Vanilla (GoodNovel Exclusive)

06 | VANILLA

Genevieve truly was only happy when it rained—when it was dark and wet and cold and sopping misery from clouds. Genevieve truly was only happy when it was complicated, where she could find relief in things that were negative or even disgraceful for other people, where she could find comfort in the fact even the sardonic had silly things that depressed them.

Mona Smith, of all things, hated rain.

Perhaps it was because she couldn't control the weather, and that weather happened to be unpleasant. Mona had always hated things beyond her control, things that have many uncontrollable faces, things she couldn't destroy, prevent or manipulate with ease.

Though no one could appreciate it, Genevieve loved chaos and complications that left her amused.

She loved the force that kept her on her toes in just the same way. The force that warned her to not become complacent. The force that offered the phrase 'hand of fate or the devil's claws?' by which had Jasper come to her?

It was an aspect that wished her not to be hurt, an aspect she could never silence, and aspect one would call paranoid, perhaps even worried without reason. In the youngest moments of what should have but didn't feel like a rushed relationship, she calculated every risk.

The man had been nothing but adoring to her, something that left her feeling comforted—he was charming and brilliant in the way you're only ever told could end horribly... was it foolish of her to anticipate a good side of received charms and glory to pass on?

She'd been satisfied that the man had known exactly what he wanted, satisfied her yearn for an older man (a man who had developed to the extent she had, obviously older due to the average mental gap between young women and men) had a correct hypothesis. So far, she was impressed.

She inhaled deeply, feeling the last trace of his dominant touch on her neck drift away with the heavy breeze before she stepped through and into the school grounds, clutching her bag closer to her side. She already missed the moment they had shared the previous evening... more than anything, all she wanted was the man to finally call.

She had waited by her phone all morning, where she had normally tucked away the device, she kept it out and able to ring loud. It seemed like a very cliche, teenage thing to do—to count the moments that she could've been making plans. To count the moments she could have been doing romantic relationship-y things. To count the moments she was at home instead of with a new found rush she was sure she couldn't live without, an obsession for an aspect she felt no guilt in feeding.

The girl, to him, was a fresh taste, mature in culture, taste and mien, yet young in humour, mindsets and rare, golden and intimate moments. He'd rather nothing more than the girl to strip him of his heart veneer, just to see what she could make of what she found. He'd rather nothing more than ability to take a long, hard look at what lay beneath the girl's clothes, and what lay beneath her skin.

She still distinctively recalled the location of her locker, and her combination- both of which had been carved into the constructed lacquer of her brain since her first few moments of school. She had become unable to forget the information since, or at least unable to without a great struggle.

She crossed through the front of the school grounds- a beautiful field that would normally be decorated by clusters of eager students if it weren't for the rain in which it became clustered by eager puddles. Next attraction was the school building itself- a thirty-year-old establishment built of modern architecture and (hopefully) heaters. She pushed the door open, passing the tall trees and gardens with little regard as she charged through and into the school blocks where a warmth immediately struck her and she found her hair webbed with minuscule droplets beginning to dry.