Lovers: Boarding School

_shadows

Finding it so ironic that I'm in a hot ass country but writing of winter. You can take the girl out of Canada but you can't take the Canada (and its butt fuckingly cold winters) out of the girl. LOL.

UPDATE: I'm in Japan ATM! Went from Dubai to Hanoi to Japan all under eight hours yay me 🙃 I'm so ded

WARNING: Listen to the song accompaniment because that is one big clue about what's going on in this chapter ;) Also it's very tough because I wanted to update ASAP! If you find any grammatical mistakes please do tell me in the comments!

Enjoy!

An ear. A tall nose. Soft, unsmiling lips. A pair of merciless, cold eyes.

"Fuck, I didn't get his eye right."

Sitting on her bed and doodling her way through another sleepless night, Viola the "Real" was sketching horrific monsters and beautiful men with an old sketchbook, something that a digitally inclined artist like herself rarely touched until now. It was almost her second week since she had a proper wink of sleep and she was on the crutches of her sanity; depressed, paranoid, and terrified of almost anything that made a sound, Viola barely scraped by, half-assing her work assignments, being unresponsive to messages from her only--and probably last--best friend, and just being plain miserable.

In the days since that ill-fated Winter Ball, Viola/Violet had yet to hear a peep from the VCCU or Gabriel. No phone call, no coded message in Shakespeare, no microscopic message on a pigeon's leg, nothing. The fact that they--a well respected, powerful government organization--had yet to establish contact with a potential murder victim like herself concerned Viola like nothing that came before.

Was this a prank developed by a bunch of sadistic, bored computer hackers that wanted to harass people in the arts? Was this a government sponsored military experiment like Viola had once suspected? Was she getting punked by her friend Alvie who had since gotten into a relationship with a IT cooperate manager?

Or was this much more crazier than what Viola could ever imagine?

Without thinking, Viola slipped her hand under her shirt to feel the fading teeth indentations on her shoulder. Having watched that video clip of that police hearing into oblivion, Viola noticed that the chief of the VCCU didn't request witnesses to come forward with information like how most police officials did after they've talked to the media.

Would something happen to her if she tried breaking the ice with the VCCU?

"Fuck, I messed up again," Viola mumbled when her sketch of James' left eye was more lopsided than before.

In the game, Violet's relationship with James, her begrudgingly significant life line virtually and literally, had deteriorated into one word texts and grunts since the night Violet confronted James with his cruelty against women who, in some inconceivably unfathomable way, were deeply devoted to him.

I love him. I love him Violet.

"But he's a heartless asshole Giselle," Viola muttered, her pencil digging into the page before ripping it.

Sighing, Viola scribbled off James' ever scowling mug and turned to a fresh, clean page. Sketching faces of untouchable, virtual entities was like capturing ghosts on film; turning characters that have always been intangible physically into something physical, like the rough, composite sketch of "Trixie" she began working on, was therapeutic in a way and she felt easier knowing that she had some kind of control when control had divorced itself from her life some time ago. She could control how these characters looked, how their faces contorted, even how they dressed with the short HB graphite pencil that had now dwindled down into a two-inch stub. She could draw them with any manner of emotion, pose, and style according to how she felt about them or how she felt the moment she put pencil to paper. And drew.