[𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓, 18+]
Eric Calloway, the rich badboy, meets Liliana Mendes, the good girl at a party, before senior year. He notices her, and it was love at first sight for the both of them-well, next plaything for him. A kiss was shar...
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EUPHORIC, is the only word I can use to describe that sensational night.
Eric was so devoted and courteous that night after we had sex-multiple times, may I add. He made sure that I was at ease and that all my needs were satisfied-repeatedly but overall Eric was thoughtful. We relaxed for a while after our activities, his chocolate hair was disheveled which looked ridiculous amatory, his olive green eyes looked impeccable as usual, he was just too good-looking.
"Liliana?"
"Hmm?"
"If you don't mind me asking this, if it's too personal," Eric trails.
"What is it, Eric?" I look at him with curiosity.
"Why did you get that tattoo?" He asks. His face not meeting mine, Eric stares at the ceiling.
"Well, I got it for my dad." I say. "He passed away when I was seven years old. His name was Spencer, passed away from pancreatic cancer. My tattoo is his handwriting, he used to tell me this all the time." Which was true; I suffered with major anxiety, I still do but not so much. Eric's fingers stroke my tattoo in an assuring way. "Everything happens for a reason."
***
"What do you want to be in five years?" I ask while stroking his hair.
"To be honest, I don't know, Bambina. I've never expected to live this long." Eric says softly,almost a whisper.
What does he mean by that, 'I've never expected to live this long.'? He's only seventeen going on eighteen. Life is just beginning for him.
Eric huffs before replying, "I probably want to be a famous painter."
"Why do you like to paint?" The times that I have been to Eric's houses, his work were sprawled all over on the walls. They were truly magnificent; he captures items and makes them glorious.
"I don't 'like' to paint. I love it. Painting is the way people express their emotions and that's what I do. I feel that when people paint they are converting their emotions onto a canvas; they are expressing their deepest darkest desires or their secrets to the world using imagery. I paint things that I can't verbalize, the things that I really want to say but just can't." he croaks at the last part.
"Oh," is the only thing I say. I don't want to push him further, it seemed like a touchy subject so I let it go.
After our conversation, Eric fell into slumber while I was still awake, not because I was feeling sore but contemplating what Eric meant. After a few minutes, what felt like an eternity, I finally fell asleep.
***
"Do you have to go to work today?" Eric whines like a little child.
"Yes unlike you, I have goals, Calloway." I roll my eyes at him.
