Page 56 of The Loathing

“Would you like a drink?” he asks, as he holds his phone close to his ear.

“Just a water please.”

“Cool, I’ll be back soon,” he turns and walks away when I hear him say, “Hey, just give me a second,” I wait until his voice has nearly disappeared to look over my shoulder and admire God’s best creation until I’m met with his gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips before he disappears out of my eye line.

“Shit,” I whisper, spinning back around in my chair as I begin to paint, feeling my creative spark course through me, and suddenly I feel a little more relaxed than I did an hour ago.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

TITUS

Something about Amora draws me in. Like a moth to a flame.

Idiotic.

Reckless.

But tempting.

It seems the more time I spend with her, the more I am drawn to her. Me, moth. Amora, flame. We’re devastation. But it doesn’t matter how much I try and pull away I can’t. Because of her and everything about her. Over the last few weeks, I have found that I have begun to love the calmness that surrounds her and I realize it’s not just her. But her paintings too. I find the calm in them. I could sit and watch her paint for hours, just because I am lost in her imagination and her own calmness that it consumes me whole.

Stepping back into the glass out-building, I just stand in the doorway for a moment then slowly lean against the door frame as I bask in this moment. Her wild, red hair in loose ringlets, tumbled down her back and I smile as she twists it up and holds it in place with a paintbrush. Her sitting there, in her element, surrounded by all her work and a gentle glow from the candles while the rain pelts down onto the glass roof. This is a perfect moment.

Picture perfect.

Slipping my phone out of my full hand, I gently lift it and take a picture of her. It was too beautiful to miss out on. A small smile slips onto my lips and I stand for just a moment more before heading out towards the kitchen.

The house is quiet, and I am grateful because honestly, I wouldn’t want Xavier to put a dampener on my mood. Opening the fridge, I grab two bottles of water for me and Amora. My phone call was short and sweet. It was just Arizona wishing me good night and letting me know about her day which I was grateful for. Closing the fridge, I turn to make my way back to Amora’s studio but I hear Xavier’s grumble coming from down the hall. I still for a moment, listening a little harder to see if I can make out what he is talking about but I can’t. He is being quiet for a reason. I should head back to Amora, but my interest is piqued.

Cautiously walking down the hallway, I see his office door ajar, a soft glow from a lamp seeping out onto the floor. I still and press my back against the wall not wanting to step into the light and risk him seeing my shadow.

“I am,” I hear Xavier rasp, “I’m happy to move the timeline slightly, things are falling into place now anyway so it should go smoothly…” he trails off and I edge closer. “I am sticking to the deal; this is the fucking deal. Don’t test me, do you know what you’re asking of me and have me do?” My brows furrow. “She’s my daughter, she isn’t something you can just take and keep for yourself. That wasn’t the plan to begin with was it.”

Heart hammering, blood pumping in my ears.

“I know,” and I can hear the exasperation in his voice.

Shit.

“Fine,” he grits, and I can imagine his jaw is wired tight. “One week,” he finally says and I can hear the pain in his voice, “And the parcel that was delivered to my daughter’s workplace… that wasn’t discussed.” Silence follows before I hear a loud bang, a painful roar filling the room and all I can imagine is that Xavier has flipped his desk over and is trashing the room.

I swallow the bile that is slowly seeping up my throat, my heart still jack hammering in my chest as I finally manage to pick up my feet and head towards my little Red.

My.

My little Red.

Stepping into the room, my eyes focus on the painting and the stunning golds that are wrapped around the brown and nude tones, entwining them together creating a beautiful abstract piece.

“Little Red,” the nickname slips off my tongue involuntarily but I’m not mad about it.

She turns to face me, gold glitter paint flecked across her face making her pale skin glow in the low light of the room.

“Ty,” her voice is low and it sounds heavenly falling from her lips. I continue forward, passing her the bottle of water and open my own. Sitting down next to her, I take a small mouthful. “What do you think?” she pulls her eyes from me and gazes at her painting but I am too busy being transfixed on her. The pride radiating from her, her aura shining bright. The way the gold flecks shimmer on her face in the soft light, her eyes glistening as she takes every part of her painting in, her hands clasped on her lap and her lips part as she waits for my response.

“It’s beautiful,” I mutter, but the truth was I wasn’t talking about her painting. Shaking myself out of my head, I finally manage to tear my eyes from her and look at the painting she has been working on. “It’s really something Amora,” I smile, swallowing the sickly feeling that is threatening to rise back up from the pit of my stomach.

“Yeah?” her voice is soft and timid and it’s like she is seeking my constant compliments, praising her.

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