CHAPTER SEVEN
ALEXANDRA JONES
MY PEN TAPS AGAINST THE EMPTY PAGES OF THE SKETCHBOOK.
He has this way about him, you know? It’s like he’s reaching deep into my heart and soul, stirring up feelings I never knew I had. But why? We barely even know each other. It’s confusing, to say the least. Yet, there is this strange connection between us, like an invisible thread pulling us closer together. Despite all the warnings I’ve heard from everyone around me, telling me to be careful, I just can’t seem to listen. Their words of caution slide right off me, like water off a duck’s back. With my pen pressed against my lips, I find myself lost in thought, chewing on the cap absentmindedly as I try to make sense of it all.
I could tell it is beginning to get on Catherine’s nerves, she hasn’t spoken to me for a while after I told her that I’m meeting with Ares a lot more, I should have just lied, I shouldn’t have told her anything and maybe our friendship would be the same.
The bell finally rings, and the door is pushed open filling with students who take their places. I flick through my sketchbook and realise that I’ve drawn Ares and Diávolos on the same page accidentally, my brows raise, their eyes are slightly similar? The curve of my pencil exactly the same.
The teacher, Mrs. Toffee, walks into the classroom with a bright smile. “Hello, good afternoon!” She greets, tossing her belongings aside and donning an apron around her waist. “Could you all please settle down?” Mrs. Toffee is my favourite teacher, unique in her own way. She had a quirky fashion sense, often with paintbrushes stuck in her hair and paint smeared on her hands. “As you know, it’s time to go through all your sketchbooks. But I have some exciting news that a few of you already know!” The room fell silent, and all eyes were on her. “I will be choosing one person to receive a free scholarship to the best art school in Seattle—The Miller School of Art.” My eyes widened.
A scholarship to the best art school in Seattle?
Instead of transferring…I could get the scholarship and study there.
Could this be real?
‘What?’
‘No way.’
Whispers and gossip spread like wildfire among my classmates.
“And it all depends on the project I’m going to assign you; you’ll have three months to finish it. I want something one-of-a-kind; it could be anything, and you could use anything in the world...but I want meaning; I want to feel it in my heart. I’d like you to prepare a presentation about the work you’ll be submitting before you start working on it; you’ll utilise these classes to accomplish that. But for the time being, get out your sketchbooks.”
This scholarship, it’s more than just a chance—it”s a lifeline. With it, everything could change. No more sleepless nights worrying about making ends meet, no more suffocating under the weight of debt. It’s a glimmer of hope in a sea of uncertainty, a ticket to a brighter future. If I can just grasp this opportunity, it could transform my life in ways I never dared to dream possible.
I guess I have to start painting.
“This could change everything.” Ares continues cleaning his equipment as he listens to me rambling on about this scholarship, I continue poking my chopsticks into my pot of noodles. “I mean, the Miller School of Art! I didn’t even know scholarships exist to even go there.”
Ares pauses in his task, glancing up from his cleaning with a thoughtful expression. “The Miller School of Art, huh? That’s a big deal,” he acknowledges, his tone carrying a hint of admiration. “And you’ve got a shot at it with this scholarship?”
I nod eagerly, my chopsticks forgotten as I lean forward, enthusiasm bubbling over. “Yeah, it’s like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If I can get it, it’ll open so many doors for me.”
“What are you thinking of sending in?”
“I haven’t really thought about it…I mean, I haven’t had a connection with my sketchbook in a while.” I look up, my eyes locking with the painting hung on his wall. It was the most beautiful piece of art I had ever seen, and the connection I feel with it was unreal. “Are you really not the artist of this drawing?”
“Nope.” He answers.
“So, who is?”
“Just this girl I knew.” He shrugs his shoulders, standing up to grab a pair of black latex gloves.
“The same girl…from the accident?”
“I don’t want to talk about it Alex.”
I nod slowly, a silent acknowledgment of his anguish. But as the silence stretches between us, a surge of frustration wells up within me. The unanswered questions linger like a haunting melody, their dissonant notes reverberating through the air.
Does he still love her? Does he miss her? Does he think about her?
The ache in my chest intensifies, a relentless ache that refuses to be silenced. But I swallow hard, pushing the turmoil aside, knowing that some things are better left unsaid. Ares settles down beside me on the couch, without a word, he reaches for my box of noodles, effortlessly using the same chopsticks. I am unable to keep my eyes off him, the way he eats-the way he- fuck-stop it Alexandra. You look like a weirdo. Watching him like that.
I look away.
The heat growing between my legs, my thighs tighten against one another. My heart racing in my stomach.
Why is he making me feel like this?
How is he making me feel like this?
How do I get rid of this feeling?
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I shouldn’t be doing this in a catholic household with my parents downstairs, but I wanted to try. The Johnson family are coming over soon, however I had other idea’s in mind.
My hands slowly dip down to my jeans, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down. I slide them down my legs before throwing it to the side, I begin to rub onto my clit slowly.
I close my eyes, and suddenly I begin to imagine Ares on top of me.
His hands gently sliding down my face, his thumb pushing into my mouth pulling it open. He kisses down my neck, his canines slowly digging into my skin. I moan, my stomach tensing.
“Ares…” I whisper his name.
“What the fuck are you doing?” My eyes widen, my hands slip out of my underwear, and I look up.
“What the hell!” Catherines mouth drops open with a smile turning her lips.
“Were you just masturbating?” She chuckles, settling down onto the edge of the bed.
“How the hell did you-”
The balcony doors.
That’s how.
Embarrassment flares through my cheeks as I rush into my bathroom to wash my hands, Cathy leans against the door and folds her arms.
“You can’t just do that, Cathy.” I whisper.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen you in so long, and you weren’t answering your phone.” She smiles mischievously, “but masturbating about Ares, huh? He’s really gotten inside of you.” She teases.
I roll my eyes and playfully shove her shoulder. “It’s not like that. He’s just a friend... kind of,” I stammer, not wanting to admit the truth.
“A friend? So, what you masturbate about me too?” I release a laugh, falling onto the bed as she leans in closer to me. “You like him.”
“No, I don’t.” I rub onto my nose.
“Top tip, when you masturbate about a guy in a Catholic house, you don’t say his name out loud.” I sigh, we both stare up at the ceiling, finding comfort in each other’s presence. I wish I could just tell her everything, but the fear of how she would react scares me. I know she doesn’t like Ares; I know she is scared for me because of the stories she heard from other people. But I have taken to understanding that they were just rumours. Ares doesn’t seem like the type of guy to do that, to move on after killing someone.
There is more to him that meets the eye.
I know there is.
“He is a good man Catherine…” I whisper, she turns her head so that her eyes locks with mine.
“You need to be careful.”
“And I will.”
“I care for you; I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“He won’t hurt me. We’re just friends.”
She sits up, shaking her head. “We both know that isn’t true Alexandra.” She makes her way out of my room, and I sigh glancing down at my hands. What am I doing? Where am I going with this whole situation? I feel a strong breeze brush against my bare arms, I stand up to see that Catherine has left the doors open again. I walk over but stop midway through my walk when I see a figure-a shadow lingering on my balcony. I take a step closer, my heart racing in the pit of my stomach.
But when I reached the balcony, there was no one there.
No, it doesn’t make sense.
I saw someone there; I walk out and see a shadow heading down the steps. My eyes widen. Diávolos. It had to be him. I didn’t waste a minute before grabbing my shoes and sliding them on, I rush down the steps of my balcony, following after the shadow. I have to prove that this isn’t a mere figment of my imagination, that he is real! That he isn’t just a lie that journalist made up. He walks down the empty road, his hands in his pockets.
As he turns into an alleyway, I follow suit, my breath quickening with anticipation. But before I can comprehend what’s happening, the air is knocked out of my lungs, and my body is slammed against the cold brick wall. Gasping for breath, I feel a pair of strong hands wrap around my throat, the intensity of their grip suffocating. I read the question through his eyes. Why are you following me?
I whisper, “I know this isn’t a figment of my imagination. Prove to me that I am not going crazy...” his hand is suddenly placed over my eyes, and suddenly, I feel something warm hovering over my mouth.
And then, I feel his lips. As his lips gently met mine, a soft sigh escaped me, the rush of warmth flooding through my body like a gentle tide. Fingers threaded through my hair, and as my mouth opened wider, his tongue skill fully slid inside, evoking an involuntary moan from my lips.
He didn’t want me to look at him.
He trusted me not too.
I kept my eyes closed the entire time.
Elevating the intensity, I raise my leg, delicately grazing it against his, while his hand found a tempting position just beneath my thigh. My own hand pressed firmly on his chest, amplifying the rhythmic echoes of our passionate kiss. The sound resonated, creating a symphony of desire that stirred something deep within me. In that moment, with every heartbeat, I found myself yearning for this intoxicating connection to linger, not wanting our entwined passion to reach its inevitable end. As his lips left mine, a trail of warmth lingered in the air, and his breath danced against my skin. His hands, strong and reassuring, cupped the sides of my face, guiding me to tilt my head slightly. A shiver of anticipation coursed through me as his lips began a slow descent along the curve of my neck.
I felt the soft brush of his warm breath against my sensitive skin, sending tingles down my spine.
His lips, warm and tender, traced a path along my collarbone, moving upward with a deliberate slowness. The sensation was both soothing and electrifying, a delicate dance of intimacy that heightened my senses. His tongue grazed my skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and I couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped my lips.
Diávolos pulls away, leaving me breathless and wanting more.
“I knew it…” I whisper, my eyes closed shut. “I knew you were real…”
I use this moment, opening my eyes just a little only to see that he has disappeared.