NEVERMORE : A twist to the tale

“Sit,” Bernard ordered, readjusting his glasses as he took his sweet time installing his canvas on his easel.

I sat without a word, my lips pinched together and my eyes vacant. I always thought Spectre was meticulous and organized with a routine of his own, but when it was about his art, he was messy and in a trance. Bernard was old-school, kind of boring, and ridiculously slow. It had been half an hour since he’d started placing the pencils in some sort of order, after having sharpened them to the limit of breaking. Pencils he was not even likely to use and which, without a doubt, were the most expensive on the market.

I eyed the apogee of white enveloping the room, with a dead silence for melody. Bernard glanced at me from behind his canvas, but I remained emotionless, not giving him a glimpse of my soul. The agreement was that I would model for him, not that he’d have more of me, and he knew it.

“You’re giving me nothing,” Bernard spat.

“I have nothing to give you,” I quipped back, lifting my chin higher.

He sighed with annoyance and narrowed his froggy stare at me as if that was threatening enough for me.

“I want you to do something.” A thin smile sketched his lips. “Cry.”

Cry.

All my muscles tightened. That word alone made my heart skip a beat and my skin rise in alert.

Cry.

No one would have my tears again, and certainly not him.

“I won’t.”

“You’re my model. You’ll do as I ask.” He mumbled something inaudible as he rushed over me.

Without asking me, he grabbed me by the arm so I’d switch position, arching my back like Notre Dame’s hunchback. His hand above my head, he made me lower my chin, and it took all the will in the world to not fight back. I looked defeated, helpless, ugly. Spectre had sublimated my emotions in contradiction to Bernard, which lowered me to less than nothing. Their vision was opposite.

Bernard sighed with an expression of disgust and went back to his seat, on the verge of losing his patience. “Now, you cry. Be a good actress. Give me your pretty tears, Sad Girl.”

My hand curled into a fist, ready to strangle him. I wanted to yell, but I couldn’t, because if I defended myself, then it would have been all for nothing. I had to take it. I had to be stronger than my feelings.

“Don’t make me do this.” I wasn’t going to implore him, but my shaky voice was weak enough to betray how uncomfortable I was.

“I touched a sensitive chord.” His pencil strokes on the canvas were like stabs in my heart, and I didn’t take my eyes off the ground. “You’ve done it before, you can do it again. Tell me why you cried, and I’ll capture your sadness better than he did. I’ll capture the ugliness of your pain.”

“Anything but that,” I articulated, one of my hands already shaking.

“You’ll cry, Aurore. I have my ways,” he said, and only my gaze moved in his direction, witnessing his eyes shining with something twisted. “Was it because of a broken heart? Did someone die? Had you lost your job? Was someone sick? Why did you cry?”

My chin trembled, and I had to bite on my inner lip to make it stop. I would give him nothing.

“Look at you. You’re nothing.” He kept trying to hurt me with his words to get me to give him what he wanted, and I’d resist. And I did until he said the words, “You look so helpless. How do you think Ajax or your family will react when they see the painting I’m doing of you? The beauty of The Sad Girl was a lie. I’ll be painting you just as you are.”

My eyes watered. Ajax. It’d hurt him. I was doing this to help him, and in the end, he’d be destroyed. Luna. She couldn’t see me helpless. I couldn’t be the victim. I couldn’t.

“Here, you’re finally giving me what I want.” Bernard’s voice seemed distant.

A tear fell. One single tear. “I—”

Students yelled in the hallway, snapping me out of my downfall, and I blinked away the tears, erasing them with my hand.

“What’s all this again!” Bernard complained, close to breaking his brush.

It wasn’t long before a student knocked and clenched the door open to tumble into the studio. “Mr. Dupont-Brillac! Have you heard what happened?”

“As you can see, I’m busy creating my next masterpiece, Friedrich. What on earth could be more important than that?” Bernard’s irritated tone couldn’t be missed.

“Sir, you don’t want to miss this.” The student rushed to Bernard’s side to show him something on his phone. “Spectre just made a tweet twenty minutes ago, and everyone is going crazy!”

What? I jumped out of my seat and straightened my posture. At the mention of his name, my whole body seemed to have regained strength, the blood in my veins surging twice as fast. He revived me.

Bernard did a yoga mudra as if trying to calm down. “And why do you think I care about that incompe—”

“He just dropped his identity just like that! In one fucking sentence!”

“What!” In no time, I threw the chair back and raced toward the student in question, grabbing his phone without even asking for permission.

I read the tweet, my eyes widening. Oh my—

“Done playing games: my name is Ajax Clemonte, and I’m Spectre.”

It was simple, effective, direct, blunt, and he still didn’t master the communication touch, but that was him. The man I freaking undoubtedly love.

“What! Why would he do something as stupid as that!” Bernard made dramatic hand gestures, almost kicking his easel.

“It’s brilliant,” I dropped in a half laugh. “And so fucking courageous. He’s so courageous—I can’t believe him. I—”

“Leave us, Friedrich.” Bernard snapped his fingers for the student to leave—which he did right away, faster than he came into the room.

“You know what?” I displayed the biggest grin. “I’m out of here. Now our contract is worthless. You have nothing against him, and I can tell you to fuck yourself gladly!” I gathered my stuff in a rush and headed toward the door. “You lost.”

I need to text him. I need to—

“Wait. He can’t get away with this!” He stomped in my direction. “He threw all of my teaching away because of a silly girl wearing dresses fit for a whore, and now he’s doing it all again.”

I snapped my eyes at him and ignored the insult he just gave me. “Stop it, Bernard. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

Bernard held my forearm, this time with a firm grip, and kept me locked with him.

“Let me leave,” I gritted out between clenched teeth. “I’m not some defenseless girl, and I won’t hesitate to kick you in the crotch.”

His face had reddened with anger, his lips pursed together. “You’ll stay, and you’ll do this fucking painting as we agreed on.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” I was about to explode and teach him a lesson of my own when something snapped like a tornado of darkness.

Bernard’s grip left my arm. A draft passed. Objects shattered on the floor. Bernard flew across the room against a very aggressive Ajax, who had just eclipsed himself into his studio. He sent him a blow before grabbing him by his collar and throwing him against the wall.

“That’s the last time you try to touch my girlfriend and go behind my back.” I had never seen Ajax so pissed off. Veins protruded from his forearms, and his gaze was pitch-black, his forehead creasing with the emotions ravaging him inside.

In a blast of ten seconds, too much had happened. It was all unexpected. “Ajax? What are you doing here?”

“I’m teaching,” he said as he sent Bernard crashing to the ground.

He readjusted his dress shirt casually and took one deep breath, cracking his neck to the side, while Bernard was crouched, gasping for air on the ground.

I fucking smiled.

“I’ll make sure you never teach again. You certainly won’t bully anyone else, and I promise you that your artistic career is over.” Ajax gave him one last dismissive look before grabbing my hand and dragging me out.

“You just revealed who you are. You’re done just as much as me, Spectre,” Bernard coughed, blood dripping from his mouth.

“Maybe, but I’m used to rising back. You’re over, Bernard.” It was the last sentence that Ajax threw at Bernard before we escaped his atelier. He seemed determined to direct us somewhere in a rush.

“Ajax, wait!”

He didn’t, but when I noticed the wooden door of the storage room, I knew he was going where it all started. He pushed it right open and ushered us inside. It hadn’t changed. The smell of wood and books remained, and the shelves held globes, mannequins, and canvases. It was a mess where you could find whatever you wanted, more spacious than I remembered. The broken window was still there. It was as if time had stopped flowing in this room.

I folded my arms. “Why are we here?”

“Because if I were to go outside and have a private conversation with you, I wouldn’t be able to because everyone in that fucking school knows who I am now, and I won’t find peace ever again,” he roared.

“I’m not the one who forced you to make an impulsive tweet! Why did you even do that?” I raised my voice as high as his.

“Because of you, Aurore!” The palm of his hand rested on the shelf, which shook at the contact of it as he took a deep exhale, hanging his head down. “Because you went rogue into Bernard’s fucking trap without talking to me first about it!”

“How did you even know about it!” When he remained silent, I knew only one person was aware of the truth because I couldn’t hide anything from her and her smart-ass brain. “Luna! I can’t believe it.”

I went back to the point, reminding myself to have a conversation with her later.

“I did it to protect you and your identity!” I pointed that out by making an overdramatic hand gesture. “I had to do the right thing! If I had told you, you would have rejected me and chosen your career instead of me. That would have been more painful than doing the heroic thing. This way, I could stay in that fucking fairy-tale dream you created for us and—”

“You’re wrong!” He took his hand off the shelf and stared at me, his lips curving down. “I would have chosen you, Aurore. Always.”

My mouth snapped close. This wasn’t possible. Could someone choose me for once? I was never the one to be chosen in the end.

“After what you did for me at Ever After, I couldn’t let you ruin your career,” I whispered. “I had to protect you like you did for me.”

Even if it hurt.

“You know how painful it would have been to see you pose for that asshole! You’re making me sick. I feel like I want to explode and—” He curled his fist, all his facial features harsh. “I can’t bear it. I can’t bear you being someone else’s muse or girlfriend. You’d have fucking destroyed me!”

“And I can’t bear that because of me you’re losing everything you worked for!” I took a step toward him, my high voice shaking. “I can’t bear to be the villain in your story.”

“And I can’t bear someone to hurt you and have you!” he quipped back before imprisoning me between his two arms positioned against the shelf. “You’ll never be the villain in my story, Aurore.”

My pinched lips shook. “Because of me, you lost everything.”

“Without you, I was nothing.” His frozen stare hit mine. “I should be the one to protect you, rescue you sometimes, or even be there for you, but you’re not letting me.”

I swallowed. “I don’t need anyone.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We all need someone. I need you. Desperately. Even your fucking heroes need someone to protect them. That’s why the villain fails—he or she has no ally. I’m your ally, Aurore. We’re a team.”

I tried to keep my hammering heart in check. “Were you not supposed to be gone by now?”

“I missed my flight.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “And now, I have things to take care of since I bulldozed my identity online.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” he deadpanned, pulling away from me. “I didn’t think twice before making the post when I guessed you were about to do that ridiculous act of bravery for me. Eric, on the contrary, is very pissed, but at least he’ll be fully busy with this mess. I’m not even sure my next contract won’t retract with this announcement, but Aurore, it has always been you.”

My lips parted so lightly, and I felt the corner of my stupid eyes water. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the fucking world is empty without you. It’s cold. Freezing. Austere. It feels like I’m dead. It feels like nothing. But when I’m with you, it’s messy, sometimes infuriating and passionate, but so alive—”

“Is that a compliment?” I snapped.

“Yes, because when I’m with you, I don’t feel empty. You left a shard in my gut that never leaves. And my thoughts, you haunt them. It’s like you’re at the center of everything, and I don’t know what’s happening to me—maybe I’m sick, but I can’t breathe without you. I feel like an idiot and weak, like I can’t control anything, and I’m constantly worried about you if I’m not near you and—”

“You love me,” I dropped in a whisper.

Ajax was in love with me. He loved me. He loved me more than anything. Me. And I loved him, more than I loved myself. So why on earth did love have to be so painful?

“What?” He cleared his throat, taking a step back as if the word “love” was the sight of a shark swimming in a bloody pool next to him.

A beaming smile radiated on my face. “That’s love. Everything you’re describing. That’s love.”

“I don’t know how to love,” he lied from the rasp of his voice.

“How can you believe that?”

“I—” He shut his mouth, retracting whatever he was about to say.

We didn’t tear our eyes from each other but let our emotions communicate through a long silence.

I didn’t even realize that tears were streaming down my cheeks. I cried with every beat of my heart, water purging my scars from the past. I was crying, yes, but I was not sad. I was alive.

“What I feel for you will never go away. It’s strong and consuming,” Ajax said, leaning on the shelf across from mine. “Seven years ago, you stole my soul.”

“Ajax, I—”

“Let me tell you the story of how I fell in love with you while you didn’t even know I existed.”