•DESTINED•

•Chapter Ten•

He doesn't sit next to me. He sits on one of the single seated armchairs that's placed at an angle so that the person sitting on the chair can see the TV.

I'm sitting on the double seated couch, the second seat occupied by gravity. My heart has been racing; not because of  the thriller that's playing on the massive TV screen but because of the fact that this is so awkward.

How could you not sit next to the person you wanted to watch a movie with? Unless I'm just being delusional and all the tiny grins and signs of blushing he gives is just a thing he does regularly.

I mean, he's gorgeous.

How could he not grin and so forth on a regular basis?

It makes no sense. So maybe I am going through a massive stage of delusional.

Maybe I should just leave.

Maybe I should not have agreed to the movie in the first place-

"Are you okay?" His voice cuts into my inner argument.

"Yeah, everything's great," I say.

"You don't like thrillers?" He raises an eyebrow.

"No, no, I do. I'm just thinking of..." Think fast, Violet, "Sketching."

"Sketching? Sketching what; murders?" He smiles.

"No," I scoff, "something else."

"And that something else is?" He presses on.

"You're so nosy," I roll my eyes, "watch the movie."

Evan reaches for the remote and presses a button, the screen freezes, "Nah, your ideas are way more interesting than the movie."

"Pressing on an issue is so unattractive," I say.

"Is it? Here I thought girls found that sexy," he shrugs.

"Number one, no, it's not. Number two, ew, don't ever say 'sexy' again. It's just not... Giving," I say, scrunching my nose up.

"Brutal honesty is just as unattractive," he says, folding his arms over his child like a spoiled child.

"Do you really think arguing with me is going to make me share my ideas about my sketch..." I think of something smart to say, I come up with, "idiot."

He chuckles. I find myself blushing.

"You're funny," he points out.

"And you're not," I say, trying to be stubborn.

He smiles, "Okay, Violet."

"Can you stop saying my name so much?" I snap.

"Why, Violet?"

"Stop."

"Why must I stop, Violet?" He grins, shifting his entire body to face me.

"Ew. Stop. This is literally so cringe," I say, rolling my eyes.

Evan doesn't say anything. I look up and find him not there. Not on the couch.

I frown, "Evan?"

I get to my feet and look around. I'm confused.

Then gentle hands land on my waist. I nearly jump out of my skin.

I turn, he smiles down at me.

Kiss? Make-out session with an acquaintance?

Neither of those two delusions are correct.

He turns me around and then, my heart sinks.

A huge black spider is on the seat that was occupied by gravity beside me.

I feel like screaming.

Instead I gasp.

"It's okay," he whispers into my ear, his hands still on my waist. I realize that I'm shaking.

I hate spiders.

He moves from behind me, where I'm left shaking. He moves towards the spider, a glass in hand.

He then, with lightning speed, encloses the space around the spider which jumps around against the inside of the glass.

I feel weak from shaking and I don't want to show him how scared I am because I don't want to appear like a typical girl that cries or jumps at everything.

With elegance, Evan slips a page beneath a small slit that he allows between the couch and the rim of the glass.

"I'll be back," he says.

I nod and sit on the couch that he was sitting on.

I wait for a while before Evan returns to with the empty glass and places it on the coffee table in the center of the couches.

"Thank you," I say shakily.

He smiles, "I've saved your life twice."

I roll my eyes but I'm too shaken to speak.

After what seemed like hours of awkward silence and the movie playing in the background, I decided to tell Evan that I wanted to go home.

•••

"And and and, I managed to get flowers with roots. I can't wait to show you," I say excitedly.

Mom laughs on the other end of the line, "I can't wait to see them, Violet."

"And grow them," I add.

"And grow them," I can hear my mom's happiness as she agrees.

We've been speaking for about an hour. It's been two hours since Evan dropped me off by aunt Portia's Manor.

He didn't seem bothered by the fact that I had wanted to go home. He seemed... Relieved.

That got to me more than it should have.

"Anyways," my mom sighs,"I'm busy boiling some potatoes for my famous stew. So... I'll talk tomorrow?"

"That's fine, mom," I say.

"Okay, love you."

"Love you too, mom."

The call is over. Then I decide to finally give Quinn a call.

She picks up within a heartbeat, "Well, hello there, Stranger!"

I laugh, "Hello, Quinn."

"How have you been, Violet. It's been a while since I've heard from you. How's the farm life?"

"It's interesting. I found a bunch of nice-smelling flowers..."

From there we paged through different scenario's about Evan after I told my best friend, Quinn, about him.

She nearly swooned when she heard that he had a tattoo with such strong meaning but also noted how cringe it was when he called whatever it is he still needs a 'key'.

She wanted to know why he didn't just say he's still trying to think about what other meaning there might be to his tattoo.

I miss her. She's like the sister I never had.

Eventually, we end the call.

The sun is almost down. The yellow rays of sun dancing on the surfaces of all the solid objects in the gallery.

I glance at the digits on my phone screen before I power it off.

6:12p.m.

I race out the gallery and dash through the grass, the wind whipping my hair free from it's hairband.

Breathless, I enter through the large front doors of aunt Portia's Manor.