God of Temptation

Chapter 1

~Ariella~

I extend my fingers, snapping them back to life, and twirling my neck until it crackles in protest. I have been sitting in front of the infernal typewriter for a small eternity—eight hours to be exact—and yet, the words play hide and seek with me. My mind is bursting at the seams, but it's as if my thoughts are trapped behind a dam. What is wrong with me? I've never gone through writer's block. Writing is the easiest thing for me.

Easier than speaking. 

Easier than seeing.

Easier than listening.

Writing is the one thing that keeps me sane. Preventing me from deviating to the forbidden side, the dark side of my being.

Writing is the release valve for my swirling emotions. My parents don't like the fact I love writing (and for rightful reasons); however, they know it's as vital to me as the very air I breathe. Not to mention, these days, I'm going through withdrawal symptoms due to a certain someone.

"Ariella, don't you dare," I chide myself, warding off the tidal wave of his memories. It's been an months since our last encounter, and that was the last time the typewriter and I danced in harmony.

A heavy sigh slips through my lips as I rise, abandoning my fortress of solitude. My library, a sanctuary which my Dad made for me, is home to my treasured novels and the fifteen offspring of my imagination—my unwritten legacies.

I open the door and step out to find mom, an angelic figure, with her head resting on the sofa's armrest and dad with his arm around her. I've always admired how dad and mom are around each other. How they respect, protect, care and love each other. Perhaps it was their example that lured me into becoming his 'hellion stalker,' as Uncle Ronan so fondly jests.

I look at my parents sleeping soundly. It's midnight, and they must have been waiting for me to come out. Warmth and guilt well up inside me as I realize how much my parents love me, how they waited for me and gave me time instead of rushing me to come out. On the other hand, I'm filled with remorse for worrying them up, for taking for granted the life they've given me, for ever doubting their unwavering love. 

With a touch more force than necessary, I close the door behind me, a silent plea for them to awaken. I can't bear the thought of facing them, of answering their inevitable inquiries about my progress—or lack thereof. I want space.

Headphones firmly in place, I ascend the staircase, my mother's voice reaching out to me. I feign deafness, continuing my retreat. Out of the corner of my eye, I witness her resigned sigh, her head finding solace on my father's chest.

They wish to rescue me from the quicksand of my own mind, but am I ready to grasp the lifeline they offer?

My room greets me with comforting darkness and I embrace it and without switching on the lights as I slip beneath the covers. The soft and plushy material immediately relaxes my stiff back. Curling up under the covers, I pull them above my head and and surrender to the realm of dreams, where he awaits.

The shrill cry of my alarm wrenches me from the cocoon of my bed. I groan, the very thought of leaving its embrace sends a shiver down my spine. So, I lie back down, bargaining with time for a mere five more minutes. I unplug my mobile, its screen alive with notifications from the 'big girls' group chat—my sister's little joke since I turned eighteen.

I wasn't interested initially, but I've grown to relish the opportunity to tease her whenever I can. Also, there are two more groups, and my phone is always buzzing, hence I was reduced to mute the groups. I check the messages from my ride-or-die friends, Kaitlyn and Vivian. While Ava hung out with her friends and during the meetups or friends gathering, might as well be on another planet, but these two have been my shadow since day one—my sisters in all but blood.