Her - S01 E09

Story 5 months ago

Her - S01 E09

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 9

"They tell us to shine like a star but what if my star was made for dying not shining?"

. . .

"How?"

"Just sit down."

"How?"

"Zavier." I sighed. "Just sit down on the chair. However you want."

He frowned. "I don't like this," he told me as he sat down on the large cushioned chair I had made Sammy place in the greenhouse. The greenhouse was beautiful and I had somehow not been aware of its existence.

I sat down on the ground. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you about to suck my-"

"No!" My cheeks flushed. He gave me his signature dirty smirk. He was dressed in a plain black shirt and black pants, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to display his tattoos. I hair styled his hair in a way that two strands framed his beautiful face and then put a flower tiara I had made earlier on his head.

"I need art," I told him. "I need to make a portfolio. Even though I had accepted the way I was, I still need a pretty portfolio. Miss Arnaud said those who are selected like I am being closely watched by everyone."

He frowned. "Will you be okay with that?"

My hand worked on the sketchbook. "I need to prove I belong there. It does make me feel a little...nervous, but students work day and night on their art to get into that academy. It's only fair if I struggle a little."

He hummed, rubbing his bottom lip with his finger, his rings glittering. "You need one more sketch?"

I hummed. "I am yet to make the things. But I have the pieces I want in it. I'll make it soon. The session starts in half a month."

"Your hands are shaking, Kitten."

"Stop calling me out." I put the sketchbook down, gripping my head as I let out a breath. I heard him get off the chair. He picked me up and sat back down, tugging me to his chest.

He rubbed my back. He didn't say anything. Which I was grateful for.

I breathed him in. "I hate this."

"What?"

"Getting scared."

"Kitten." He kissed my cheek, nestling me deeper into his arms. "There is no one there who can hurt you. There is no one anywhere who can hurt you. You have talent. You have us. You have yourself."

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers brushing on my wound. Flashbacks were bad. They were always bad. My body would freeze as of I were back in that awful room. The sight of a knife would make my hands shake. I was barely in the kitchen anymore.

"I feel like I'm pushing life to do something bad," I whispered. "I'm happy. Why am I willing to endanger that?"

"You are not endangering anything," he told me. "What you have right now is something you will always have. If at any point you don't want to be there anymore, you can come back. This is your home."

"You're my home," I whispered.

I looked at him. He smiled down at me. "And you're mine. This mansion used to be filled with nightmares before you."

I cupped his face. "I still think we should move to the penthouse."

"But it doesn't have a greenhouse for you to order me around in."

"You willingly offered to be my model," I said. I had walked into their office building and they had been at a meeting. As soon as they walked out of it, I asked one of them to model for me. Zavier had said yes and picked me up, walking away from his brothers before they could protest.

"I did," he said. "So sketch me in your little sketchbook before I rip these fucking flowers off."

"Are they threatening your masculinity?"

"I can show you just how masculine I am in one minute, Kitten. Now be a good girl and sketch daddy."

. . .

There was a pond on the property the sun set over, mingling with the water. This was my favourite place to admire the sunset. I came here alone, sometimes accompanied by them.

I looked down at my sketchbook, going through the pages. This whole sketchbook was covered with them - as was my heart. From the curves of their smiles to the muscles of their back, I had captured parts of them, trying to do their beauty justice.

And failing miserably.

I smiled as I looked at the sketch of Xerxes' smile and then of Ashton reading a book, his whole face except his glasses covered eyes hidden. As I shuffled through the sketchbook, I realized how dark my sketches had become. The lines were rough and dark yet somehow confident.

I had noticed it on my canvasses too. My sudden urge to paint with darker colours. Lighters shades remained untouched. Abstract had emerged as my preference recently too.

It was said that a traumatic event can affect your art but I found myself liking this style, too. I knew for a fact people at the academy would notice the change in style and perhaps question it.

I shut the sketchbook. Worry filled me again. The anxiety of going to Paris was getting to me. The only thing comforting me was the fact that they were there for me. I could come back anytime I wanted.

My phone buzzed.

Ashton - come back. Zavier made lasagna.

I jogged back to the mansion.

. . .

while dancing to 'As It Was'

How is everyone?

Let me bless your eyes