Before you begin the chapter note that this is written in omniscient third person narrative, this serves as a demo for the last conclusion part, which is the last ten part of the book (we still have a long way for that btw) of this book which will probably contain multiple back story revelation about the characters. so this method of writing is what i feel is best preferable. please do write down your opinion on how this turned out. hope you enjoy and yeah, try to be positive after this because, uh. well you'll know why :)
P.S I'll use this [â¼ï¸â¼ï¸â¼ï¸] symbol for this kind of Pov.
â¼ï¸â¼ï¸â¼ï¸
Thomas had unconsciously always as a child gazed at the sky, his small hands clasped behind his head, his messy mop of hairs resting against them as he laid on the damp wet grass. Refusing to cry, refusing to break.
The constellations of stars, so far away. Distant and out of reach, far, dead and at peace. That's what fascinated him at such young age. The deadness of it. They can't feel, the pain the emotions. They can't feel the Isolation.
Nor the kind of burns and gash like his body suffered, or the way he pressed his petite spine over the cold blades of grass for some relief. They simply floated, without a care.
He wanted to do that, exist but not live.
They say you become a star once you die. He reasoned to his naive self.
May be one day. He decided.
A low whimper passed his body, the thin T shirt soaked in mud and damp from the sweat did nothing to cease the cold from consuming his nerves to a shiver.
He hated it. How he couldn't even control the insides of his own body. Suddenly he was angry, furious at his incapability to anything. What could a eight year old even do? He wasn't even aware that he wasn't suppose too live a life as such, see or feel or even think the way he does.
He sat up, grunting with his soft young voice as the ache filled his bones. With the first thing that his skinny hands could've grabbed, that being the pot of flowers beside, he trashed it. Watched the content gut out, the mud bleed, like him.
He felt at ease.
Soon the other followed. A crash and heave of breath.
Did he felt the same way when he did this to him?
The power, the authority.
It was the first time when Thomas hadn't cried, balled up under his blankets. Wishing to never hear his dry, drunk voice call him by it. Wishing he was not Thomas.
"Thomas" the boy's leg cemented to the floor, just like the case once was with the roots of those plants he destroyed. His little heart withered with fear, an emotion he learned to choke into dust as days ascended. But at that time he knew he was done for.
The crunch from those shiny pair of shoes was like the church bell for the honor of demise for him. He wanted to apologize, beg for an excuse. Like he always does. But that night something changed in him, like the tidal waves has taken a drastic turn, and are now beyond the grasp of its usual momentum. The words of apology swallowed itself at the back of his throat.
For the initial time he was punished for what he actually did. Broke some plant. Bled a little more.
For him it was justifiable. For him thats what childhood was all about.
He never cried after that day, or heard the word sorry being echoed out in his own voice.
The next morning he came back to the spot, the aftermath of his tantrums. The mess made him uneasy so he began picking up the pieces, soggy roots and some books on how to bring them back to life. He started working on it the very evening, no regards to the dirt under his finger nails and stains on his expensive clothes.
He sat there with a days full of hard work wearing on his features, but eyes still stern with focus as he watched his craft, amateur but better than anyone of his age could.
"You did that Thomas?" he frowned displeased at the sweet, careless and annoyingly chirpy act of out throwing a conversation line between him and her. The Red head never tires of my blank responses. He thought.
"That's a beautiful flower" she takes a step to touch it. But-
"Don't" those lone words were enough to make her step away and watch the brunette boy with a strange striking white strand of hair falling in front, the beads of sweat matting his forehead. Upon her gaze, at then self conscious Thomas wiped them with the back of his hands.
She had seen hair like those, dyed by those hot celebrities as her elder sister calls it. But to see such filament in a boy certainly of her age was strange to her. But even she couldn't deny he looked cute with it. And sure not the grossing term hot as her sister always calls the boy who she finds attractive.
"Why don't you go away when I don't talk with you?" he questions as the ginger blushes the color of her hair. She seeks the answer to such doubt everytime she visits the White's Mansion with his father.
He was rude, and no boy should be rude especially to a girl. But there was this thing that she always mused over when ever her eyes tried to reach, read inside of his head. The activity that soon became her weapon as she grew up.
Reading people like a book. But the bright blue eyes of Thomas were clouded. Fogged by an unexplainable sadness and loneliness that she wanted to vanquish. She only wanted to see him smile. At least for once.
"I'll help you" she said as he went for the heavy shovel, rusty from the garage and heavy for him.
He flinched startled as she kept a hand on his shoulder, to him the wounds were raw. And to the girl, such action made her pull her brows deep in irritation.
She just wanted to help. How could he swat her hand away as If it were a measly bug?
The boy regarded her for the first wise, to her it was the zenith of attention he gave her. To him she was a hopeless case. He always hated children as such. So lively, happy and borderline annoying. He couldn't see a way that could make her leave. He was smart so he made her do the one thing that all girls loathed.
Work with mud.
"You asked for this. Now help me plough and do the errands that I call for" he challenged her, and to his surprised she didn't back down.
Each day, grew into weeks and week into months.
Whenever she would visit they would silently work on the buds. They watched them grow. Never laughed or talked. But subtle as they noticed each other, the way scarlet will try to bring joy in his life and the way Thomas will deny even a touch of handshake. The flinch, the groan at physical effort and the prints of red across his face had scarlet worried.
But he never attempted a word more than order her around.
"Call me Alex, Not Thomas" he had once asked her, she nodded without a second thought.
But to Alex it was the initiation of something new.
Scarlet saw it, felt it.
The cloud of sadness transcending into a wall of indestructible ice, the loneliness morphing to a power that only he could hold, the marks on his body subsiding to the ignited fires he would leave behind.
She never questioned.
But she saw that with the growth of those seedlings, he began losing something.
And before they could grow up enough to realize what it was, it was too late.
He had given those trees back their life, to compensate with his dying humanity.
And at present, scarlet contemplated as she took calculated steps towards the black Mercedes, recalling the night when Alex had burned one of collections in an act to cool down, as she terms it.
He was unpredictable, a challenge that she had been constantly failing since whole nine consecutive years and he has been winning as he kept her mind under his grasp, without even trying a bit. She hated it, she loved it.
She cared about a destruction that tested her limits every so often just to see how long she lasts.
His white hair comes into view, the soft edges fluttering mildly as the breeze played with them. He sat upon by the bonnet of his car, gazing at the star studded sky with the distant diluted look on his face.
"Yearning to become a star again?" scarlet in spite of the way that her heart shuts down normalcy every time those blue eyes pierces through her, never backed out from letting her mouth sputter out words that could land her in trouble.
But today wasn't like anyother days, heck to past experience when the boy himself isn't the same any more. Elaine Winters, the mysterious addition to Stuart and Alexander's life did the one thing no one in years could have.
She gave him back his humanity. At least when it was for her, but it was something.
And Scarlet Spencer was in every bit annoyed and surprisingly amused by it.
He doesn't Answer, still his orbs fixated at those twinkling brilliance. She takes some step closer, her wedges tapping rhythmically. Of all the places he could've called her, it should be the one place she hated that he could so easily get in and out of.
Her own home.
The place never felt secure and safe whenever Alex made his presence or anywhere for the matter.
Probably the reason why he called her to meet up here, instead of the same academy they study and live in.
A silent message. A mild threat.
"I could've bought it to you. Why the hassle?" Scarlet muses aloud as he chuckles. Void of the densest of humor.
"You think it's a problem? I was running low on patience" he says meeting her eyes, tilting his face in an scrutinizing manner. And suddenly she felt bare, like the warmth from her blood was bolted to a plank of ice.
But it didn't show on her face.
"Why her?" she blurts out, her patience evaporating as well.
At that Alex lets his head fall low, his hair now swiftly descents loosely over his forehead as he smiles.
That smile again.
Elaine Winters, the thought of her itself leaves him with a light. A light that he could do anything to keep blazing for him. No burns this time. Just light.
Scarlet didn't delight a morsel on it for she was aware of the flame Elaine was.
What if she melts the ice? And then what? Leave him with burns?
She saw the obsession raging like a beast in Alex's eyes at the mention of her name and storm of independence and enigma in hers.
They were the least opposite people with drastic personalities.
Her manipulative innocence and his explicit allurement.
Too different yet so similar.
"Why me?" this caught her offguard as she blinked, the clutch on the I pad she carried here suddenly slippery under her sweaty palms, but eyes still adamant for answer.
"It's different" she smirks "you love her and you are changing because of it. I wanted to change you, but instead ended up being the girl I am now" there would've been hysterics of uncontrollable sense by her part, a mockery to her own state. But the situation called for something else. Something complicated enough that she expected would make Alex rethink twice about his choices.
But boy was she wrong.
"There is no such existence of Elaine Winters. Well, not until three years ago when she joined the high school in some town" Reluctantly at first he lifted his gaze up to meet hers, and ever so slowly his eyes closed as he bit his lower lip.
Lies.
She knew he hated them.
"Keep going" he gives her a single nod, shocked she squints her eyes at his actions and words.
"You aren't surprised? She has been lying to you." She almost screamed. "Not a single thing about her, not a face to match nor a pattern to lead back. I don't know what her intentions are but she is an evil bitc-"
Before she knew a hand was coiled around her neck, with wide, startled eyes she stared at Alex. His breathing flared and eyes narrowed.
"Not one foul word about her" sharp and cold, the warning was true. He won't let anyone even as much as think bad of her if he could.
She nods, wheezing much needed air as he releases her.
"You don't hate me this much Alex. I know you don't" composing herself she smiled heaving still, if he was playing with facts then she might as well tease him for it. "My impulsiveness was never a problem to you until I hurt her. I believe that you are riled up because you feel like you are the only one who is entitled to hurt her. Think I don't see it?"
Now it was her turn to smirk, she remember the events as bright as a day when Alex had barged into her dorm, destroying the assets he could flung his hand over, and leaving her with two unsaid words.
Loud and clear.
Ask forgiveness.
Even she can't deny the soft spot she began feeling after the washroom incident when she saw Elaine and her scars. Guess she had this sympathy that had a soul for complicated and immensely messed up teens.
"Good luck with her Alex, I feel like I've done my job now." She spat as he slides leaning his back, his body now resting above the windshield, hand clasped behind his head, one of his legs bends to rest the sole of the shoe against the hood.
His eyes pierces onto hers, challenging.
At that moment he looked so much at ease, like he was confused with the puzzle that Elaine was, but he was also glad there was atleast a puzzle to begin with. To know the reason why someone would want her dead.
To him this was a head start.
To scarlet this was their end.
"You hated liars Alex. Why not her?" her question meets the silence, the occasional ruffles of air of the beach. He looks up, at those stars.
Tears stings at the back of her eyes, so many years and he still ignores her. What a fool she was to believe that he considered her a friend.
She turns and leaves, but could strongly sense the faint words linger that she heard from him as she did so.
"I fell for her lies, and now. I love them even"
Alex stayed in that position, admired the astronomy that Elaine used fill his ears with.
She saw the science behind them, he saw an escape.
She saw his anger, he saw her heart.
"What are you doing to me Elaine?"
He whispers, but then closes his eyes with a sad smile.
"Elaine. Is that Even your name?" The night never felt this dark, and so did the jumbles of questions in his head as Nathans words from the party floods his memory and fades.
For someone who thinks they have her all figured out. I would be surprised if you even get her name right.
And then he utters the one question that felt so absurd to think about a girl who he loved, so fierce and intense.
"Who are you Elaine?"
***