"It's time, to live
Make me, take me
It's time, to give
So don't betray me, pay me"
Brilliant Blues by Pete Townshend

“Your audacity makes me speechless sometimes.” I speak in the calmest voice I've ever sported in my whole life, yet the discordant tone is perceptible. I don't face him, inspecting the halter, vintage dress. It's short, but on me, it would appear knee length.

His hands leave my waist, and I deprecate myself for wishing they didn't. He moves right back around so he's facing me, an inscrutable expression on his face. “And I don't want you to be speechless. I want you to voice everything you have on your mind.” He speaks in a fretful voice, and I notice how hyper-tense his demeanor looks.

I repeatedly nod, turning the dress in my hands, as if enthralled, while all I want to do is gash it into countless strips, or maybe see it deflagrating. Any method would suffice. It just needs to be annihilated. “How dare you? I told you something very important about my past, and now you're shoving it right back at my face?” I don't understand why I'm not yelling. It's so unlike the ireful person I am.

He sighs, crossing his arms, and he has the brashness to look at me with a piqued countenance. “That's not me shoving anything at you, Candice.” He says, before he steps closer and looks me deep in the eye, as if trying to compel me to believe the blarney he's saying. “What you told me at Emerald means absolutely nothing to me.”

“But it does to me! It's like you're rubbing my shame on my face to accentuate it. Why did you have to do this?” I ask, my voice raising. “I'm such a fucking idiot for sharing something from my past with you out of everyone I know. I'm never drinking again.” My chest feels tight, and what's worse is that I can feel tears straining to assault my eyes, and fighting it back depletes most of my vigor.

His hands clamp on my shoulders, and he squeezes them, looking at me with an affronted gaze. “Is this how you see it? You're fucking immersed in memories that will do nothing but drown you, and the faster you escape, the sooner it will catch up with you. We all do foolish things, and I'm sure we will never stop as long as we breathe. Unless you're a coward, stop escaping and trying to forget. Forgive yourself and move the fuck on.” His mouth spouts with words, his chest moving up and down with rattling breaths.

“And you're not escaping? With the one-night stands and the lifestyle you live?” I fire back. “Is this how I should act?” I'm yelling now.

“Well in case you haven't noticed, I'm doing none of that shit now!” He yells back, his eyes turbulent.

My heart skips a beat. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because there's a wayward, little demon who's monopolizing my whole time! I'm afraid I'll see her when I go to the restroom!” He states, as if it was the most palpable thing in the world.

Now my heart is bouncing. “If I'm a demon, then you're the devil himself.” I fulminate.

“Then you will be the straw who broke the camel's back.”

“Do I look like a straw to you?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Did you catch the “broke” part? Besides, do I look like a camel to you? It's an idiom for fuck’s sake!”

“A camel?” I ask with a mock concentrated expression, strolling back to fully inspect him. “I don't know, but you don't look human to me.”

He huffs, looking drained. “Fine. I repent.” He avows, snatching the blue dress from me. “I won't paint you. Now, do you need Google maps to find the front door?”

“Actually,” I start, glomming the dress right back. “I'll do it.” I give him a sweet smile, with no teeth. “Now where do I change?”

“Bathroom. Don't want your demonic poison where I sleep.” He ripostes, squinting at me.

“Your room then.” I stick my tongue at him, which is met by an eyeroll.

Minutes later, I stand in front of the mirror, and instead of luxuriating in the flamboyance of the dress and how it fits me, I hark back to the day I wore the blue dress my mom paid dearly for. The memory is grotesque and harsh, and instead of jinking it like every time, I let it out. The one thing I can't forget is the look in my mother's eyes as she asked me whether I'm happy. She cared about my happiness, while she was the most miserable person on the planet.

I hear a knock on the door, and a moment later, it opens, revealing Dylan. His gaze meets mine in the mirror, before it sheers south, scrutinising every single scrap of my body, and the augmentation of his expression is everything I can focus on at this specific moment. He's looking at me like It's the first time he spots me, except that he didn't look at me like this the first time we met. The way he's dragging his eyes all over me, make me perceive myself as the most extravagant treasure, or maybe some sort of an enchantress. He comes to stand directly behind me, before he bends to wrap his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder as he regards me in the mirror. “It's funny how I already know what fits your body. I wonder what will happen when I get to explore it.” He wonders in a benign voice.

“A man can dream.” I don't know why my voice comes out breathless.

“You dream big, you get big.” He challenges with a low chuckle, before he besieges me for the third time,

“Why only in blue?”

I meet his eyes in the mirror, swallowing. His arms around me are so overwhelming. “When your soul is blue, all you see is blue.”

He frowns, as if failing to comprehend what my words connote. Before he asks any more questions, I hasten to change the subject. “Should I put any makeup?”

“No.” He hurries to answer, his tone querulous as if I just told him that I'm about to chafe myself with mud. “No part of you should be hidden, not even that blue soul of yours.”

I laugh humorlessly. “Careful what you wish for, Evans.”

“What's the purpose of life if we can't take risks?” He asks.

And what's the purpose of risks if they're not taken with the right person?

______

“I want you to spread your legs so each one hangs off one side of the chaise lounge.” He instructs, arranging his stuff on the small table that he moved from the painting room to his bedroom. He said that it'd be better if he changed the place where he usually works, and I try to curb my unremitting urge to ask him about the location where he painted the girls he banged. The position I assume is comfortable, since the seat of the chaise lounge is very narrow.

Dylan stops before me, eyes very focused. “Now lay back. I want your whole body to lay straight, with your arms hanging off the sides as well.”

I comply, and he holds my hair until my head is rested on the seat, before he tousles it around my head. “Are you trying to paint a corpse? Because I pretty much look dead right now.” I comment.

“With that face, you look like you're orgasming.” He laughs, and I conjure the dirtiest look I can render.

After he switches on his favorite music, he occupies his chair in front of the canvas where I'm supposed to be portrayed. He adjures me to close my eyes, and surprisingly, I don't feel like telling him to suck it. I just do it, and revel in the relaxation that engulfs my entire lifeless body. I don't even notice how much time goes by as I listen to the beautiful melodies and allow my mind to go through the days since I've met him. I listen as a track changes to another, and with time, my body starts to ache, begging to change positions. “Are you finishing anytime soon?” I can't help but ask.

“Of course not! This is not a sketch for school.” He answers, his eyes darting between me and the canvas in front of him.

“Damn you! My muscles hurt so freaking bad!” I belch.

He sighs, briefly closing his eyes in tribulation, before he disposes both the palette and the brush he had in hand on the table. “Only you would complain after-” He stops to check his watch for the time. “Almost three hours? Shit! I didn't realize I've been working for that long.” He admits, looking completely thunderstruck. “It's already past midnight.”

I take it as my cue to remove my legs from each side, groaning as I stretch them. “You're such a bad influence!” I shake my head in discountenance, before I stand and grab my clothes from the bed.

“Speaking of bad influences, I may have mentioned your birthday to Cheryl, and she may have decided to throw a little party in your honor.” He chronicles, before he takes notice of my horrified expression, and continues. “Don't panic. She's always throwing parties, so it's no big deal.”

“Decided, huh?” I ask, crossing my arms. “And aren't you the same person who said that you won't be taking me to places anymore?”

“I am; however, this time I will make sure you don't leave my side, even for one second.” He speaks casually, but I hear the threat behind his words. “Now, coming or not?”

I give him my best intractable look. “Not before I listen to Coldplay singing metal.” With that, I exit the room, leaving him with an amused look on his face.

________

Has anyone listened to Coldplay's new album? And did it include any metal songs? It must did, because here I am at Cheryl's party with Dylan. You must think I have no word now, right? Took you long enough. I have been making promises and spawning rules ever since I've met that bonkers dude, and never have I ever followed any of them. It must be the weather in Seattle.

“You wore that for me, Can?” Cheryl inquires in her melodious tone, her eyes moving all over my short, mesh overlay skater dress. It looks casual, but it doesn't make me look underdressed.

“Well, you threw a party for me. It's only fair.” I give her a tight, sham smile, and I can feel Dylan's gaze on me.

She laughs, and I try to keep my distance from her as much as I can. The hug she gave me once we arrived was enough. “Least thing I can do for D’s friend.” She purrs sardonically, throwing an arm over his shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, removing her arm. “Let's hope that it doesn't parallel the party you threw for my previous birthday in any way.”

That catches my attention. “Why, what happened?”

She positions a legs over the other, and her short, black wrap dress stretches as she does so. “Guess you will find out by yourselves.”

Dylan shakes his head in disapproval, before he stands, reaching out for my hand. “I'll get a drink. Wanna join me?” Even though he asks, his eyes tell me that he's only trying to be deferential; however, he's expecting me to go with him anyway.

I perpend whether I should just ignore him, or adhere to his instructions, before I choose the latter, taking his hand. “Since you asked nicely.”

We escape into the serenity of the kitchen, and the voices of everyone outside subside. I glance at Dylan, watching as his muscles flex under the material of his black polo, slim fit shirt. He looks back at me, catching me checking him out, and I do the exact, same, stupid reaction every other girl does when they get caught, looking around at my surroundings. God, it's like a damn gene. “Did you actually wear it for her?” He queries as he ignites a cigarette, catching me off guard.

“What?”

“The dress.” He explains. “Did you really wear it for Cheryl?”

What?

“What kind of question is that?”

“Do questions have kinds? It's a mere question. Did you dress up for her?”

I frown, before realization kicks in, and a smile finds its way to my lips. “Are you jealous?”

His hand stops halfway to his mouth, his cigarettes burning away. “Jealous? Me?” He asks, laughing once. “You're delusional if you believe so.” He deadpans, taking a long puff. “I was just about to warn you that she may take it as a sign that you may like her, while you don't.” He clarifies, eyeing the cigarette in his hand, before he looks at me once more. “Do you?”

I laugh once, finding his queer attitude funny. “No, I don't, and it was apparent that I was being sarcastic out there.” I explain, advancing toward him. “But, I did wear it for someone. Care to know whom?” I ask, standing directly in front of him, and giving him the best seductive look I can master.

His eyes glint at that, and I see him struggling to obscure his blaring interest. “Sure.” He gives me a nonchalant shrug, but I know better.

“Myself.” I smile at him, before I retreat and grab a glass. “I wore it for myself.”

He raises his eyebrows, as if he was expecting another answer. “Good for you.”

I pour myself a glass of vodka. “I don't see a drink in your hand. Did you bring me all the way to here just to ask me that trivial question?”

“I'm not drinking tonight. I had to ask my friend to deliver us the last time.”

“Your friend?” I ask, trying to remember any snippets of that night.

“Yeah. His name is–” He stops as someone waltzes into the kitchen, stealing his attention, and when I look to see who it is, my heart stops. “Ah! Here he is. Ethan, this is Candice, but of course you already know her.”

____________

Thanks for reading 💖.

Now as I promised, here's the COVER REVELATION of my new book!!!

What do you guys think?

A teaser will be released soon on Wattpad. I'm super excited!

Anyways, if you want more of BLUES, please find the book on Radish Fiction. You'll find 3 more free chapters + 11 more. Username; Raghdanezzat

All the love xx,
Raghda