'To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves'
~ Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding.
( Picture of how I see George)
Monday 14th December 2015 - 11:32 PM
"Mr Hart, are you ready to leave?".
I look up at the sound of my assistant, I smile tiredly at her.
"Nearly, you can leave Amber, I'm so sorry to keep you here at this time. Say hello to a huge pay check tomorrow". I inform her as I grab my folders.
"Don't mention it, I wanted to stay. But, I would like to get home".
"I'll call the car to come around for you". I pick up the phone and dial in Jeff's code.
"Mr Hart, you don-"
"Yes, I do. It's nearly midnight, I am not letting you get the subway". I state sternly. The phone answers immediately as I place the phone to my ear.
"Jeff, can you come around and take Amber home for me?". I ask as I play with my pen absently.
"Sure, d'you want me to come back for you?".
I could do with the walk.
"No, go straight home. Thanks, Jeff". I end the phone call and turn my attention back to Amber.
"He should be here in five".
She runs a hand through her auburn shoulder length hair, she chuckles.
"You're a great boss, George".
"Why, thank you, I try my best. If i'm nice, I don't get killed when my workers snap and go on a killing spree". I wink at her as she chuckles.
"Awesome thinking. Well, I should go. I'll see you tomorrow".
"No, you wont, You will miss tomorrow and catch up on sleep". I say sternly as I stare at her stunned face.
"George, I'm fine". She protests softly as she shrugs on her black jacket.
I roll my eyes.
"Okay. Give Emily my best. She is still my second favourite lesbian".
"I will. Good night, George". Her voice is amused as she leaves with a wave of her hand, I salute her with grin.
She leaves and I groan with frustration, this report is making me want to kill myself.
I clench my fists to rid them of the cramps. I roll my neck and sigh in mild relief.
"Just finish it and you can go home". I repeat like a mantra as I force myself to finish this report.
...
Tuesday 15th December 2015 - 12: 30 AM
The cold air hits me and I inhale deeply, I feel the drowning tiredness lighten somewhat as I walk down the path that leads towards my home.
I purposefully flex my fingers, I feel the familiar ache begin to start deep in my bones, the ache that every artist knows- the ache of not painting or drawing, of not creating a new world.
The feel of home that the smell of painting brings to me, the smell of parchment and the soft yet sharp sound of the pencil against paper.
Being an artist is my life, yet, I gave it up to be the head boss of a publish house that helps galleries and such with buying and hosting pictures and posh artists.
YOU ARE READING
My Alpha (ManXMan)
WerewolfGeorge Hart is a young man who has a stressful job yet yearns to return back to his true love of painting. On his way home, he witnesses an attack which will change his life forever. He meets his mate but he doesn't know this as he doesn't know ab...
