A Beautiful, Terrible Love

Chapter 11

"Come on, Eve! We have to go!" I called, my musical voice awakening many from their dazes. They all raised their slender necks to hear my words, alertness shocking them. 

"What?" Eve raised her head from her mangled and mutilated desk in annoyance. "I was having a perfectly good nap." Her eyes, blurry and unfocused, were baby blue as the sky above me, yet dark as the deepest of the ocean's depths. Her hair, mussed and wild, was a multitude of gold, wheat, and hazelnut hairs, a natural color only the professional hairstylists could hope to mimic on their subjects. Her face, heart shaped, was pale and smooth, like a baby's, with no freckles or birthmarks to mar it. All these features all came together to produce a beautiful sight, a mirage of divineness, a spectacular display of what God could create. In other words, Eve.

At least, that's how I felt.

Every time I glanced at her, I was struck by amazement. How could she be possible? She was absolutely perfect, with her perfectly proportioned face and body, a sweet, innocent personality, and a faith that matched mine. She seemed like the perfect girl for me also, fame-wise, because of her stunning voice. Whenever we sang together, it seemed like a serenade, a waltz that only we knew, an incredible amount of chemistry I couldn't create with anyone else.

Did I love her for her face? Her slender, attractive form? Her personality? Her voice?

I had no clue.

But one thing I knew for sure was that she sent sparks up my spine whenever we touched, releasing flames throughout my body, casting a spell on me, making me fall deeper and deeper into her clutches. Even getting a happy glance from her made my heart escalate with joy. Every word she directed my way made my senses enhance around her, trying to capture her very presence in my mind where I could call it up at will. It was as if she was trying to enchant me, with her timid words and shy looks that always managed to melt my heart.

I knew it was unintentional, of course. I could tell she was trying to avoid me, to ignore my wily charms, building a wall around her I could barely penetrate. However, her voice, like a song itself, always betrayed the truth. She was nervous around me, a slight quavering quality to her words. I knew she was affected by me. Maybe she even LIKED me. I didn't know for sure though, her actions encouraging me, then making me doubt myself, to feel like dirt. Like that time when she said I was selfish, alerting myself to the fact that I WASN'T perfect, like I used to think I was.

She was casually changing me, as if it was a game to her, with her completely different ways of doing things. I went to a restaurant, she grew a garden. I slept in until ten, she woke up at five. I had a huge, empty mansion, she had a small, vibrant home that was full of family and life. I had everything, yet I had nothing compared to her. And I was starting to want her everything and despise my nothing.

In fact, I was starting to want her everything AND her.

Eve stood, her thin, graceful legs straightening, her muscles tensing. Her mussed up hair, stood in a bun on the top of her head, miscellaneous strands of hair sticking out on all sides. She was as natural as could be, with no makeup or smile, only a thin, taut line where her teeth should have been shown.

She walked over to me, her hips swaying, her eyes cast downwards. Mr. Allen stared at us both. "Why are you two leaving?" he accused.

"We have to meet with our manager to discuss the songs we will be singing," I informed him. Eve lit up, her eyes shining, her smile finally accenting her pretty face. I had no idea why she did that, considering that this was my least favorite stage in making an album, but I decided to entertain her-mysteriously concocted-fantasy and shot her a smile.

We walked out the door with twenty-two stares weighing on our backs.

"Wow, they never give up, don't they?" I laughed, although inwardly unsettled at the way these beautiful students just stared at us, like they didn't have a life of their own. They were rather unnerving spectators, gossipers who were as skilled as dogs when it came to sniffing out a bit of juicy information. I'm sure as soon as we left the room, the whispers would start, an eruption of laughter and giggles, or sharp, directed insults.