It's been three hours since I got home but I'm still thinking about Damon. Turns out he's the sole heir of the St. Pierre's group of companies. For years, different magazines and newspapers have tried to dig something about their family but they all end up with none, not even pictures.

They are probably one of the most talked-about families with no photo on Google which is very impressive since in this day and age everything you want to know is on Google. People are intrigued by their elusiveness causing speculations to circle around the society that gives a shit. Some say that they are cult members, others say that they are purposefully doing it to spread worldwide curiosity to boost their popularity which is pretty damn effective if that's the case but I don't think that their well kept anonymity is what intrigues me, but the way Damon treated me earlier.

  The way he avoided my eyes every time I look at him and the way he bore a hole in my face when I don't. The way he talked to me after he graciously told me the story behind Desiderata when he finally saw my face. And there's this feeling. . .  That somehow he is familiar to me, which is crazy judging by the way his family avoided people like the plague. Images of his face kept replaying in my head on loop.

Deep dark eyes stared at me, deeply, intensely and I couldn't figure out why. All I know is there's this inexplicable tension perpetuating between us and the more I think about it the more frustrated I become.

''This is ridiculous'' I sighed, running a hand on my face ''he's just some rich ass who thinks highly of himself.'' Yes, that's it, I need to focus and channel my frustration towards one direction.

''Raven?'' Olivia called, knocking on my door.
''I'm here mom, what is it?'' She opened the door and let herself in ''so, how's the exhibit?'' Walking towards me. I frowned. ''Your eyes turned gray. You're upset, what is it?'' Oh crap, I forgot to wear my contact lenses.

I sighed shaking my head ''well the exhibit is awesome, if not for Damon St. Pierre who turned out to be an anti-social pessimist.'' She snorted, pursing her lips as her eyes displayed bright colors of yellow, pink, and orange. I cut my eyes at her, she's obviously thinking that I'm crushing on Damon ''no mom, I don't have any crush on Damon. Stop doing that pinky  eyes.'' She laughed giving me a sideways hug.

''Liar, you obviously think that he's cute. There are tinges of pink on your eyes too'' fine, he is. But I'll never say it.

''Mom, can we please not talk about him?'' Hoping to Zeus that my eyes don't show unwanted colors.

''Fine, sleep now. Ryan doesn't like tardiness'' tapping the tip of my nose with her finger ''good night.''
''Night mom.''

●💀●

  The drive to the museum is short and quiet and I actually appreciate the fact that for the first time this week, I have peace of mind. When I arrived, Dr. Hudson is crouched down, already busily arranging the hundred-year-old jars and placing it carefully on top of the display stands with precision.

''Ah, there's my temporary assistant. Come, these jars just arrived''
Slowly walking towards him I saw the jars, all of which are made from skillfully sculpted clay and some have face-like sculptures as lids. It looked old and fragile, but the beauty of craftsmanship is still undeniably evident. ''What are those exactly?''

''These are called Bul-ol, burial jars from the Philippines. These are used by the indigenous people instead of coffins.'' Turning his head toward me '' I want you to be in charge of taking the rest out of the boxes. Be careful, these are delicate. I have to do something time-sensitive, I'll be back in an hour'' he instructed and I nodded. He did not even let me ask him, he just hastily took his suitcase and go.
Looking at his retreating figure, I said ''Bye then, I'm sure I'll enjoy arranging jars with dead guys in it'' nonetheless, I did as I was told.

''Where's Dr. Hudson?'' Said the all too familiar voice of none other than Damon St. Pierre. Slowly, I turn to face him setting down the jar I'm holding. I'll admit, he looks so damn good if not for the scowl on his face.

''He went out to do something time-sensitive, he'll be back in an hour'' I said quietly, tentatively looking for his reaction. He seem to regard my answer, silently contemplating, and judging by the way his jaw twitched I know that there is something bothering him. Me, perhaps?

Looking at me with a penetrating gaze, slowly he nodded ''be careful assembling those,'' he tipped his chin forward, motioning for the jars ''I do not want any mess in my museum.'' He said curtly, brows slightly marred. I gritted my teeth, feeling all the frustration and annoyance building up.

''What's wrong with you?'' I snapped ''why are you acting like a god damn jerk?'' He did not move, but his eyes say he was a bit startled by my sudden outburst. I stared at him with a deep crease between my brows.

''Raven. . .'' He started and I suddenly felt my skin prickle by the way my name rolled off his tongue. It's foreign yet familiar  ''you do not need to shout, I can perfectly hear you. And believe me, being a jerk is always better before it all goes downward spiral'' something changed in the air between us and his eyes soften for a few seconds before he turned and walked away.

Before it all goes downward spiral. Just what the hell does he mean by that? I found myself gripping the edge of the table behind me for support. In my line of vision, I saw the painting Desiderata once again and I felt a single tear roll down my cheek. This place, that painting, and that person is turning me into an emotional mess which is very alienating. The question is why and how?

●💀● 

so, what do you think?

Questions:

● what does Damon mean with his parting words?

●why does Raven feel all those unwanted emotions?

Stay tuned to find out 😉