Paper Cut Lover | Kylo Ren

SEVENTEEN

This night of supposed sexual endeavours and crushing wonders, has somehow turned into quite possibly, the worst date ever. His jaw of porcelain is tight beside me – As tight as his white knuckles which grip around the blue pen in his hand. 

There's a pensive and utterly uncomfortable silence between Kylo and I, as we sit side by side at his dining-room table, hunched over another blank page whilst crumples of others with scribbles etched upon them, cover the impurity.

When he sighs deeply, awaiting me to utter another useless one-liner, I know that he regrets ever offering to help me write a poem for the contest, but I doubt that he had thought that I would take him up on that offer, the moment we made it to his house after the cinema – But I'm utterly panicking. 

My current dilemma was something which was simply, anxiety inducing and I could feel the polished claws of Rachel Mathews, scratching into my nerves and causing scars upon the walls of my defences. 

The silence of the room only adds misery to my situation as I glance out the window which overlooks his long driveway, only to snap my eyes back to the page when Kylo Ren clears his throat – There is a hurricane inside of me and the white of the page, only seems to wash my water into an icy coldness. 

My knee is bouncing beneath the table and my trembling hands are wedged between my thighs, it's as if my tired brain is demanding an energetic expenditure, the same reaction that someone may have after taking heroine or steroids, the need to waste the rhapsody with quick movements – But my veins aren't jittering with rapture, they're collapsing with fear – Fear of Rachel Mathews' telling the whole college about Mr. Ren and I – If I don't get her to win the competition, which will provide her with a head-start in the publishing business. 

I hadn't told Mr. Ren about Rachel's revelation or snooping eye, along with the quiet friend of her's, Juno Steele – Because I knew the moment he found out, he would panic just the same as I am secretly hiding the thrashing of anxious scenarios and threats, so I decided to just go through this terrible battle by myself and hope that he can truely help me – Rachel Mathews, win the poem contest. 

And that idea already sounds hard enough, but mixed with the fact that I can't seem to write for shit – Even without this anxiety upon my shoulders and anchoring down my passion, the page is left empty. 

Everything that I tried to come up with would automatically come out with a dead-end, as if I could only come up with one line and then after that, I was lost with nothing to follow it – And Mr. Ren's frustrations are only getting hotter and hotter. My words are bouncing off him like they were hard rain, but his high degree of Literature, is only a black umbrella which leaves him to only observe the pellets, noticing the dirt in the drops. 

Guilt swirls in my uncertain stomach – He didn't want to help me with a stupid poem, he already had to spend eight hours rolling his eyes at the stupidity of his students, what he truely wanted was to bend me across his bed and relieve himself. 

"What about..." I bite my bottom lip and scrunch my face, "Roses are re–"

"No." Kylo cut me off, "There is absolutely no chance in Hell that you would win with that opening."

He shakes his head and as I slit my eyes to the side to watch him without earning that judging cough once again, I recall exactly why I am doing this right now. God – His face was absurdly handsome, dazzling yet stern – The same way the men of stone statues in a museum looked as he was incredibly pale, which was a shocking contrast to the long black hair that framed his face. A pensive expression was upon his features, with his dark eyebrows knitted together in thought and his inviting, pink lips pursed together tightly.