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I remember her eyes were the first things that I noticed; dark despite their light green hue and incredibly captivating.

She placed her soft, petite hand in mine. The textures clashing immediately, my callous skin against her smooth flesh made me feel a spark I hadn’t felt in quite some time. She pulled her hand back quickly though, too quickly for my liking. She told me her name was Emelie Worhal, her accent had a peculiar twang to it, I’d heard it before. Tennessee maybe. Perhaps somewhere in that southern region at least. She led me toward the lonely stool that sat in front of a white backdrop. Multiple assistants rushing around to make sure the setting was perfect – which I’m not sure how it could be flawed, as simple as it was.

She told me her passion was “capturing the simplest aspects of beauty. A mole perfectly located right beside my lip or the way my hair ends in perfectly soft curls” She said, making me instantly feel about four times as handsome as I was. She had seen me before, enough to realize the small details.

She instructed me to take a seat and pose naturally, comfortably. I sat on the stool, my legs spread reasonably as I pressed the palms of my hands against the cold leather material of the stool. I gave her a wide smile, and she laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked her, arching a brow.

“I find it funny that you’re smiling, because in most pictures I’ve seen, you are very stoic.”

She pointed out, not incorrectly.

I looked down, wondering why that was. My tongue slid slowly across my bottom lip as I pondered.

“Perhaps I’m not comfortable at other shoots?” I offer, because it is completely fathomable. Most of the time I feel fake – like a puppet or a mannequin being told what to do by someone else. She told me to be comfortable; and I am, I’m most comfortable when I’m smiling.
“It’s understandable. Not being comfortable at other shoots…” She said as she began snapping away, walking to the side of me and kneeling, her eyes focused on the camera – focused on me.

“You make it comfortable; I don’t even really feel that important.” I tease, feeling a grin growing on my lips.

She returned my grin, her eyes sparkling up at me momentarily. Her light hair was long and in a messy bun that was plopped on top of her head. She was small, a scary kind of small. The kind of small, fragile body that you know can save the world if faced with the challenge.
“You’re not that important.” She replied, her vision returning to the camera. I felt a twinge in my stomach, I wasn’t sure if I was insulted or intrigued.

“Oh? Then why are you taking my picture?” I asked, watching her get closer to me, holding the camera down some as she snapped without checking the focus.

“Because you’re a passing trend” she said decidedly and walked backwards, pulling the camera up to her gaze again.

“Pardon me?” I asked, feeling insulted now—I must have been distracted by her pretty face. I didn’t notice how rude she was.

“You’re only famous until your fans grow up. Your days are numbered.” She said letting her camera strap swing from her neck. She had a smirk on her lips as i furrowed my brows.

“You’re well off, love.” I say as I stand from the stool, feeling like I should go ahead and storm out – even though it will look horrible if I do.

“Relax Mr. Kane; I’m only trying to get your most simple, yet beautiful aspects.

You were happy, you were confused, you were agitated, and you were natural. Not forced, great job.” Her voice was light and airy, as if this was a normal shoot for her.

Maybe it was from all the work we’d been doing and not being able to adjust to this new-found life – but I had completely over reacted, I should have known what she was doing.
“Oh. You do that often?” I ask, moving my hand to my hair to shake out the curls. Somewhat of a nervous habit I’d picked up somewhere along the way.

“No, only with the ones I know will show their raw emotion to me. You’re very different Kaiser, very talented. Exceedingly talented and passionate – I have never met you before, but I’ve seen shots of you. Unpublished shots that show the Kaiser you are. Not the Kaiser to sell to the masses.” She explained, making me feel significant again.

This is what Emelie does, since the first day I met her. She builds me up, just to enjoy breaking me down.

It may be how she operates, I know I should walk away, but for some reason I stay.

I love her, you see. I just can’t seem to make her love me.

Notes

There is only like 8 chapters in this but i promise it is going to be a great short story