Page 57 of His To Claim

“Mr. Servite. You’re up first,” he says sternly.

I hear Ace grunt as I exhale the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding in.

“Don’t look so relieved, Ms. Steele, you’re up next,” he says grinning at me.

Ace stands and saunters over to the front of the class, causing all eyes of both the female and opposite sex to follow him. He clenches his paper in his hands and sets it on Macallan’s desk all the while never letting his gaze leave Macallan’s. He turns toward the class and instantly begins reciting his monologue.

“Scarlet. Crimson. Cerise. Bordeaux. Red is the color of insanity. The color of the passion I feel for you. The color of the flames of hell’s raging inferno. The color of a wicked fire burning bright and wild. Which in a sense isn’t it all the same? I prick my fingers on your silky thorns, but I relish in the sweetness of your taste. For both blood and wine are red. And you are now my favorite flavor. Red is the blood of the wrath I will drown in to keep you safe, and I’ll need the wine to keep me sane. My angel, you are what keeps me sound, for if you are not mine, the blood will shed from my eyes and the wine will drive me insane. For you are an angel in this hell on earth. I am the serenity in your chaos. You are the fuel to my eternal fire. Together we are the perfect match. One created in limbo, the space between heaven and hell. You are the angel that makes me want to follow you to heaven. But it is me who will drag you down with me to hell.”

The class remains silent as Ace finishes his monologue. But my eyes burn with tears threatening to spill, like a broken dam that can’t be stopped. He never once looked away from me. The devil spoke to the angel. He wrote his monologue for me.

A monologue of love. A monologue of hate. A message of warning. A ballad of passion. All the while I wrote mine for her. As always, it’s her that haunts my every choice. I will need to re-write my monologue to turn into Macallan because the one I will recite today is not the one I’ve written in front of me.

Macallan clears his throat as he steps toward Ace.

“Thank you, Mr. Servite, that was poetic. However, I can’t quite decide if the emotion you were trying to convey is love, or hate?”

“It’s up for the audience to interpret, Professor Macallan,” he says before heading back to his seat.

All eyes follow him back and land on me as he takes his seat beside me. The room remains silent and I look away from him not knowing how to react.

“Very well, that was remarkable. It will be hard to beat. Ms. Steele, if you will,” he says, motioning to the podium at the front of the room.

I slowly stand walking toward the front of the room, and I can hear my classmates snicker as I make my way past them.

“Was it a coincidence his monologue started with her name?” I hear someone whisper.

“I told you they were like together, together,” says another.

“Poor girl, she’s just another charity case. I mean he has Carrington, what the hell would he want with her?”

I hand Macallan my paper and he raises an eyebrow at me as he glares down at the title, “Madam Mother”. He’s about to be a hell of a lot more confused when I recite a completely different monologue.

I walk over to the back side of the podium and lift my gaze to meet Ace who gazes at me. Here it goes, Horseman. Two can play this game.

“I have seen ugly. I have seen beauty. Beauty in those who were branded ugly, and ugly in those who were deemed beautiful. I’ve seen angels in devilish faces, and I’ve seen the devil in even the most angelic. I’ve witnessed grace but have also fallen deep into the clutches of evil. I am an angel. I am the devil. Sometimes I’m neither. Other times I’m both. But mostly I’m in between. I am limbo. Stuck between two worlds, not quite fitting into either. I am as bad as bad can be, and as good as it can get. Sometimes I am all shades. Sometimes I’m a shadow of black and white. But mostly I am a fire burning scarlet red. I am all, for so many things I am. I have been privy to the evil on earth, but the more I hurt the more deadly I get. I am filled with poison. But blessed with beauty. I am cursed with rage. But blessed with self-control. I will survive my descent through the gates of hell, and its burning inferno, because the fire within me burns stronger and brighter than the flames of hell itself. I will not fear the fire, some do, but I won’t. Instead, I will become one with the fire, for we are the same. Two unpredictable, untamable, and volatile forces running wild and free. And I will wear my scars proudly. The scars made from the torment of your words, the torture of your actions, the agony that is you. It will be my dazzling dress made of hellfire. They told me to be careful. To never trust a prettyface. For the devil himself was once a beautiful angel too.”

Just as with Ace, the class is silent as I finish my monologue. Ace never once let his eyes stray from mine. I walk around the podium about to head to my seat when Macallan speaks.

“Bravo, Miss Steele, I must admit I’m impressed. But might I ask what emotion you were conveying as it is hard to understand from your paper here.” I look at him as he smirks at me holding my paper up to me. Ignoring him, I turn toward the class, my eyes connecting once again with Ace as I answer.

“Regret.”

Another five students recite their monologues to the class, however none as exciting as Ace’s and mine. Love. Fear. Joy. Sadness. Anger. All mundane emotions. The same kid I spoke to the other day, the one with the ferret, I even think he got a few tears.

I stopped myself from looking at Ace for the rest of the class hoping to erase what just happened between us. Our monologues almost mirrored one another.

He, the devil, spoke to an angel. And I, a tainted angel, unafraid of the devil.

The bell rings and everyone hurries out the door to their next class. I pack my things away and head toward the door but Macallan stops me before I can exit.

“Miss Steele, a word.”

I notice Ace stops at the door at Macallan’s words. I turn to him and approach his desk. Ace walks toward us but halts when Macallan lifts his hand.

“Mr. Servite, I don’t think you want to be late to your second period. I believe Professor Hastings is more of a stickler for tardiness than I am.”

Ace turns and rushes out of the room slamming the doorbehind him as I turn back to Macallan and I know he notices my uneasiness.

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