” he says with a mock-serious nod. “Procrastinating and being a good friend. Impressive, right?”
“Sure, Jasper. Super impressive,” I reply, shoving a notebook into my bag. “Let me know how that works out for your GPA, because I heard Mr.Johnson is a grade A hardass.”
He leans in slightly, his grin softening. “So, what’s your excuse? Lurking in hallways, dressed like you’re about to hit a runway?”
I roll my eyes, but a faint blush creeps up my neck. “Just trying out a new style. You like?”
“Doesn’t matter if I like, do you?” Jasper leans against the locker beside mine, his signature easy grin in place.
“I don’t know.” I let out a deep sigh, meeting Jasper's bright hazel eyes with my own. I've always questioned why Jasper doesn't make my heart skip a beat. He's not unattractive and his words are always just right, but when I gaze at him, there's no spark. Maybe just a slight warmth in my chest, but nothing more. “It’s a little flashy.”
“Anyone in particular you’re trying to impress, or are you just doing us all a favor by showing up like that?”
I roll my eyes, a soft laugh escaping me. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously right.” He tugs at the strap of my bag, his fingers brushing mine for a moment.
I can feel the blush creeping up my neck, but I refuse to let him see me flustered. “It’s not that deep.”
“Well, whatever you’re experimenting with, keep it up.” His voice lowers just enough to send a small shiver through me. “Because this? It works.”
I glance at him, and for a second, I take in the way his messy hair falls across his forehead, his bright hazel eyes crinkling slightly when he smiles. Jasper’s the kind of boy-next-door cute that sneaks up on you when you’re not looking, and I hate how easy it is to notice. I also hate that someone as nice and kind as him doesn’t make me as tongue tied and breathless as Vincent, or Cast does. Jasper is the kind of guy I always thought I could marry.
“You’re so full of it,” I say, shoving my notebook into my bag.
“And you love it.” He crosses his arms, his grin softening into something warmer. “Seriously, though I don’t want to study, so why don’t we skip studying and grab milkshakes or something.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Tempting, but I don’t think truancy is going to fix my problems.”
“Hey, you never know until you try.” He shrugs, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that makes the warmth in my chest beat brighter. “Besides, I’m great at solving problems. Or at least distracting you from them.”
“Yeah, I bet you are.” I glance down at my phone as it buzzes, Jasmine’s name lighting up the screen.
Before I can read the message, Jasper leans closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Let me guess—your next suitor’s waiting for you outside?”
“Jasmine’s my ride, not my suitor,” I say, laughing.
“Well, lucky for her.” Jasper steps back slightly but lingers, his hazel eyes catching the fluorescent light just right. “But hey, if you ever want to ditch Jasmine and hang out...you know where to find me.”
I freeze, not entirely sure if he’s serious or just joking in that easy, Jasper way. “Are you...asking me out?” I try to keep my voice casual, though my cheeks heat.
Before Jasper can answer, a low voice cuts through the air, smooth and sharp like a blade. “She’s busy.”
I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Cast. His presence is unmistakable—commanding and somehow suffocating all at once.
Jasper straightens, his easy grin faltering slightly as Cast steps into view, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored jacket. His green eyes are cool and unwavering as they flick between us, landing squarely on Jasper.
Jasper’s brows knit, his easy demeanor slipping slightly as Cast steps closer, the air between them charged and uncomfortably tense.
“She’s busy,” Cast repeats, his voice as smooth and commanding as ever, but there’s an edge to it, a warning beneath the surface.
Jasper doesn’t back down, though. He crosses his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “She doesn’t look busy to me.”
“Maybe because you’re too blind to see what’s right in front of you,” Cast counters, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over Jasper.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I cut in. I whirl around to face Cast, my annoyance flaring. “Seriously? What is your problem?”
“No problem,” he says, his green eyes gleaming with an infuriating mix of amusement and authority. “Just letting the golden retriever here know that you're not on the market.”
Jasper snorts, leaning back against the lockers with a casual shrug, but there’s a tension in his hazel eyes now. “Funny, I don’t recall Willow asking for your opinion.”
“Doesn’t matter if she asked,” Cast replies smoothly, his gaze never leaving mine. “What matters is that she is mine. Got that?”
“Cast, what the hell!”
His snarl only deepens, and he leans slightly closer, his presence overwhelming. “Don’t tempt me, pawn. You are already on thin ice.”
Jasper pushes off the lockers, his jaw tightening. “Woah Cast, chill out dude.”
“I will chill when you back away from my girl.” Cast’s voice drops, smooth as velvet but sharp enough to cut. Jasper narrows his eyes taking a step closer, but I slide between the two with a panicked look.
“Okay, enough!” I snap, turning to Jasper with a weak smile. “Jasper, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Willow-” Jasper protests, but Cast cuts him off.
“She said she would talk to you later Jasper.” Cast growls, and I place my hand on his chest, electricity rushing across my palm but I keep it firmly in the middle of his chest.
I flash Jasper a smile as bright as I can muster under the current of anger rushing through me at Cast’s entitled fucking attitude. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Jasper gives me a hesitant glance, his confusion morphing into frustration, but he doesn't push it. He takes a step back, a small frown tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t protest further. "Alright, Willow. Catch you later."
As he walks off, I exhale, feeling the tension in my shoulders loosen. But before I can turn away, I feel it—Cast's presence looming behind me, thick and suffocating, and it makes my skin prickle with irritation. I whirl around to face him, my eyes narrowing.
“What the hell is your problem?” I growl, my fists clenched at my sides. The anger bubbles up like molten lava, and I can’t help but lash out. “You think you can just decide who I talk to and when? You don’t own me, Cast!”
He doesn’t move at first, his face impassive, but then he steps forward, closing the distance between us. His eyes, impossibly green, lock onto mine with a cold intensity that makes my breath hitch.
“You can't keep doing this, Cast!” I snap, my voice tight with fury. “You don’t control my life, you don’t control who I talk to, who I date! I am yours temporality.”
He doesn’t budge. In fact, he takes a step forward, his body brushing against mine with a heat that makes my pulse spike. The scent of him—cedar and spice—clings to me, pushing every thought from my head except for him. He’s too close, too commanding.
“Do you think the length of time matters?” His voice is low, rough with something primal, something dangerous. “Right now, you are mine. Tomorrow, you are mine. For the next three months, you are mine. ” He steps closer, closing the distance between us until our bodies are nearly pressed together, and I can feel every inch of him. His hands move, one coming up to grip my wrist, the other cupping my face with gentle but firm pressure, forcing me to look up at him. “And even after that. You will still be mine.”
I want to pull away, but there's a fire in his gaze that keeps me rooted to the spot. His green eyes are filled with a raw intensity, hunger, and possessiveness, and it makes my breath hitch. The pulse in my throat is loud enough for him to hear.
“Cast, I will not-” I growl, but he cuts me off.
“You think you can just go out with someone like Jasper?” His tone darkens, and I swear I can feel his anger rolling off him like a storm. “You think you can just flirt with him, let him think he can have you? Do you really think that's going to happen?”
His hand tightens on my wrist, not painfully, but enough to remind me that he’s in control here. “No, Willow. You don’t get to do that.” His voice is a low growl, filled with an edge that makes my knees weak. “You don’t get to give any part of yourself to anyone else. You belong to us, and I’m the one who gets to make sure of that.”
I try to pull back, but it’s like trying to move against a brick wall. His grip doesn’t relent. His thumb traces over my cheek, the touch almost tender despite the fire in his eyes.
“You do belong to us,” he says again, his words slow, deliberate, as if he’s savoring them, trying to make me believe it. “I’ve been patient, Willow. But don’t push me. You want someone else to play your little games with? Fine, but just know…” He steps in even closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”
My heart skips a beat, my breath coming in short bursts as his words sink in. He’s not just saying this to piss me off; he means it. The way his hand moves to the small of my back, pulling me closer, makes it impossible for me to ignore what’s happening between us—this tension, this need.
“Cast-”
“You see, your problem is that you won’t admit that you like that fact.” Cast whispers against the shell of my ear, his hand caressing the curve of my hip and sliding across the slit exposing my upper thigh.
My breath catches in my throat just as he slides across the curve of my thighs until he is only inches away from the heat of my core. His touch electrifies my skin, and my mind runs clear, every rational thought evaporates, leaving only the raw desire that pulses between us. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, the urgency in his touch igniting a fire deep within me.
“You want us, carina .” Cast’s smooth rumble rolls over my flesh followed by the trial of his nose tracing up the curve of my neck. My chest tightens, and I struggle to take in enough air to prevent the overwhelming sensation sweeping over me, like a wildfire consuming an ocean of oil. “Shit, estás derramando belleza. ”
“Cast, you are-”
“Shh, little pawn.” He presses a soft kiss to the curve of my shoulder. “Don’t lie to me. Not when you are so obviously-” His hand runs across my bare pussy, a deep, guttural groan escapes his lips and reverberates through my body. Cast's weight pushes against me and he positions his leg between mine. The sensation of his closeness and the pressure against my most intimate area makes heat pulse in my most sensitive area. “Fuck, carina where the hell are your panties?” He whispers, just as his finger runs across the little bundle of nerves.
“V-vincent.” I whimper, his fingers slick across the wetness growing between my thighs.
"Did he tell you not to wear underwear?” He groans the electric current of need pulsing as his finger brushes against my clit again.
I moan, my body slumping against the wall, but Cast snakes his hands around my waist holding me up and against him.
“Yes,” I gasp, my voice barely audible as his finger expertly teases me.
Cast growls, his hips bucking into me as he adjusts himself. His breath is hot and heavy against my neck, and I can feel the tension in his body mirroring my own. “I don’t know whether or not to thank him, or punch him in the face, carina.”
“W-why?”
“Well, on the one hand easy access for me,” his finger flicks across my slick arousal. “But on the other hand, knowing that anyone can see your sweet pussy, well I don’t know if I like that Willow.”
“Juan,”I let out a whimper and cling to his neck, calling out his real name, the one that no one else uses. My chest tightens in pain because anyone who dares to call Cast by his actual name-- Juan--will quickly learn why they shouldn't, but instead of anger or pain, he groans like he has been waiting for me to say it his entire life.
“Mmm carina,” he murmurs. “Say it again.”
“Juan,” I whisper and he groans his approval.
His hand tightening on my waist as he moves his finger more insistently, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. “You are soaked, Willow. You are soaked for me. ”
I moan again, my body trembling with anticipation as I dig my fingers deeper in his flesh. The feeling of Cast's hand on my skin, the way he holds me so close, the way his finger glides against me—it's all too much for me to handle. “Cast, please-”
“Please what, Willow. Please make you whimper? Please make you scream my name as I curl my fingers inside of you, and make you cum all over my fingers?” He whispers against my skin, his voice low and seductive, making my toes curl. I can feel the rage of desire burning inside me, threatening to consume me whole.
I open my mouth to respond, but a sharp whimper that grows into a weak whimper leaves instead. Cast's finger moves faster, his thumb rubbing against my clit with each thrust. My hips buck against his hand, unable to control the need that pulsates through me. He growls, his voice rough with desire. “You want me to make you scream my name as I bring you to the edge, and then plunge over and over again into this tight little pussy, don’t you?”
"Yes!" I gasp, my body trembling uncontrollably. The sensation of his finger inside me is overwhelming, the feeling of being so close to release that it is almost too much to bear.
“Because you are mine, carina,” Cast whispers, his voice low and seductive, sending a shiver down my spine. His words hang in the air, thick with tension, as if he owns every inch of me, body and soul.
Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my back pocket, breaking the moment. “Answer it.” He commands, plunging his finger deeper into my core.
I pull it out quickly, half-relieved and half-annoyed to see Jasmine’s name lighting up the screen. I can’t help but feel an undercurrent of frustration. I need to get away from Cast— now —before I lose control.
He watches me closely as I answer the phone, his finger moving in a come hither motion inside of me, that makes me want to crawl up the wall, and sink down further at the same time.
But his smirk remains, watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse race. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, the words laced with a possessiveness that sends heat to my cheeks. “Go see your little friend.”
“But-”
“But, you do not belong to me, right?” Cast whispers and my body runs cold as he pulls away from me.
“Right.” I whisper, biting my lip, struggling to keep my composure as I pull away, unable to look at him for fear that I’ll lose myself completely in him. Afraid that I will fall to my knees and give him everything he wants just so he can finish what he started.
I stumble backward, trying to put some distance between us. As I turn, my breath hitches in my throat, my body still humming with the energy he’s ignited in me.
When I glance back over my shoulder, my heart skips a beat. Cast stands there, licking his fingers clean, that knowing smirk still playing at the corner of his lips. His eyes lock on mine, filled with the same dangerous hunger that’s making my knees weak.