Artwork

Chapter 3 - Adaline Seitz

Assaulting the edge of my lip with the tip of my finger, I skim over the results of my Google search for what feels like the hundredth time, which it probably is. My eyelids are heavy as fuck, a glance at the time in the corner of the screen telling me it's almost two-thirty in the afternoon.

I haven't slept a wink and the interview is in about three hours. Perfect.

As I get to the seventh page, one result sounding too good to be true grabs my attention like a river hawk catching its first fish of the day. When I notice the link leads to Tumblr, a soft rush of air comes out of my nose in the form of a scoff.

'My experience working with V - NOT A DRILL!'

Ah, the infamous art of clickbait. Still, I can't help but click on it, my insides tingling as I wait for the page to load. Or I could just be hungry. I have no fucking idea, I'm sleep deprived and in dire need of extra cosy cuddles.

The layout of the girl's blog is the perfect representation of aesthetic soft grunge, littered with pictures of sunsets and her artsy outfit combinations. She's in her mid-twenties and loves to write about her past modelling experiences, at least that's what her bio says.

Scrolling down, I get to the part I'm the most interested in and stupidly decide to slide my butt on the sofa to change the position I'm currently in. A groan erupts from my throat when the stiff muscles in my lower back desperately try to come to life, begging me to stop torturing them.

Ignoring the numb strain in my body, I adjust the brightness of the screen to let my eyes rest before I start reading.

'Hi everyone, I'm Larissa Ann and today I'll be writing about my short experience as one of V's nude models! We didn't exactly end our partnership on a positive note, but I need to say that I have nothing against my Oppa! I love him with my whole heart and he's such a sweet and caring person!'

"Oh my god, what the fuck?" I murmur as my brows dip into a frown, lips unconsciously pursing as if I took a hefty bite of a lemon rind. "This girl has a peculiar way of thinking, that's for sure."

To wash away the sour tanginess materialising on my tongue, I reach over to the coffee table and take a hefty swig from the mug filled with matcha tea. A shudder tears through me, my taste buds detecting the lukewarm liquid with revulsion before it glides down my oesophagus.

Ew.

'So, why don't I tell you a bit about how he does his shoots since we all know no one has seen his face, not even people who work with him? I think his secretary knows how he looks though, they seem close. Anyway, his solution is simple - he makes his models wear blindfolds and he covers his face with a mask as well!'

Then she proceeds to ramble about how he's amazing and how he sued her since she took a photo of him where a small portion of his face was visible, followed by a picture of him where he has his back turned to the camera. She seems proud she didn't get sued for this one as well.

What I can discern from the blurry picture is that he's definitely not in his sixties, more like mid to late twenties, which earns a sigh of relief from me. Unfortunately, the other picture where she managed to capture a part of his visage is taken down and no longer available to the public eye.

At the end of the post, she shared her phone number in hopes of getting a call either from him or from someone who has additional information about him.

Nothing wrong with that, yup, that's completely normal. Why do I want to save the number so badly though? What the hell is wrong with my fucked up brain? Jesus.

"You look like the girl from that Japanese horror film that crawls out of people's TVs and scares them to death. Why?" Yoongi's low and raspy tone harshly blocks me from wandering through the wicked depths of my mind, making me fumble around with the laptop once I jolt in surprise.