NEVERMORE : A twist to the tale

I woke up this morning with a stab in my heart because today was the day Spectre was sketching me.

The idea of getting buried under the blankets was tempting, the satin sheets smelling of tuberose and jasmine. Everything in Spectre’s guest bedroom was cleaner than a five-star hotel and meticulously organized, despite the huge computer cable hanging from one side of the room to the other, but that was mine. I didn’t have the displeasure of meeting with him after we came back from shopping yesterday, but judging by the noises coming from downstairs, I deduced he was either busy painting or doing some super-rigid activity in that messy studio of his.

For some reason, my legs led me to the kitchen in search of comfort, because last night I decided to play the polite card and pretend that I wasn’t hungry so as not to meet again with my icy roommate.

And I wasn’t ready for this.

Any of this.

“Aurore.” Not even a good morning, how did you sleep? Just “Aurore,” as if my presence behind him was something he’d rather dismiss.

“Spectre.” I followed his lead, my nostrils flaring at the smell of pancakes.

My attention shifted to the colossal lunch, with a variety of jams, chocolates, and fruits. And if that wasn’t enough, Spectre turned around, two glasses of freshly made smoothies in his hands.

My eyes doubled in size. I must have jumped into a parallel dreamy universe. He was shirtless, depicting ripped muscles and abs of iron without shame. Greek warrior indeed. He was annoyingly attractive. I wasn’t used to being attracted that easily to a man, but with him, it was like I’d been carried away like a dead leaf in a tornado.

He had the kind of charisma that made me want to be held in his arms, which was unnerving. I didn’t like to be held. Why on earth was I burning? Maybe it wasn’t a hormonal attraction but the idea of him being more vulnerable without his layers of fancy clothes.

“Is there something wrong?” Displaying one of his doubtful frowns, I couldn’t be more thankful that he didn’t have a clue of what was going through my mind.

“No, everything’s impeccable. Optimal.” Optimal? Now he must be certain something was indeed wrong.

“You were staring.” He didn’t let me go that easily.

“Well, you’ll be staring at me for the next couple of hours. I think that’s worth the little glance I shoot you.” I was proud of myself for my remaining repartee.

“You’re right.” He placed the smoothies on the counter, taking two plates out of the cupboard. “But there’s one main difference. You probably find me repulsive, judging by your hatred for me, while I do not.”

“I—” Could he really think that? “I do not find you repulsive.”

I snapped my mouth shut before I revealed more than I should.

“Breakfast is ready.” He handed me a plate so I’d sit on the opposite side of the counter to face him.

“I’m not hungry. I can eat after you, and—”

“Sit, Aurore.” This was an order. “You squint at the food. You’re hungry. You need to eat.”

“Did you make that for me?” I asked, my throat drying up.

“I made breakfast. It’s not a wedding proposal. It’s nothing. Just a part of our contract. Now, please, would you sit.”

I complied and sat in front of him, trying to make myself as small as possible on the chair.

I drank the smoothie, and on the first bite of the pancake I mixed with half the jar of chocolate, I came to a dangerous conclusion. This was the most erotic thing I’d ever eaten and felt in a while. “It pains me to admit it, but you’re a good cook. It’s delicious.”

“I’m good at other things too.”

I swallowed a huge piece of pancake that went the wrong way.

“Other things?” I repeated.

His eyes roamed over me, stopping on my lips. “Yes.”

“So.” I switched the subject, snapping my hands on the counter before my heart decided to explode like a ticking bomb. “Where did you want to get inspired?”

“At my atelier.”

“So you never paint anywhere else than your atelier?” I took another bite. “Before, I used to write outside so I’d get inspired by switching scenery. But now, I can’t because my computer battery is dead. You should try. I think it’d help.”

That was my first advice as an official muse. One he didn’t seem eager to follow.

“I like when things are organized, peaceful, and prepared. Plus, I wouldn’t want people to stop and look at my work and disturb me with unsolicited questions.”

“And let me guess, you also have a very strict routine for each day?”

“I do,” he said. “I have an hour-by-hour plan and objectives.”

“And that’s probably why you’re uninspired. Your whole process is boring,” I dropped in a half laugh. “It’s too academic to be in a studio, posing like a store mannequin while watching the clock ticking. We’ll go to the beach today. It’s deserted, and the sun brings vitamin D.” A thing Spectre would certainly need since he had skin as white as Dracula, and according to my mom, the sun also brought positivity and good energy, so here’s hoping.

“I won’t draw on the beach.” He refuted the idea immediately.

“I’m here to break your stoic routine, and you have already seen the carnage of which I was capable in your workshop.” I rose up from my seat, done with my breakfast and determined to get the both of us inspired.

He cleared the dishes, and with lethal calm, he said with burgeoning irritation, “You can’t be serious.”

He was obviously against it; that’s why I was so eager to make it happen. “I’m very serious. Please.”

One second passed. Then another. And it was then the silence became heavy. I had to accept defeat.

“I’ll accept if it makes you more comfortable.” His voice held me in place. “But next time, I’ll be the one in control.”

“Yes, Spectre.” I raised a brow. “I suppose I need to wear yesterday’s dress?”

“There is no need for it now.”

I hated the way his eyes bored into mine with intensity, and the melody of the pounding in my heart.

I jutted my chin up. “No need?”

“I’ve already memorized it on you from every angle in the fitting room.”

That sent a shoot of steam alongside my belly, and I exhaled deeply, ignoring his comment. This was his job. Not that he ever looked at me that way. “Why did you buy it, then? Why not just sketch me while I wear it?”

“Because it fits you. You should own it,” he said casually. For another person, it’d be a compliment, but coming from Spectre, it was like a cold shower or something devoid of feelings.

“I—” I stammered, gesturing to the stairs. “I’ll wear something of mine.”

“We’ll start in half an hour.”

I hurried up to my bedroom, getting over this tension as quickly as possible. I shut the door behind me, making a mess of my luggage to find a white crop top with purple tulips and a black slip skirt. I selected a ribbon of the same color for my hair.

“Things you don’t have to do to create a good story,” I mumbled, hoping to find my old self back.

Half an hour later, I came downstairs, where Spectre was already waiting for me with an iron-gray dress shirt rolled up on his forearms and gray trousers that were way too sophisticated for the beach. His hands were in his pockets, and under his armpits, he carried a small leather briefcase that probably hid his sketches and pencils.

We remained analyzing each other, probably brainstorming how different we were. We didn’t even look like we came from the same century.

“I packed sunscreen.” I showed him said sunscreen just in case he didn’t know what sunscreen looked like. How idiotic of me.

He nodded, and in silence, we crossed a little path beneath his house that led to the empty beach. The first moment I grazed the sand, I stepped out of my shoes to feel its friction below my feet. I faced him, my back against the calm sea, a light breeze wafting up my hair backward. “You don’t sit?”

He opened his suitcase, preparing his paper. “You expect me to sit on the sand?”

“It’s sand, not acid. Plus, you won’t draw anything like that.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he sat straight on the sand despite himself. His pencil between his fingers, he annotated something and brought his hand up to his chin, gazing at me.

“So, inspire me,” the arrogant man had the audacity to say.

“What?” My voice pitched. “Just like that?”

“We’re at the beach. I’m sitting like an idiot. It’s your turn to do your part.”

I chuckled darkly, craving to smash his face with the nearest pebble. “So you expect me to just do a cartwheel and do crazy stuff until it hopefully sparks something in your stone heart?”

“Indeed.” A thin line drew on his lips as he tapped his pencil against his sketchbook. “I could direct you, but you won’t trust me yet. I’m letting you do this your way.”

“I’m not a clown, Spectre!”

“No, you’re my muse.”

I balled my fist, wondering how good it’d feel to throw sand at him. “And don’t you dare sketch my temper! This is not what—”

I stopped, my eyes widening at the show in front of me. A seagull had landed on Spectre’s shoulder. Spectre, who was as tense as ever.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe this!” I brought my hand to my mouth, trying not to laugh out loud.

“Get this seagull off my shoulder,” he threatened with clenched teeth.

“Are you scared of them? I’d have never thought that’d be the great Spectre’s fear.” My laugh sparked to life. “I think she likes you.”

“Aurore,” he warned again.

“I’m sorry, this is too good. I need to—” I searched for my phone. “Wait, where is it? Please, don’t move!”

“Don’t you dare take a picture.”

The seagull didn’t agree, and her high-pitched squeals and predatory swoops vibrated for the furthest crab on the beach to hear.

I finally found my phone and snapped a picture of Spectre giving me the deadliest look. “Here, beautiful!”

“You’re blessed with excellent ideas, Aurore, truly,” he deadpanned, lifting his shoulder to chase the seagull away. She didn’t move, so he used his other hand, but the stubborn seagull still didn’t move an inch.

I squatted in front of them. “Who knew you were an animal lover? You look like a pirate.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he gritted out. “So please, get her the fuck off my shoulder.”

“Fine, I’ll help you out.” I approached the animal, using the cutest voice I could think of. “Hey, cutie, you’re scaring the big man in front of you and—”

The gull screamed and flew in my direction as if she was about to attack me because I was separating her from her new lover. I fell on my back, losing my balance, and it was my turn to scream. I protected myself with my arms, and I closed my eyes shut. That jealous bird.

“Aurore.”

Opening only one of my eyes to see through my arms’ protection barrier, I wrinkled my nose and took notice of Aja—Spectre—on top of me, hiding the ray of sun piercing behind him and shielding me from that psychopathic creature.

“What are you doing?” I furrowed my brows. “Did you jump to protect me or something?”

“No,” he immediately replied, pulling himself together by standing up. He did. He actually did. “Your rescue was a failure.”

The bird had flown away in the sky, sand was in my hair, and I realized how ridiculous this whole situation was. “It really was, huh?”

I had the first unstoppable laugh in a long time, unable to stop myself as he retook his sitting position with a small grimace. I got to my feet, dusted myself off, and turned in circles before I brushed my hair to remove the particles of sand.

Spectre had his eyes on me, and this time, his stare didn’t make me want to flee like a story you want no one else to read. He was already starting to draw, his hand having a mind of its own.

“You’re drawing?”

“Yes. What you’re doing is—” Lines were drawn on his paper, and something in his eyes had changed. He was inhabited. “Acceptable.”

I began to walk like a tightrope on an invisible line and mused, “You see, my methods are efficient.”

“Your methods are uncomfortable.”

“You know what’s uncomfortable? Hiking for five hours straight just because it led to a valley of four-leaf clover because your sister asked you for one for Christmas,” I countered. “I embarked on a fantastic epic quest.”

“Did you find that four-leaf clover?”

“Oh, I did,” I said with pride. “But once I got home, it was all crushed and dead in my hand. I cried for a week. She was the one who offered me one in the end, right before I left for Paris. She stuck it on one of my journals for good luck. Did you ever get one?”

His eyes didn’t leave his sketchbook. “Once.”

“The child in you must have been happy, or were you as frigid as you are now?” I found myself joking.

“I wasn’t a child. My father kept us too busy with schoolwork to go on such meaningless activities.”

“That’s sad,” I dropped. “It’s not meaningless.”

“Why is it sad?” The eye contact was the most intimate connection we could have with another person, and he was trying to pierce through me again, sketching my every movement at a frenetic pace.

“Because everyone deserves to have a clover. Even you. Did you search long for the one you got?” I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“It was offered.”

Of course, him searching for a clover somehow didn’t make sense. “I bet you were the genius kid busy with fancy painting classes all day long and—”

“Do what you just did with your hair again.”

I wet my lips, playing with my hair once more. I lost myself in the abyss of his eyes, his glance empowering me, and somehow, my heart calmed down. Shivers spread on my skin, and I studied Spectre’s features. From the knit of his brows when he wanted to get something right, to the slightest tilt of a corner of his lips, to the way he squinted his eyes to capture every detail.

“No. My father tore up my drawings as soon as he saw that I was enjoying them. It was a waste of time. I learned late, taking lessons with Dupont-Brillac.”

There was more to Spectre’s backstory. One I shouldn’t and wouldn’t be interested in.

His attention dropped to my neck and my hair, and it felt like phantom kisses on my skin. My belly coiled. His stare was switching between me and the paper, a battle working inside his eyes as if hundreds of emotions were submerging him. His pencil strokes became much more fierce and imposing, like a sort of trance, and everything accelerated.

He had this look. A haunted one. As if he wasn’t a master of his fate any longer, as if he was battling something inside of him that was tearing him apart behind his mask of indifference.

And at one point, he put down his pencil and closed his sketchbook, shutting off the emotions building within him. “We’re done for today. We’ll continue in the morning.”

“Right.” Tomorrow afternoon, I had to go to a ball and get auctioned off, and I couldn’t be less excited about it, but at least anything else was better than staying here, Spectre stealing my breath and my common sense. “I’ll stay by the beach a bit longer.”

He walked away, tensing his hand, and I let myself fall on the sand. I’d let my vulnerability drop, and that wouldn’t happen again. “You hate him, remember, Aurore.”