Gold and Wine

Chapter 4:

Avoiding him did jack shit. It only made it worse when I saw him and it only became worse when I found out he was being bunked in my quarter since the guest houses had been damaged in the storm. I could only sit at the statue of Mary and pray for some form of relief, eventually choosing  a prayer from the Orthodox Church to try and relieve some of the emotional strain.

After a good half-hour of that, I was eventually given leave to go and continue my transcription of the chapter. It was a welcome, beyond welcome actually, relief. I nearly ran into the door in my haste but, as soon as I was in the study, I was free. I walked to my own desk, pulling out the folder of papers before setting up the work on the desk itself. I had only finished the border, not yet decided on whether or not I wanted to ink in the negative space at all. I did want to do some painting on the clam shell, and maybe do a watercolour gradient on the cloth but, beyond that, it was all up to the twirling of imagination.

The siren stared back at me, her body half-finished in its sketch and the bird legs noticeably disproportionate to the rest of her body. I would have to fix that today as well. I decided to keep the upper part of her body, reshaping the bottom part and then the foreground. I began with her face, drawing out a darker pencil from my supplies and blocking out the shapes of the shadows on her face. It was a technique I had stolen from Caravaggio's work, and adapted it to pencil though I knew that this rough draft would be painted in its final.

"Very beautiful border."

I could hear my life laughing at me as Adonis called out his compliment, bending over my desk to watch me work. He was unaware, distinctly unaware, of my own discomfort at his closeness. Yet, there was an undeniable warmth to him that made me nearly lean against his shoulder.

"It's for a transcription," I said with a firm, monotone voice. I had attempted and failed to hide my discomfort. He stood up, and brought a small chair to the side of me and sat down.

"A siren?"

"Yes," I confirmed, continuing with the shadows. I kept feeling his eyes on me and it took everything in me to not look back at him. My brows knitted together and my back had started to ache with how tightly I held myself in his presence. It crashed when I felt his hand squeeze my thigh.

"You're too uptight, little Icarus, art is meant to be enjoyed."

I reduced into a blushing mess at that point, turning around to stare at him angrily. Rolling his eyes, he took his hand off my thigh. In spite of myself, the cold space left was uncomfortable and I turned back to my work trying to forget it ever happened.

"You're like an old man," he said. Memories came flooding back of when Brother Paul said that. I turned sharply to look at him. I think he got the message and lifted up his hands.

"I'm just saying," he said, not leaving. This was uncanny, but also deeply annoying. I turned back around to continue with my work, but his presence only got worse as time passed. Eventually, I gave up and slammed down my pencil. I slumped in my chair, turning over to look at him to see that he was not there but on the floor near a shelf. He had a book and was aimlessly paging through it as it leaned against his thigh. It was one of my other transcriptions, and I cannot tell you how much I wanted him out of here.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, getting up from the chair and rushing towards him. I reached out to snatch the book from him but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down. I toppled over him and his wounded arm rested precariously against my back as his other hand prevented me from falling further.

"You -" I couldn't even reach the right words. His taunting smile had thrown me off entirely and the hand that was on my back had become exceptionally hot. I squirmed uncomfortably but he reached his other hand around and pulled me close to him, pinning me against his chest.