Page 57 of The Loathing

“Yeah.” My half smile pulls a little higher then I take another mouthful of my water hoping it gets rid of the dryness in my mouth.

“Would you rather this one than the one I ruined?” she spins fully to face me now and I scoff at the sight of her, she really is something.

“No,” I shake my head from side to side, “I want the one that reminds me of the sun kissing the evening. The one where lightness meets the dark. The one that shows me twilight.”

I don’t miss the crimson that creeps onto her skin, the way her eyes bat down and flutter shut as her long dark lashes fan out. Or the freckles flecked against her skin that stand out more as they mix in with the glitter that she has painted with. And then there is her scent. Her intoxicating smell, apricots and cocoa mixed with paint.

I don’t miss any of it.

She stretches up, a yawn escaping her as she reaches high and my greedy eyes skim down the side of her body as her soft sage tee rides up slightly and suddenly, I have the urge to put my hands on her, trailing my fingers over her pale skin and tracing out a trail that only I know is there.

“You ready for bed?” she rolls her head round, her neck clicking slightly.

“I am.”

She stands slowly, giving her painting one last look before she steps to the side and saunters over to where the candles are slowly beginning to dim. I can’t pull my eyes from her even if I wanted to. Something has changed but I have no idea what. There is no denying that we have grown closer. She is my first thought of a morning and my last of a night. Even if I wanted to shut my thoughts down, I couldn’t. But that is just it.

Thoughts.

They are just my thoughts.

She doesn’t feel the same as me and I know deep down, I don’t feel that way about her. Even if I did, I could never act on it. It’s too wrong.

She is the same age as Arizona.

She’s too young.

It would be wrong.

So very wrong.

She blows softly, the candles giving one last attempt at a flicker as they dance but they give into submission.

Finally standing, I follow her out and into the darkness of the house and stay behind her until she is at her room.

She opens her bedroom door, stepping inside then turning to face me. “Goodnight, Titus.”

“Goodnight Amora,” I manage before she saunters back and closes the door on me.

Doomed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

AMORA

Anger.

I hate anger.

But anger seems to be the only thing that has consumed me over the last few days and even painting hadn’t helped. I found myself being so angry to the point of just sitting and staring at my canvas. It didn’t matter how much I tried, nothing helped.

Until him.

The painting that I had worked on I ruined, and it still didn’t make me feel better.

Titus sat next to me and didn’t even really say much but him just being there helped.

I know it was all in my head, but I was sure we had a moment. To be honest, it was more than just one moment. It was the way he looked at me, each stare seemed to feel longer, more intimate. Like stolen moments. It was always when no one else was in the room or near us.

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