HER || 18+ (Monsters #2) || Sequel to THEM

61 - My Armour

"May your heart remain breakable, but never by the same hand twice."

- Taylor Swift
. . .

Olivia Woods

Alisa left the very next day. She needed to hunt whoever she was hunting.

She had changed. A lot. I didn't blame her, after what had happened. But if there was one thing this little visit proved, it was that we could never go back to how we were before everything.

This closure hurt, but I guess sometimes things just don't work out. Alisa deserved the best, someone, who wouldn't take her words to the heart instantly.

She, too, needed someone stronger.

"Can you...just relax your shoulders?" I asked the model. He nodded and relaxed his shoulders.

"Lean against the wall for support," I said. "Is the light bothering you?" He shook his head instantly, eyes filled with something along the line of amusement.

"Are you always this concerned for your models or is this reserved for me?" He asked his voice heavy with an accent I couldn't quite place. He was tall, with colorful dreads brushing on his dark, broad shoulders. I didn't even remember his name, to be honest.

Which wasn't a good thing, considering I was working for him.

Yes, I was painting something for someone. Something they'd pay for. It was too much pressure. But, Carrie thought I was ready. And she was rarely wrong.

So that's why this guy, whose name I forgot, was in one of the empty studios of the academy with me. Ivan was somewhere in the shadows.

"I'd like you to be comfortable," I answered, setting some pieces of charcoal on the table beside me. I sat myself down on a stool. "You've seen my work," I said to him. "Which one did you like the most?"

"The one with the...three men in it," he said instantly. "I want something which emphasizes my physique, but doesn't entirely blur out my face."

I hummed. "Semi-abstract?"

"Yes. That's your style, isn't it?"

"It is," I said. "Black and white with some red. I have an idea."

He grinned, setting an arm behind his head. He was half naked. Did I mention that? No?

He was obviously a very handsome man.

But I couldn't, for the life of me, feel anything. 

I sketched him first, getting the proportions right as he casually talked. He told me he was from Jamaica, and that he was thirty years old. Which I couldn't have guessed, ever. He looked younger.

He was talkative, but I didn't entirely mind. It was nice to have someone to talk to who didn't know how miserable I was.

After I while I found myself giggling at his jokes.

"You're horrible," I said. "Don't move your head, or it'll look like a potato in the painting."

"Alright, alright." He laughed. "Carrie told me it's your first commission."

"Yes," I said, and then hesitated. "Would you like someone with more experience?"

"No," he said. "You're fun. And you're talking. Some artists are really serious."

"People have different ways of working."

"Your way of working suits me."

I shook my head, hand working on the sketchpad. "I'm almost done." I didn't want to hint at anything.