Sapphire Gibson
I'm sitting on the amethyst settee in the commons with my leatherbound sketchbook balanced across my lap when I sense Topaz entering the room. He approaches in silence, and I hesitate to look up until he places his hands on the edge of the backrest behind me, just above my shoulders.
"Saph."
"Oz."
He clears his throat, and I wonder what he could possibly intend to say to me. We haven't spoken privately for a considerable while now.
"You should reconsider France."
I flinch blatantly, expecting anything but the seven dry syllables he utters.
"You'll never receive closure if you don't return," he defends himself, "I don't want to see you live in fear for the rest of your life."
His words sound well-rehearsed and entirely foreign to his tongue at the same time. I stare at him wordlessly for a long moment, uncertain whether the bitter feeling in my stomach is doubt or betrayal or cogitation.
"Do you know why I draw?" I finally settle.
"What?"
"It's been two years, Oz, and you've never once wondered why I draw portraits of strangers."
"Just because I haven't asked — Saph, I have wondered. About your drawings. About you," he elucidates, emotion returning to his voice.
I almost scoff.
"You asked that question for a reason. Tell me why."
I wait another minute before responding, dancing with time in a manner I learned directly from him. He clenches his teeth, perplexed by the distant way I perceive him.
"All those different features and expressions — I'm praying that I never find him lurking within them. Sometimes, he's there in part," I finally acquiesce, "I think Julian would be a perfect doppelgänger if his eyes weren't so illuminated, so human."
Reassuring words evade him, and he futilely attempts, "Saph, you know you're safe with —"
"One day, he'll be standing there before me as a whole, probably lingering around the dark edges of my peripheral like he always does," I interrupt him, "I'll feel him watching me, and I'll know."
With each word, I feel myself disappear farther into my mind. If anyone can convince me to return to France, it's Topaz. He knows that, and he's unbelievably cruel to use himself against me in such a way. I want to hate him for it, just as I wanted to hate him for turning away after Ruby's slip, but in the end I only long for him more.
"You've lived here for three years. He's forgotten you by now — or been arrested for tailing another girl the way he did you. It's over, and you're safe. Returning to Paris will help you realize that," he reassures me, but I hardly hear at all, the world muffling around me until the only clarity remaining lingers within the rufous tones of his profound eyes.
He still hovers over me, the smell of springtime irises overwhelming my senses, but I can't tell whether or not he continues to speak. Suddenly, the stillness becomes unbearable.
"Okay, alright," I interject, standing abruptly from my seat.
The colors of the common room flood my mind — elegant amethyst draped across the windows, sunsets cast upon the wall by the hearth, rich mahogany crowding the main floor — but I refuse to turn back to Topaz, who I already feel staring into the back of my head as if pleading me to face him. I know better; the second I spin around, his expression will wipe clean and I'll be left with nothing once again.
"Please, go. I need some time alone," I barely manage.
He never answers, but I hear a panel slide away then return to its place soon after as he silently slips into the underpass. Only then do I release the breath I've been holding and move to pick up my sketchbook, which had toppled to the floor when I stood. Hours of my diligent work lie face-down and crumpled against the hardwood.
YOU ARE READING
Adelaide
Mystery / Thriller"My parents heard about James' mental state and worried it was a contagious disease that I would eventually succumb to as well. So, they sent me here, before I could end up where he is now. That certainly would've damaged their reputation." "You've...
