Her Eyes

Twenty One

Red marks littered the dryad's neck along with a bite mark on her collarbone. Her hair was thrown into a messy low bun that hung loosely and she sat on the ground of the art studio, as she always did, painting calla lilies from memory.

Her movements were slow, expressing her tiredness, but she was at peace with herself. The roaring winds that knocked on the wide windows of the room did nothing to disturb her nor did the rustling brown leaves that threatened to enter the room and taunt her lone figure.

"Do one little bush at a time, don't get in a hurry." The video of Bob Ross playing at a moderate volume became background noise for the leaf as she zoned in on her work, her shoulders slumped and her posture growing lazier with each stroke of paint she produced.

Nikolaos and Esmae fell into a routine during October. It was filled with them staying inside for the most part, unless Nikolaos had classes in person, and enjoying each other's company. Enjoyment included lying in bed for hours to cuddle, making food together, painting, and sex.

After Esmae discovered the world of intimacy and sexual pleasure, Nikolaos didn't shy away from initiating sex with her over the course of four weeks. If they weren't sleeping late at night, they tangled in the sheets until Esmae passed out from exhaustion; if they weren't cooking in the kitchen, Esmae was bent over the countertop, moaning out in pleasure as Nikolaos rammed her from behind; even the lovely mornings they shared before Nikolaos left to college were filled with skin slapping and loud moans filled with bliss.

He couldn't get enough of her, and Esmae's newly found pleasure never subsided from the pit of her stomach.

The marks on her neck were evidence of their time together in the morning. This time, she was taken at the dining table. Her breakfast grew cold before she could finish it, but she didn't mind. She was too full to eat anymore.

And now, she was left alone with her glossed eyes as she mindlessly painted, her core still aching from the events of the morning. November came quicker than Esmae thought, though she didn't see it that way. It was growing closer to winter, the season she dreaded, and she worried about how she would cope with the weather.

Most of the trees surrounding the cottage were bare of leaves, their children dying in a plethora before winter came to snatch them away.

As she painted, Nikolaos returned from college, his lectures being shorter allowing him to. He expected Esmae to greet him at the door like she always did but wasn't too surprised when she didn't.

She'd learned to be more independent since his scolding at the library, and she learned to take care of herself before anyone else. There were times when she sacrificed for the happiness of Nikolaos, but it was a learning process, and the change wouldn't happen immediately.

He took off his large black coat and dropped it by the couch before heading to the room that became Esmae's in a matter of days.

Leaning by the wall at the entrance, he smiled as he watched her painting. She was so focused; she didn't notice him pulling out his phone and snapping a photo of her side profile.

The golden lights from the flowers above casted faint shadows and glows on Esmae's face, making her look more mesmerizing than she already was.

She finally looked up after some time, rubbing her neck and looking at the entranceway of the studio, her eyes widening when they saw Nikolaos.

"Nikolaos," she whispered, a wide smile spreading across her face. Nikolaos pushed himself off the side of the wall and walked to his girl, kneeling beside her. "Hi, ómorfi."

He kissed her forehead, his hand going to the back of her head and brushing through her curls. "Tired?" he asked, noticing how her eyes were drooped and her smile lazy.