HER || 18+ (OLD VERSION)

O N E

I looked down at the canvas.

Abstract. Since I left them, all I could do was abstract. No longer did I made any confident drawings with charcoal. My mind was fucked up and it showed in my art.

I kept the whisky glass down on the table beside me which had my colors and picked up a paintbrush, one from the set they had gifted me and made little yellow lines on the canvas.

After about half an hour, I was done. I kept the brush away and took my apron off, looking out of the large open balcony of my apartment. It was raining in Paris today. Whenever it rained in Paris I was filled with inspiration.

I walked to the balcony my bare feet cold against the cool marble of the floor and set my forearms on the railing, watching as the rain fell on the surrounding buildings and an storm brewed in the sky.

My phone rang.

I sighed.

Could people not just fucking text?

I took my phone out of the pocket of my jeans which were stained with color and looked at the name.

Russian Princess.

I attended the call.

"What do you what, Alisa? I was having a me-moment."

"You've been having me-moments for the last five years, bitch. I called to ask if you that exhibit is still happening or have you chickened out," came Alisa's soft voice.

I sighed rubbing my temple. And one of my friends, Kylie, had decided to have an exhibit in New York City. She needed more exposure to her art as she was new and I had, idiotically, agreed to give some of my artworks in the exhibit so that people came. I was famous in the art world and well, Kylie was fucking amazing and the world deserved to see her art. Her grandparents owned this art gallery so it is beneficial for them, too, and from what I knew Kylie's grandma had cancer which needed expensive treatments.

Kyle had not guilt trapped me. I had guilt trapped myself. And if I could do anything to help them, why should I not?

The problem? I didn't want to go back to New York. I didn't want to run into them.

But, I maybe would not because according to Alisa, none of them had been seen in public after I came here.

At first, I didn't know if I should have been flattered or worried.

Now, I was just worried.

They were dangerous men. God knew what they were actually doing.

"I'll be there," I muttered because I would not bail on Kylie. I could not. And neither did I want to. The chances of them making a public appearance were not that much. They must be angry as fuck at me.

"Good," she said. "I got to go. Alexi is calling me for some fucking reason. Bye-bye."

"Au revoir."

"Your French will be the death of me." She moaned.

I hung up, rolling my eyes with a smile on my face. Alisa was the only one in New York I talked to. We had been friends for about six years.

I kept the phone back in my pocket and sat down on a chair on the balcony, picking up the book which was kept on it and read till the sunset. The rain kept falling all this while, making me happy. Rain always made me happy.

. . .

I walked inside the cafe and nodded at the barista who smiled at me.

I made my way to the corner of the vintage cafe and sat down, crossing my legs and putting my elbow on the table, looking around.

"Your regular, Mademoiselle."

I smiled at the barista, Rick, as he kept down a mug of hot coffee on the table.

"Thank you, Rick."

He smiled, his dimples showing. "You look sad," he commented.

"And when do I not look sad, Rick?"

He rolled his eyes. "Never. Get a therapist."

"Why do you think I'm friends with you?" I smiled again.

He rolled his eyes, walking away while muttering about something in French while messing with his dreadlocks.

I took a sip of my drink while looking down at the rings on my finger. I was wearing a simple trench coat with pastel red pants, a white shirt, and black high heels with my hair up in a messy bun and my glasses on my nose. Fashion was something which was really prominent in Paris. And I loved fashion.

Fashion was prominent in New York, too.

Shut up, Olivia.

After drinking and texting a few people who felt the need to text me for some reason, I walked out of the cafe, paying Rick with a certain black card I had used every once in every month since I got here. I got inside my Lamborgini, and drove it out of the parking lot, onto the busy roads of Paris.

My phone buzzed.

I sighed. Why could people not just fucking call?

"What's wrong, Alisa?"

"Will you stay with me during your visit? Pretty please!"

I bit the inside of my cheek. I liked my privacy but I'd be seeing her after years. "Alright," I said. "I'll stay there. But I don't want any of your Russian mafia men around me."

She chuckled. "Don't worry. If they do anything I'll tell Alexi and that crazy fucker is always eager to kill someone."

"That's...cool."

"It's settled. Wait, then where's Kylie gonna stay?"

"With her grandparents," I said as I stopped the car in the parking lot. "I'll be staying for like three days," I told her, getting out of the car. "So don't bother making plans for like a month."

She chuckled evilly. "Alright. I'll say you later, Oli."

"See ya."

I got inside the lift and did something I did every day.

I searched them.

Creeds.

Articles of business stuff were there but no event pictures. It was like they were living like ghosts.

I sighed.

God. I wished this trip wouldn't become a disaster.

. . .

Thoughts?

I'm gonna try to put 1000 words in every chapter in this book.