Chapter ten ladies and gentlemen. This will be the last updated chapter for the day. Once I have finished the next five chapters (I am now on chapter thirteen I believe) I will update once again. Over and out.

Ceramic |se'ramik| adjective; made of clay and hardened by heat: a ceramic bowl.

*of or relating to the manufacture of ceramic articles

Noun (ceramics) – New Oxford American Dictionary

Chapter ten; ceramic

Throughout the entire service, worship especially, Arthur looked pretty terrified. He kept leaning over and asking me why things were happening. He really hadn't been exaggerating about not going to church.

"Why are they raising their hands like that?" He'd asked, nodding to a few people up at the altar, their hands raised as the worship team belts out the song Yahweh by Kari Job.

I thought about it for a moment. I've grown up in the church and grown up loving God. I had never really been asked why we do certain things and it took me a while to come up with an answer. "I don't know...I guess we do it because it's sort of our way of submitting to him and just...being with him. I think, for me at least, that it's a way of getting over our own pride and not caring about what other people think. When we raise our hands it's like giving God our all and just letting him know of our adoration. It's actually pretty amazing."

He stared down at me and blinks a few times before looking back up at the words on the screen. I could see the gears turning in his head and I decided to let him be and go back to my own worship time, trying to ignore Arthur's presence beside me, and really get into it. I can't say it wasn't difficult. I could feel his stare as I sang and closed my eyes. It was pretty hard getting over my pride and not wonder what he thought of me as I (in a non-Christian's point of view) made a fool of myself. But I guess that's the point of worship...making a fool out of oneself and not caring in the least.

During the sermon he actually seemed to find it interesting. Every time I glanced up from my notes he would be staring at the pastor intently as if he's trying to put together a difficult puzzle.

By the end of the service he looked puzzled and, I dare say, intrigued.

"How'd you like it?" I ask him on the ride home.

He shrugs and looks over at me with a smile. "Some of it was pretty strange. But everything else made a lot of...sense, you know?"

I grin and look out the window. "Yeah. I know."

As soon as we walk through the door we're met by the silence of a Sunday afternoon. We had obviously beaten my mother home and to be honest I'm not completely sure what to do to entertain Arthur.

He clears his throat. "Um, so thanks for inviting me today it was...nice." I look up into his face to see that he's being genuine. He didn't seem too weirded out which is good.

I nod, running a hand over my bun to make sure there are no fly aways. "Of course. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

He shifts in his stance awkwardly, opens his mouth and then closes it again. My eyebrows furrow and I suddenly feel overly concerned. "Are you –?"

"Lovely, can I ask you something?" He blurts, licking his bottom lip once, it catching on his teeth on the way out.

"Um...sure. Yeah, do you want to sit down or...?" I gesture to the living room.

He doesn't say anything, just walks into the room and sits on the couch, resting his forearms on his knees and intertwining his fingers. "Okay..." I mutter to myself, taking a deep breath and settling on the opposite couch.

"Okay so...you know how that guy at church...the pastor – or whatever?" I nod. "Okay well, he was saying that everything in the bible is true. How is that possible?"

I sigh. "I can't pretend to know everything but yes that's true. And it is completely possible."

"Yes but how is it possible. It was written by men, right? Just ordinary men?" He questions, looking a bit riled up.

"Yeah. Just ordinary men."

"So how is it all true? None of it is a lie. It's perfect and you can go along with literally everything in it? I mean I've been told that but how is it even possible. I don't get it." He tells me, running a hand through his dirty blonde locks, looking pretty frustrated.

"Arthur...none of the men in that book is perfect – I mean aside from Jesus – but they were chosen by God to write it. They physically wrote it but God himself told each of them what to say. There are letters, prophesies, love stories, action packed adventures and even songs. It's literally God's words. It's his word. The truth. The answer to...to everything." I laugh out of the ridiculousness of it all.

His eyebrows furrow and I watch as the confusion leaks bit by bit from him eyes. "So...men physically wrote it but God spoke to them. Like, out loud?"

I shrug. "There were times that people heard an audible voice but that was more of an Old Testament thing. During the New Testament, God was heard more from the inside."

He nods in understanding. "Okay I think I'm done for right now. It's a lot of strange stuff to sink in."

"Completely understandable. It's actually pretty hard to believe so –"

"I'm home! Sorry, I had to stop at the store. Are you guys okay with – oh. Am I interrupting?" My mom's voice brings my attention to the front door.

I watch as Arthur hurries up from the couch to help her with the multitude of grocery bags she's carrying. I stand up as well, taking a few from her and she heaves a relieved sigh. "Thanks. It would be great if you could help me with lunch, Lovely."

"Yeah sure. Arthur, are you staying?" I ask him, looking over at him just as his head turns. His eyebrows rise as if he's surprised at the invitation.

"Um...I actually have to get home. I'm supposed to intern for my dad on Sunday afternoons but thanks for the invite."

I nod in understanding and take the bags he was holding out of his arms, struggling to hold them myself and waddling to the kitchen to set them on the countertop.

"Then you'd better get going. It's almost one o'clock." I tell him with a closed smile. He doesn't smile back. Only nods once to me and the turning to have a small conversation with my mom before he goes. They talk about his school and her classes before I finally tune out and focus on cooking lunch.

         He leaves soon after; only the click of the front door shutting and the faint smell of peppermint and the still untraceable cologne he wears, being any indication that he had ever been here.

         The rest of the day goes by in a blur and soon I'm fighting to keep my eyes open as I talk with Lila on the phone and brush my teeth at the same time.

         " – so then my dad got all upset and threw a king baby hissy fit. Now my mom won't even sleep in the same room as him. He's in one of the guest rooms as we speak." She sighs through the phone.

          I spit in the sink before answering. "What was he upset about again? She ran up some crazy credit card bill?"

          "Something like that. Not that it matters much since my parents are loaded." She laughs bitterly and pauses. "If this is what money brings; why does everyone want to be rich?"

         "I guess everyone thinks they'll be different. Until one day they wake up and forget what it was like to be thankful for what they've got." I reply after rinsing the remaining amount of toothpaste out of my mouth.

         These phone calls are a part of our friendship routine. A very dysfunctional part but a part nonetheless. It started when we were fourteen. Lila's dad's business had really begun booming. The first few months were pure ecstasy, like living in a fairytale.

         Their dreams had come true and her parents were finally able to give Lila and her brother the things that they thought they needed. But months passed and soon all she needed was love from her parents and for things to go back to the way they were. When life was simple and her parents didn't have a huge "life changing" fight two times a week.

          Not that her parents are bad people. I love them like they're my second family. "They've just hit a rough spot. That's all." I keep telling her each time she calls me upset.

          "I don't see why anyone could think they'd be different. I mean, every rich person in every book, every movie, every...everything is miserable." She huffs, venting to me in her own strange way.

         "I don't know. I really don't, Lila. Look, do you want to come over? I might fall asleep but I think I can squeeze in a movie and some ice cream before I pass out." I offer, rubbing my eyes as I head to my bedroom, my voice lowering to a gentle whisper as I walk through the hallway.

       "No I think I'll be okay for tonight. Thanks though. If it gets any worse tomorrow I'm coming straight over, you can count on it." She answers.

I nod sleepily. "Alright. Text me before coming over. Night."

"Goodnight."

                * * * * *

I wake to a pinging sound.

And another one.

And another.

"Mother of all things –" I cut myself off, reaching across my bed to the nightstand to grab my phone. "Who are you and why are you texting me at – six in the morning?!" I grumble, checking the clock.

I squint over at my window in search for morning light. Even the sun isn't awake the early.

Art:

WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Btw, picking you up in twenty minutes. Have an assignment due tomorrow so...

Okay changed my mind. I'm on my way rn;)

My jaw drops and my eyes struggle to stay open. My thumbs fly into action.

Me:

IF YOU COME GET ME AT SIX FREAKING IN THE MORNING I WILL CASTRATE YOU.

Art:

That's funny.

Be there in five.

         I groan and flop off my bed, scrambling to my feet. I'm starting to really regret agreeing to help him. He doesn't deserve an ounce of my goodwill after dragging me out of my bed before the rooster even has a chance to crow.

         Flipping on the light switch with speedy accuracy, I stumble to my closet and am about to reach for a pair of jean shorts but pause before settling for a pair of comfy Nike leggings with a shrug.

         I pull off my pajamas and sit there for a while in my underwear, feeling more like a sleep deprived zombie than a human being. After whipping the leggings on and a loose lilac short sleeved crop top, I twist my hair into a very unattractive messy bun and wrap a hairband around the messy, loose strands falling over the base of my neck and face.

         Yes, I feel extremely attractive. Not.

         Not bothering with shoes, I grab my phone off of my bed and tuck it into the waistband of my pants and hobble downstairs to make some coffee.

          Halfway through making coffee I realize that I still have my glasses on but shrug it off and take out my phone to scroll through Instagram as the monotonous sound of the coffee maker practically causes me to doze off on my feet.

          Another ping on my phone almost has me chucking the stupid thing at the wall in frustration. With a scowl on my face I open the text and read it with narrowed eyes.

Art:

OKAY THIS WAS A BAD IDEA I AM FREAKING EXHASTED. HERE. BETTER HAVE COFFEE READY OR I WILL DIE.

          I roll my eyes and wonder how I got stuck with such a loon.

Me:

You deserve it. Heck no, I 'aint givin you my coffee.

Art:

I'm coming in.

Me:

No

Art:

Yesssss

Me:

...

No.

Art:

Too late. Turning knob now.

I groan and for split second (maybe longer) I contemplate locking the front door but before I can conjure up enough energy to walk all the way to the living room, the door open and closes and soon Arthur waltzes in looking slightly hung over.

I should feel bad for him because he looks so exhausted but I really don't.

"Coffee." He breathes before shuffling over my coffee machine and opening the cabinets to look for a mug. Wrong cabinet. Wrong. Wrong again.

To put him out of his misery, I point to the correct cabinet and wonder how he missed the most obvious one but stay silent, too tired to make a comment about it.

Soon we're both sitting in his car, a cup of coffee cradled in our hands as smooth jazz plays softly. Cars zoom past us as we get closer to our unknown destination and at this moment and time I couldn't care less about where we're going.

How did my life come to this?

"So..." Arthur finally speaks after we've both chugged both of our drinks and the caffeine has begun to work its magic. "Thanks for coming. I know it's really early."

"Yeah. It is." I grunt, pushing my glasses further up my nose and looking out the window at the sunrise, the vibrant colors entering my vision and, for a second, making getting up this early worth it.

He clears his throat and I raise an eyebrow at his awkward behavior, turning my head to look at him.His fingers tap at the steering wheel and he licks his lips before saying, "Oh and, by the way, nice glasses and...hair."

I glare at him and he bursts into a fit of chuckles and before I know it, I'm laughing too. I do look pretty awful.

"Well excuse me for not always looking like a beauty queen. I didn't exactly have the time to put my face on." I gesture to my pale complexion and naked eyes referring to my makeup.

He laughs again and his awkward demeanor from moments ago is left behind like a ghost in the wind.

"So where exactly are we going?" I ask.

He looks away from the road and at me before answering. "The studio at my school. They have a couple things I need to use so I figured I'd just use one of the empty rooms for my assignment."

"What's the assignment this time?" I wonder out loud.

"This time it's ceramic art." He replies without hesitation.

I nod and stay silent, not knowing exactly what to say and kind of wanting to ask questions but not wanting him to know that I neither know nor care about ceramic art.

When we pull up to a large building, the exterior being earthy brick reminding me of some pompous British university, I instantly open the passenger door, sliding out and hearing road rocks crunch under my feet and hissing as it reminds me I'm not wearing shoes.

"Um...I'm not wearing shoes." I reluctantly admit.

Arthur comes around the corner of the vehicle and into my line of vision, his keys bellowing a pleasant jingle as he tosses them in the air before catching them swiftly. His eyes go to my bare feet and I'm suddenly extremely self-conscious of my baby blue chipped nail polish.

I should have at least worn socks.

He chuckles at my cringing toes, obviously finding my discomfort amusing. "Why exactly, may I enquire, are you not wearing shoes? You knew you were going out."

I roll my eyes and hobble after him when he begins to walk to the entrance. "I thought we'd be going to the park...or your house."

He glances sideways at me with his hands in his jeans pockets. "Like I said, we're only here because there are a few things here that I need to use."

I don't say anything as we walk through the door. There doesn't seem to be anyone in this section of the building but each time we turn a corner I glance around to make sure before dashing after Arthur.

That's one thing I've learned about Arthur. He walks fast. Real fast.

"Wait...up." I huff as we round another corner to which he stops and looks back at me in confusion.

"Oh come on you've only walked down three hallways." He rolls his eyes.

"Cut me some slack. It's seven in the morning." I excuse myself, staring at the bland colored walls. "You'd think that an art school would look more...artsy." I comment out loud. He ignores me as we come to a halting stop at a door with the number 22 on a silver plaque by the door on the wall.

The door swings open and before I can say anything, Arthur has made himself right at home, gliding around the room like a chef in the kitchen pulling out ingredients for a recipe. I don't recognize most of the supplies so I just leave him to it and begin my search for something to do because – dang it I forgot my book again.

I sigh and pull one of the hard metal and plastic chairs from on top of a table, the room smelling of dry paint and cleaning supplies, and plopping myself down with a thud. Arthur never once looks over at me but for some reason I feel like he's extremely aware of my presence. I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing.

About an hour and a half later I must have dozed off because Arthur's voice jolts me awake. "Lovely. Come over here I need your help with something really fast." He waves me over to where he is.

I slowly stand up and walk over to him, taking in his baby blue smock, the sleeves rolled up and some sort of clay or something rubbed and splotched on the surface. His dirty blonde hair falls over his forehead as he concentrates on the task at hand, his bottom lip tucked and hidden under his upper as his clay covered hands work. They move like a choreographed dance, shaping and curving into an unknown picture.

He looks up as if he's just now noticed me standing there. He reaches out his arm and I catch clay speckled across the hair on his arms. He continues to stare at the project before finally just reaching over and grabbing my hand. I jump in surprise as the slimy substance rubs over my own hand.

"Here. Hold this part down while I shape up here, okay? Don't worry about anything other than that." He talks quietly like he's trying not a wake a sleeping baby and sets both of my hands at the base of whatever he's making. I know nothing of these things so I decide to just nod and go with it.

I stand beside him for a while and do whatever he tells me to do as his hands move this way and that, his fingers pressing and molding until he finally stops, the back of his hand going up to wipe a few sweat droplets off of his forehead. He looks over at me and smiles.

"So...what do you think?"

I raise my eyebrows, surprised that he would want my opinion considering I have no artistic sense whatsoever.

"Um..." I inspect the piece with a watchful eye, thinking carefully of my words because – come on – we all know how artists can be. "It's really...beautiful." I breathe.

He blinks at me. "You think so?"

I take one more look at it. What I said is true; it really is beautiful. What he created is some sort of abstract piece, the clay he used being a light grey but I'm guessing that when you put it in the furnace is hardens into white. It looks like hair. A girl's hair on a windy day. It frames a blank smooth face held by a neck but that's where it ends.

        "I️ thought you said sculptures aren't your forte." I️ gawk.

         "This is different." He shrugs timidly.

        "Yeah not really." I️ mumble. He simply rolls his eyes in response.

"Will you paint it?" I ask. He nods, looking down at his work.

"What color is her hair?" I wonder out loud.

He smiles a crooked smile and turns his back to me and walking over to the sink to wash up before finally answering.

"Chestnut brown."

I️ smile softly at him and tuck my hair behind my ear, carful not to get clay in my hair.

           My chestnut brown hair...