Their is a stalker at Saints Academy and They seem to be targeting a special group of people.
♛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐒
Tatum Mercy
Emberly Sawyer
Birdie Carrington
Temperance River
Hayden Anderson
♚ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒
Will Brandt
Asher Doreen
Cade Gri...
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Fuck!
Whoever the fuck was following her will pay. I don't know who it was yet but I will find out.
No body and I mean no one scares my Tatum like that.
I had to use almost all my self control not to turn around and beat the living shit out of that creep, but I didn't want her to be alone.
Plus our clever banter always manages to brighten my day and make my lips twitch.
Every now and then a smirk will appear, which no else has ever had that effect on me.
The thing is I don't feel like normal people do. I can express empathy and emotions, I just don't care to do so.
I've never cared about someone enough to express those things.
That's why I was an asshole to Tatum when we first met. She made me feel things that no else ever has. Well her and my cat Psycho.
Don't judge. Emotionless assholes can have pets to.
I pulled up to school an hour early, so I could have some time in my private art room. And yes I have my own art room because my parents own Saints Academy.
Art is my way of purging all the pent up anger inside me. If I don't then I start to feel like I'll explode and eventually I will. With someone on the receiving end.
And I currently have a lot of stocked up anger since last night, when I found out Tatum was being followed.
The possession she had over me is so strong that I would slaughter anyone she asked me too.
I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing which is why I try to keep my distance.
Obviously that didn't work last night.
Pushing away those thoughts I push the turn of button on my jeep and step out of the car.
Once I arrive to the art room, I get out my pack of paint brushes and my different color palettes.
After I set up my canvas, I let it all out on the canvas.
Brushes creating paint strokes and god knows what else. Paint flies everywhere and I'm grateful that I put on an apron.
I start to feel the anger and any other emotion I was feeling drown out of my body. I love this feeling. I don't know what I would do without my art to keep whatever demons that live inside me at bay.
I step back to admire the black and faded navy blue painting.
It's an abstract painting of what looks like a girl in the shadows.
My girl.
My Tatum.
It's her dancing in my darkness, her welcoming it.
Which will never happen. She'll never want me and my demons.
I go to hang the painting up when my phone goes off.
UNKNOWN: What a beautiful painting of your girl. Who knows maybe the next one will have some blood shed. Maybe yours, or maybe one of The Kings, or maybe even hers.
