His Deplorable Mate ( On Hold )

CHAPTER 6

" Her attempts to piece together a shattered connection were met with indifference, a painful dance of hope and heartache,"

Author's POV:

In the quiet sanctuary of her room, Ava clings to a well-worn diary, its pages burdened with the weight of unspoken agony and tearful laments. The moonlight, a spectral companion, casts an ethereal glow upon her, accentuating the raw emotion etched across her face.

Her hair flowed like a witch spell as the night wind danced through the thick knots. Her eyes trained on the pages that held her sanity. Her hands trembling as she caressed the portrait.

The distant howls, like haunting echoes, mirror the inner tempest of her soul, each reverberation a poignant reminder of the profound sadness that envelops her in the stillness of the night.

Her heart was heavy and her breathing labored as she stared haphazardly at the set of eyes on the white canvas that was both her curse and blessing.

"Why is his perception so veiled? Each effort to mend the chasm is swallowed by his apathy," Ava murmured, her fingers tenderly tracing the lines of a sketch, a relic from their shared innocence at the tender ages of 12 and 13.

The graphite strokes, once a testament to their intertwined spirits, now echo with the agony of unrequited connection, a silent plea for understanding that hangs heavy in the air.

The echoes of that day linger eternally in Ava's soul—the day he, in a fleeting moment, granted her the gift of acknowledgment. It wasn't merely a glance; it was a profound recognition, a fragile bridge between their worlds. In the simplicity of that gaze, a universe unfolded for Ava—a universe where even a modest acknowledgment held the weight of everything she had yearned for, etching a bittersweet memory that time couldn't erase.

As Ava turns the pages of her diary, she halts at a spread adorned with sketches of Xavier's eyes. Each stroke is a testament to the depth of her emotions, etched with heartbreak and unwavering dedication.

In the delicate graphite lines, she's poured not just ink but fragments of her soul, a poignant visual symphony of unspoken love and the ache that accompanies it. These sketches stand as a solemn vow, the only artistry she has ever known, a silent anthem of devotion to a soul whose gaze remains both her inspiration and heartbreak.

In a hushed lament, Ava whispered, her voice a fragile echo in the silence, "Xavier, your eyes weave a tapestry of emotions, a universe unto themselves. Yet, when they encounter mine, they turn cold." Tears, like gentle streams of vulnerability, traced the contours of her cheeks. At that moment, amidst the ache, there was a profound warmth—a heartwarming plea for the enigma within his gaze to soften when entwined with the depths of her own.

Meanwhile, in Xavier's room, he stands by the window, staring into the night. The weight of leadership sits heavily on his shoulders, but a deeper conflict breeds within. His hands clutched a small Barbie hair clip.

"How can you crave someone' love, Ava, when he can't give you anything but darkness,".

“The pack depends on me, and expects strength, and yet, Ava unravels the knots, I thought, were secure. Her love is a vulnerability I can't afford, but her pain echoes in every fiber of my being,” Xavier clenches his fists, his eyes reflecting a mix of determination and inner turmoil.

In a fractured whisper, Ava questioned the essence of love, her words tinged with the shards of a wounded heart, "Xavier, is love a weakness or a strength?" Each stroke of the brush on the blank canvas mirrored the fractured landscape of her emotions, an artistry of pain and longing. In that poignant act of creation, she painted not only the one responsible for her heartache but also the solitary remedy to this affliction—the paradox of love that simultaneously wounds and heals, a heart-touching testament to the intricate dance between vulnerability and salvation.