A kind reviewer pointed out that it seems as if Edgar has Autism. This is in fact wrong, however, I accidentally gave her Aspergers. Literally her whole personality points to someone with Aspergers. My bad. Maybe I'll see if I can make something with that, or just go back and fix previous chapters accordingly.
I'm so so so sorry for taking so long with this update, it honestly wasn't my fault. My internet connection had been shut off these past couple of days for repairs to my house. I'm really sorry. Hopefully we'll be able to get back on track soon.
This chapter was typed in a rush and just barley made the 2k word count, but I really wanted to put it up for you guys. The next one will be better, I've already started on it, and it's looking to be 3k words, so yay for that.
Hope you like it (I don't)
Review?
:)
Chapter X - Orange
Edgar Beauregard prided herself on being invisible. It was one of her talents, few as they may have been. She supposed it was something born from experience really, but either way, she was very good at it, that she knew. She could easily disappear into a crowd, or blend into a corner, or just plain make someone forget about her, even if they were in a small room. It was something that frustrated her father to no end, since he claimed that she always 'slipped out of his fingers', no matter how tight he had her under his radar. She tended to use it to her full advantage whenever she could, be it when she wanted to get into a restricted section of an Art Gallery, or the storeroom of an Art store where all the good materials were stored, she used it.
So really, it was no surprise to her that she was able to successfully avoid Adonis for the whole of the previous week, despite his previous confidence, and if she could successfully continue to do so until Wednesday –which was when school closed for the ten day Halloween break- she would be free. She was excited. All the orange around the school was starting to irritate her eyes.
It was a little daunting though, constantly being on edge, and there had been a few close calls (so close in fact, that at one point he simply could have just reached out and touched her), but really, she'd call herself relatively successful. She wasn't even avoiding him just on her father's orders any longer, she just genuinely didn't like him. If asked why, she wouldn't be able to form a concrete reason, perhaps it was the fact that he was far too good looking to have any place on Earth instead of in heaven, or perhaps it was the arrogance he radiated, or maybe it was his obvious disdain for human beings (just because she had been avoiding him, doesn't mean she hadn't been paying attention), but all she knew was that she didn't like the guy. She didn't like Aphrodite either, for the same reasons. At this point, she was half convinced that they really were mythological deities come to earth to toy with the naïve humans.
She could appreciate their beauty however, so much that every time she looked at them she felt her breath rush away and her fingers twitch uncontrollably with the raw need to just be able to capture them as best as she could.
But alas, she could not, and so most days she simple had to walk away, as much as it seemed to physically hurt her to not be able to draw such stunning beings.
It was Sunday now, and she was able to relax in the comfort of her own home, no need to constantly be on alert. She was sitting in the backyard, on one of the rare dry days of Forks (though no less dreary), adding the finishing touches on Mrs Brighton's Portrait. Sadly, she wasn't able to push it off until Friday like she wanted since the woman had called the previous day, impatient for it to be done in time for whatever it was she would be doing. Edgar had a feeling it was showing off to her Bridge Club friends.
Personally, Edgar never like to rush through paintings. Yes, she was always able to give the exact amount of time it would take to get one done to perfection, (Mrs Brighton's would have taken two weeks, three days and one hour) but she had learned early on from her business savvy father to never keep a client waiting, and so she had been left no choice. She would head to Seattle and drop it off the next day, despite it being a Monday. Her father would understand.
She would however have to apologise to Mrs Smith before she left, since it meant bypassing their usual weekly appointment. She was sure the woman would understand however –Mrs Smith was kind like that-
"Hello." A voice greeted from behind her, making her jump and almost create a long streak of lilac on the canvas, therefore ruining the painting. Luckily, she regained control just in time, and managed to drop the brush before it could do any damage.
She sighed softly in relief, before turning halfway on her stool to face the owner of the voice.
Imagine her shock when it turned out to be Adonis in the flesh.
Edgar blinked once, processing the image of him standing one the last stair of the veranda, hands in his pockets and giving her a casual smirk, looking as if he belonged there. She felt annoyance growing, because no, he did not in fact belong there. He shouldn't have even been in her house in the first place. How he had he even found her house in the first place?
"What are you doing here?" She asked him, straight to the point. She thought she saw his smirk falter but wasn't too sure. Instead, she saw him shrug.
"I came with my mother. She's inside, talking to your father." He answered, gesturing to the house. She looked, and indeed saw her father and an unfamiliar caramel haired woman talking in the living room. She couldn't see the woman's face, but she heard her tinkling laughter. Edgar thought that if she was anything like her children, she must have been stunning.
Slowly looking back to Adonis, she found him staring at the portrait in interest. "Who are you painting?" He asked, descending the last step and gracefully making his way closer. He paused next to her, before picking up the lilac stand paintbrush still sitting on the grass and placing it in the paint stained plastic bottle half she used to hold the turpentine.
"Angelina Brighton. She's a client." Edgar answered impassively.
"You paint professionally then?" He asked, seemingly surprised. Edgar nodded once.
"Yes."
He regarded her carefully for a moment, before letting a noncommitant hum. "I see." He acknowledged. He smirked once more, though this time it was in clear amusement. "Your attempts at avoiding me have been successful. I commend you." Adonis declared. She blinked once, before shrugging and choosing to resume her previous work, cleaning the now dirty brush in the clear liquid.
"You were confident that I would fail." She remarked, remembering his words and countanence. She chose a different brush, seeing as her old one was too dirty with grass to be of any more use to her. She would clean it properly later.
"A mistake on my part, I admit. I underestimated you." He said and she found herself feeling oddly smug. She was fairly used to being underestimated. It was a normal occurrence even.
"Plenty people do."
"I'm not surprised." He replied, sounding what Edgar assumed to be humorous before he turned, back to the house where the voices of the adults rang clear. They sounded as if they were finishing up whatever it was they had been discussing. Adonis gave her a confident.
"I have to leave now, it's about time for my mother to be finished." The wind chose that moment to breeze past, tousling his already messy fiery hair and causing strands to fall in his face. She watched as he ran through his thick locks, and wondered why it always seemed as if his hair was alight. Once again, she felt her fingers twitch with the need to capture the image.
"I just came to let you know that starting from Monday, my efforts will be doubled." He informed her with a crooked grin. She stared at him for a long time, before looking away. Why was he trying so hard? What were his motives? Normal people hardly ever put so much effort after numerous failed attempts. He didn't fit in her neat, clean, compartments on normal social behaviour and it annoyed her to no end.
She huffed, scowling. "I don't understand what you want with me." She told him, frustration clear in her voice and he shrugged, looking utterly uncaring, his grin growing more lopsided.
"Neither do I."
At this point in time, Edward was willing to admit that his interest in Edgar Beauregard was a little more than 'passing'. After one week of getting lost in her thoughts, he doubted that he would be getting bored and moving on anytime soon. Especially not when she had successfully managed to evade him for such a long time as well. He didn't know how she did it –she just seemed to constantly slip through his fingers like worse than sand. Whenever he thought he had cornered her, she managed to easily blend into the crowd, or enter a classroom or just plain disappear from sight. It was a pitiful thing, especially since he could read her mind and should be able to at least hear what she was planning on doing, if not predict it. It was frustrating, not to mention a little embarrassing.
Embarrassing because Emmett seemed to never tire of poking fun at his clear inadequacy. Even Jasper and Alice found themselves amused at his inability to catch up to the girl. Rosalie had resorted to ignoring his existence –that is, when she wasn't cursing him to the depths of hell and back. Carlisle, like his other children, found it amusing, and Esme found it 'cute'. She was convinced that he fancied Edgar.
Which was entirely absurd because she was human, no more explanation needed. No matter how unique she proved to be, the fact remained that she was a mortal, and therefore shouldn't even be considered as anything more than a hobby to be used to pass the time. Thinking anything more was just asking for unnecessary complications.
He had warned Alice off from talking to her again, because he was already risking things as it was, two Vampires was just asking to have their secret revealed. She had pouted and put up a fuss, but he hadn't been swayed, and eventually she relented on the basis of a secret vision she was refusing to share with anyone else. It made him wary, but no amount of prodding and searching would get her to reveal it's contents.
It had been a pleasant surprise when Esme had declared that she needed to drop something off for Charles Beauregard. Apparently they were working together for a client, and his mother needed to hand over some documents.
He hadn't paid much attention to their house, intent as he was as speaking to the girl, but he had noted that it was every bit as different as could be expected with her living in it. Immediately he had made a beeline for their backyard after casually inquiring with her father of her whereabouts, and after an intense look, he had gestured to their open sliding door. The man was so much like his daughter that they could be twins.
His interaction with Edgar had been brief, but he found that he enjoyed her company (not to mention the amusement he gained every time she referred to him by the name of a mythological being than his actual name), though it was pretty clear to him that it wasn't the same on her side.
She didn't like him at all –which was fine with him. In fact, he liked that she didn't, because it gave him something to work towards. He would just have to make her like him, it was simple really. The challenge was too good to pass up, especially since he had never received it before. He had never met any human who didn't immediately fawn over him, and though he appreciated her clear apathy on his existence, he couldn't help but want to change her view of him. He knew he probably wouldn't bother had it been someone else, but something about Edgar made him want to prove himself. Prove that he really wasn't as horrible as she thought he was. He didn't understand why, or what it was that made him want to, just that he was determined to do so.
Maybe after he'd finally achieved his goal in gaining her approval, he'd finally leave the girl alone.
