"Hey Blues, nothing comparesTo the way that you hurtThe way that you stingThe way that you bring meDown to my knees.."

Blues, you're a buzz kill by Pistol Annies 

I freeze in my place, unable to decipher what I'm seeing. My wide-open eyes move around frantically, perusing the powdery, white substance that's dissipated on my hand and the floor.

It could be anything.

Except that you don't find white powder in a toothpaste tube. A white substance that has an aspect that would only make you premise the worst.

Suddenly, my brain awakens from the shock, and I look down at my naked body, suddenly becoming distrait, and step out of the bathroom, discerning a closet. I open it, snatching the first shirt I see, pulling it on. It falls mid-thigh, enough to hide the inapt parts.

Storming out of the room with the tube in my hand, I follow the source of the music, which–of course–happens to be the painting room. I find the door open, and I impede my steps, not entering.

"Missed me?" Dylan asks, his eyes trained on the canvas, his face bearing a jaunty grin that I'll make sure to wipe away soon. He looks up, and his eyes scintillating upon seeing his shirt on me. "I see that you've helped-"

And then his smile evanesces the moment he beholds the tube in my hand, his whole stance immediately tensing up. His eyes widen, showing shock and horror at the same time, before he manages to maneuver his expression into a vapid one, his eyes observing me as I traipse into the room. I hold the tube up. "Care to tell me what this is?" I query, seconds from losing it.

He squints at my hand, as if trying to Intuit what it is. "Where did you find that, Candice?"

I inhale a long breath, willing myself to calm down. "Seriously? You either think I'm stupid or you're just dumb."

He shakes his head, standing. "Give me that."

I walk toward him, my eyes pestilent. "Is this coke?" I chide him, my heart racing so fast as I weigh the possibilities.

He doesn't confirm my hypothesis, but he doesn't refute it either, his face taking a fugitive slope. "What is it to you? Just give it to me."

"What is it to me? Are you being serious?" I blat, my face red with pique and disbelief. Is he going to act the way he always does after every gracious moment we spend together?

"Yeah? Don't think you got the right to appraise what I do, just because we had a heart-to-heart conversation last night." He spouts, his eyes gelid.

So he's going to pull the shit he always does. Hale me closer, propel me away, and make me feel like absolute shit. Scourge me with his words and bum-rush the poignant rollercoaster he keeps squashing me into. Why am I even surprised? I should be accustomed to his ways by now.

"Right." I nod, unable to find any comeback, before I squeeze the tube, watching its contents as they fall and squander onto the ground. "I'm leaving, so you can go ahead and feed your addiction." I slur, nodding to the floor.

I look at him, spying how his expression hardens, watching the way he closes his eyes to tranquilize his flaring temper. "I'm not an addict, Candice." He snaps through gritted teeth, before he approaches me, fixing me with an intimidating look that's supposed to make me pee myself. "And this is the last time you think of humiliating me, understood?"

I stare back, conjuring as much confidence as I can manage, and injecting it into my aggrieved demeanor. "I'm done with your shit, Evans." I fuliminate, spinning, before I start to tread toward the door.

"We both know you'll come back." He proclaims, making me freeze in my place. "I pushed you to leave last night, but you stayed anyway, and no matter how many times I'll satisfy you, you will still come back. Mark my words."

My blood rankles under my skin. Who does he think he is? And who does he think I am?

It reminds me of how Ethan took me for granted, casting me away, knowing so well that I'd come back, knowing how much leverage he had over me.

I don't yell at him. I don't slap him the way I did once. I don't call him out.

Ever so placidly, I pick up one of the portraits nearby, watching the terror materializing on his face, before I drop it onto the ground, and step onto it, feeling it crumble under my weight. "And until I come back for the only one thing you're good for, I'll give you something to work on."

With a lethal smirk, I swerve and leave, never looking back.

___________

"I've been vegan for 7 years now." Steven vents, munching on a vegetarian slice of pizza. "No offense, but I've always found meats disgusting." He affirms, looking at my chicken pizza with a dispassionate countenance.

I shrug, climbing onto the reception desk, facing him. "I'd become vegan too, but chicken nuggets are literally my life."

He laughs, offering me a slice of his pizza. "Try this. You'll like it." He asserts, extending the slice closer to my mouth.

I shrug, opening my mouth to take a bite, but then his hand slowly recedes, begetting me to bend closer to have my bite, but then he retracts his hand completely. I look up at him with a frown, only to find his eyes transfixed on something behind me, his face white like ice.

My frown accentuates, and I turn my head, just on time as Dylan pushes the glass door of the parlor open, his eyes piercing Steven in his place. He shoves his hands into his jean pockets, standing taller and looking magnificent in his black jeans and shirt. "Eating pizza on the reception desk where people can walk in any minute? Disgusting." Dylan directs his words to Steven, his voice hard and malevolent.

"Sorry. " Steven mutters, his face turning crimson, before he starts to gather the plastic bags, along with his pizza box, stopping to look at my own box, his eyes silently begging me to hand it to him.

"No, Steve. I'm not done eating." I state, making sure my voice is loud enough for Dylan to hear.

Steven's red face deepens even more, before he looks at Dylan again, whose gaze I feel on me. "Uh- I'll go- uh do that thing in there." He blabbers, beckoning to the room where he works, and I give him a sympathetic look as he disappears into the room.

"Steve​, eh? What a lovely nickname." Dylan snorts, crossing his arms.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, before I take a bite of my pizza.

The way he doesn't even acknowledge my pizza, proves that he only talked like that to persecute Steven. He hefts one eyebrow at me, before he pushes the glass door open and steps outside to look at the non-existent logo, and then steps in again.

"What on Earth are you doing?"

"I was checking if the parlor is written after your name now." He answers sarcastically​, taking a seat on one of the leather couches. "But apparently, it's still mine, so I can come here whenever I feel like it."

I don't retort, only to save the energy I'd lose on him, and continue eating, disregarding the pair of intense eyes I feel on me the entire time. I know he came here to taunt me, and I won't give him the chance to do it.

A while later, a tall brunette parades in, wearing a sleeveless, short dress. She flashes me a fake smile, asking for an appointment.

"Where do you want the tattoo?" I inquire.

"Between my boobs." She indifferently answers.

I suppress a laugh, nodding to the couches. "Patty will finish shortly. You can take a seat."

"Put her with me." Dylan interjects, his voice discharging abrupt silence into the room.

"Pardon?" I ask, my eyes narrowed.

"Put her with me, Miss Woods." He repeats, using my last name, before he vacants his seat, confidently walking to us, extending his hand to the woman. "Dylan. I'm the one who's going to tattoo you."

Fucking seriously?

"Oh really?" Her eyes lose the stodgy look, apparently unable to overlook how magnetic he is. "I'm Kathy."

Can I throw up on the reception desk, or would that be inappropriate if someone walks in too?

"This way." He motions to the room Steven walked in minutes ago, smiling.

Smiling!

They both strut into the room, leaving me with a dumbstruck mien. A minute later Steven storms out, a frustrated look on his face. "Where am I supposed to eat now?"

But I don't answer him, much less concentrate on what he's saying. A minute later, I hear tranquil warbles coming out of the room, and my feet start to tap agitatedly, desperate to go there and tattoo fucker onto his forehead.

I don't know how long I wait, before I decide that enough is enough, striding toward the room, twisting the door knob, and with one hard shove, the door slams against the wall, jolting the half-naked woman off the table, and Dylan, whose astonished face whips to look at me, his eyes infuriated. I mimic a false repentant look. "Erm- sorry about that. The wind must have shoved the door so hard. Did Steven open the door?" I lower, turning my face to look at the closed glass door.

Apparently, Dylan doesn't buy it. "Do you want something, Ms. Woods?" He asks, an earnest look on his face.

"A new client wants a tattoo, and I was wondering if you could take him," I riposte, crossing my arms. "Boss."

"Put him with Patty." He says impatiently.

I fumble with words. "He wants a tattoo on his ass cheek, and I believe that would make Patty uncomfortable."

He freezes, staring at me with a weirded-out look, and I notice him pressing his lips together, before he looks down at the woman. "Excuse me. I'll be back in a minute." He practically purrs, before he tramps toward me, closing the door behind him. He looks around, before his eyes land on me. "Where is he?"

"Who?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"The guy who wants a tattoo on his ass." He responds, his eyebrows rising.

Oh crap.

I look at Steven, who's seated on my chair, giving me a perplexed look as I keep undulating my facial expressions for him to help me. "Did the client leave?"

He frowns. "What client?" He questions, and I hear Dylan chuckling behind me.

Idiot.

"He was in the restroom." I say to Dylan, trying to keep my face neutral.

He crosses his arms, smug. "It's true then." He merely says.

"What?"

"People do obtuse things when they're jealous." He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, a smirk materializing on his handsome face, before he turns the knob, primed to enter. "Don't disturb me again while I'm working, Candy. That's not a canvas that could be redeemed."

I narrow my eyes at his back. "I'm not jealous, and nobody uses the word obtuse."

But he doesn't respond, plodding into the room, before he slams the door shut, so hard at my face, causing me to fall a few steps back in shock. "Sorry, Woods! Must be the wind. Tell Steven to stop playing with the door for no reason." Dylan calls on the other side of the door, before I hear him emitting an amused chuckle.

You motherfucking needle dick.

Two can play this game, Dylan.

Just wait.

__________

"Candice?" I hear Trent hollering as I trudge down the hall to my next class. Just as I thought I survived him and Dylan in Literature, he comes after me. However, when I glance back, I see no sign of Dylan.

Where is he?

In hell, I hope.

"Hey." I solely murmur.

He frowns. "It's really weird that you left like that without saying hi."

"Uh- I have a class."

He nods, his eyes still skeptical. "Emerald tonight?"

I hastily shake my head. "No! I'll pass. I have work and I'll be super tired."

He sighs, looking around the room, before he spears me with his juniper eyes. "Listen, Candice. I don't know what kinda fight you had with him, but I don't want you to give up easily on him."

I cross my arms. "And since you don't know what kind of fight we got into, why are you assuming that I gave up on him? Maybe he doesn't want me!"

He laughs, shaking his head. "Doesn't want you? You gotta be kidding me. Don't you see how he's so into you? This sounds cheesy, but the way he looks at you proves that he really wants you to be his. If it weren't inappropriate, I would've checked his crotch whenever​ he's around you."

I can't help the laugh that bubbles up my throat. "I'm sorry, but the way he acts suggests the opposite."

"See? You're already giving up on him." He shakes his head, looking crestfallen.

"No, buddy. I know a lot about him now. The whole story of Chavez and Linda, and I don't think that affected me in any way. It's not even what I saw in his bathroom! The way he treated me like I'm nothing but one of the girls he sleeps with to get off, is what pissed me off."

A lower forms on his face. "Hold on. What did you see in his bathroom?"

"You seriously don't know that-" I start to say, before he interrupts me, his eyes widening at something behind me.

"Holy shit!" He distractly drawls out.

I frown. "What?"

But he doesn't respond, bringing me to sheer to distinguish what stunned him speechless, only to be presented with Alexa, coming over with a great beam, but that's not what catches my attention.

It's her hair.

Her new blonde hair.  

____________

I feel kinda depressed at the moment, since Blues ends soon on Radish, and writing is becoming so hard, knowing that I won't be writing about Candice and Dylan again, who have become a part of my life now. 

I hope you guys are ready, because I'm not.

All the love xoxo