In which she falls victim for his exorbitant desires, his iniquitous tongue and his immoral ways. And him for the constellation in her eyes but the provocation in her lips.
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LAVINIA LIKES TO REASSURE herself by remembering all the beautiful and blissful lies Elias Montgomery whispered in her ear before he made her his new religion, under the starry night sky as the heavenly bodies looked down at her in sorrowful commiseration.
"I don't care," she mumbles when she sees him in town, a new lover in his arms. It seems he has gone back to his old game again.
"What are you looking at, darling?" She hears Ethan Walker say, the other boy who has his hands over her shoulder. The one with eyes like the sun and freckles dusted across his cheeks like constellations, the one who smiles only at her despite all the other pretty girls that write him love letters.
"Nothing."
She looks away when he realises that he's being watched, and he smiles because he know it's her. He captures the other girl's lips in a proprietorial kiss, and her little heart unwilling falls to the ground. His lips curve into a devious smile, because she's watching and his eyes are fixed on her even while he kisses another.
"Let's go," she murmurs to Ethan who kisses her cheek and opens the door for her with a soft smile.
She gets into his car without another glance, to let him know she doesn't care but the tears that threaten to fall from her honeyed eyes are proof enough to say it's otherwise.
She cares.
-
She hurries to class, determined to forget all but lucid thoughts about him appear in her mind all day, so vividly too as if she's caught in his cruel but addicting schemes.
"I've seen the way you look at me."
She remembers him whispering in her ear, a roguish smile on his lips and bedazzling corruption in his eyes. He was a hazy fantasy in midsummer July, a dreamy illusion she couldn't forget.
"Lavinia," she hears Ethan say gently beside her when the last bell of the day rings.
He sits next to her, always looking so oddly serene, the sunbeams spill onto him like flowing golden, it entirely illuminates his pretty face. His eyes are brown like his hair but it still so different from the rest. Little flecks of aureate dances mischievously, completely overshadowing the ordinary plain brown.
He smirks the moment he sees her look at him, the arrogant playful one that makes her smile back at him. It is nothing but a simple exchange but she can see the boyish grin that he doesn't bother to hide. He covers his mouth with his hands and looks away, his cheeks are suddenly hot and he makes a remark about the weather.
"Do you want me to drive you home?" He looks at her expectantly, his eyes glimmering ever so slightly.
"I want to walk alone today," she murmurs back to him, blowing on her clementine nails as she reads her poetry silently. She doesn't turn to see him disheartened, nor the little frown that settles on his lips.
"How do I look at you?"
She smiles at him and leaves, she sucks on her sweet lollipop, almost as it is the only thing her tongue craves and she twirls it between her perfectly plump lips because she knows naive little boys like to watch her when she does so. She hitches her pleated skirt a little higher than before and she exposes a little of her fair thighs that looks pale against the dark maroon material of her skirt on her way home, just because she loves the attention.
She is aware of the looks she is receiving. She always is. But she pays no heed to them, no one can compare to him, not even when they stop and stare in awe, her mind is filled with him.
His expensive car pulls up to her and she can hear the rumbling engine come to a halt, just as he rolls down his window, to take a good look at his angel. A cigarette in between his teeth, a glint of mischief in his eyes and a scandalous smile in his lips.
The little boys look on in awe because they know now who her darling is, how could they not? Because they know the stories they've heard, about the deranged pretty boy who gets into fights he can't remember, the mad lover who recklessly abandoned all his girls, the wicked soul who liked to thrive on meaningless affairs and broken hearts.
They wondered, if she had heard of what he did to pretty girls like her.
"Like you love me."
"Get in, sweetheart."
TO BE CONTINUED....
a/n: yes, I'm still alive. Tysm for reading and for your lovely comments!
