It is ridiculous, honestly. He has only just started, and already you can tell it is going to be a masterpiece.
And I am not just saying that out of the goodness of my heart. I hate the man, after all. I would rather die than compliment him.
But I cannot deny it. I have seen hundreds of artists.
But this… this is raw talent.
I turn away quickly, refusing to let my shock show, but I swear his smirk is so wide I can practically feel it.
I start sketching furiously, willing myself to focus on my own piece.
“Like what you see?” he murmurs.
I ignore him.
“You can stare if you want. Take a proper look,” he adds. “I don’t mind being admired.”
I do not reply.
He leans closer until I can feel the heat of him. “I’ll take what I can get. Even your accidental glances,” he murmurs. “Because it still means your eyes are on me. And that’s what I live for.You.”
I clench my teeth so hard it is a wonder I don’t crack them.
I release my paper for a second, reach into my bag, and find my earbuds. I slip them in and set my music from my phone.
Full volume.
It even triggers that ridiculous alert about potential hearing loss, but who cares. I cannot listen to this psycho speak for another second.
The song starts—Medusa by Amanati—and for a moment, there is peace.
Short lived, because the fucker reaches out, plucks one earbud free, and slips it into his own ear. My head snaps towards him.
He hums. “Oh. This is deep. The bass, though.”
I imagine blood pouring from his neck.
“We even have the same taste in music,” he smirks. “This is one of my favourites. Soulmates, that’s what we are.”
“Are you pretending,” I say flatly, “or are you genuinely this irritating?”
And because I should not say another word to him, but he has a way of dragging it out of me, I add, “This is the first time you’ve heard this song. It is very much not your favourite.”
“How well you know me already,” he says, his eyes dark.
“But it’s not my favourite because I know it, baby. First time I’ve heard it,” he shrugs. “It’s my favourite because I see how much you love it, how much it calms you. So everything you like, I do. Everything that makes you happy does the same.”
“Are you, like… obsessed with me?” I blurt suddenly.
“Why, of course I am.” His eyes drop to my mouth, and a look crosses his face that I don’t dare examine too closely.
I should be worried.
In fact,I am.
“You do remember that I tried to kill you,” I say.
His eyes glaze over, as though he is reliving that night, and the glint behind his smirk tells me the memory pleases him entirely too much.
