New Awakening

B y D a w n A n o n y m o u s

Disclaimer: This story shows relationships between two male teenagers, but will not contain any graphic material. If this offends you, or you are underage or it is illegal to view this in your area, please leave now.

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Chapter Two

I found out what I believed pain to be quickly enough – all I had to do was glance to my right where Edward was calmly sitting and had begun to draw on his canvas as well, which was turned just enough away so I wasn’t able to see it. I started out by drawing what was, undoubtedly, a cliché cartoon heart symbol in a bright, cheerful red. Then, in with the red, I mixed in various shades of gray and brown, causing the red to become murky, giving it a morose look. To add to it, in a darker shade of red, I painted in various rips. From the rips, bright blotches of red meant to look like blood were oozing out. I was surprised at my creativity. Even to me, it looked like a work of art. The background was still a blank white canvas, but the bell rang as soon as I had decided what to put in it. My painting thus far was a diseased heart ripped at several places. When I thought about it like that, it seemed quite stupid and unoriginal.

I was able to sneak a quick glance at Edward’s painting as I was preparing to leave for my last class of the day. All he had was the beginnings of a face sketched on to the canvas. I was confused as to why that had taken so much time, nearly thirty minutes, to complete. Then, as I stared and stared, wasting precious time at the end of the day, I realized the amount of painstaking detail he had put into what was essentially just the outline of a three-dimensional face – every ridge, bump, and blemish was drawn out, giving it an eerie realism. It looked human, and strangely, it almost looked like…

The bell rang. I was still sitting in the classroom, ogling at Edward’s drawing, and I realized everyone else had left; the only other person remaining was Mrs. Tate, who I found was staring at me, almost with the same intensity that had captivated me with Edward’s sketch. She shook her head, and said to me, “You’re still here, dear? If you want, you can help me get out blank canvases for tomorrow.” All I could do in return was nod, eternally thankful for an easy distraction. “He’s quite something isn’t he?” She was standing by Edward’s canvas, gesturing at the head sketched on it.

Confused, again all I could was nod in return. After a moment, I finally found my voice, albeit my first words were pretty lame. “It’s so detailed. It’s amazing.” This time, it was her turn to nod.

“I believe that, when he completes it, it will indeed be breathtaking, especially for you, Jamie.” Again, I was confused as hell. What did she mean? “Now, I think you best be leaving. It’s the end of the day, off with you.” Her kind smile offset her words, and I scurried out of the room.

In the hallway, I met up with Kylie, who fell in pace beside me. I had been thinking about how Edward had gotten supplies for me, among other things, so I had an entirely too happy expression on my face, so Kylie was not placated with a simple ‘hi’ in response to her greeting.

“Alright, what happened?” She knew me too well, already.

“Edward’s in my painting glass,” I said, grinning wildly.

“And…” She prodded, not satisfied.

“Well, he got me stuff from the cabinet, ‘cause it was super crowded and I was just waiting to get to the front when he just gave me paint and stuff and then he just walked off without saying a word. It was weird, but totally awesome. And he smelled good. Guess what his painting was?” I didn’t wait for an answer and just pressed on, “It’s like a face. Not just any face, it’s really, really detailed and amazing and then Mrs. Tate said something weird about how it would be amazing when he finished it and it almost kind of reminds me of…”

“Whoa there. I get it, I get it. Your boy crush is in your art class, and you’ve been drooling about him. Enough said.”

I thought over it for a moment, and decided that what she said basically covered it, so I nodded, consenting to her assessment. I kept walking, heading towards the guidance department, where I had been ordered to report at the end of the day to inform them if I was happy with my classes, being a transfer student. Not that they would care. I reached for the door, and another hand reached for it at the same time. It was weird. All I noticed was the hand, no body. It was just about as beautiful as a hand could get – it was lightly dusted with hair, large, and showed several veins, a sign that its owner was in shape. The fingernails were well trimmed and even, a sign of excellent personal hygiene. I took this all in as we were both reaching for the handle, and not once did I think to either pull my hand back or check to see who it belonged too.

Our hands brushed against each other – I had reached the handle first, so his hand covered mine, if only just for a second. I decided that on some subconsciously level, probably because of the intoxicating smell, though I would never admit that, I knew it was Edward before I turned to confirm it. He had glanced at me too, and, keeping a straight face, he nodded once then stood back to let me through the door first. Before I could comprehend that he was letting me go through the doorway, I stared at his face. It was only for a split second, but it was enough for me to memorize virtually all of his features. His face was angular, his jaw wide and perfectly set in an eternally confident expression. His eyes, a strange grey color, were emotionless – not as if he didn’t have any, but as if he masked them. The most disconcerting thing was that he had no blemishes. No pimples or moles or birthmarks that every other teenager was marked with. I tilted my head in confusion, then pushed open the door and headed inside the large office. He followed behind me, and then went over to the receptionist while I went straight to my guidance counselor’s office. I walked through his open door, and heard the beginning of his conversation with the slightly overweight receptionist.

“Oh, Edward! You brought more cookies? I’m sure my children will appreciate it very much. Thank you, really.” Her voice almost contained a hint of lust.

“Of course, ma’am,” Came his smooth reply. His deep voice was a perfect pitch of masculinity, and was even and controlled. What kind of high school quarterback brings cookies to a receptionist for her children?

Heading outside into the sunlight, I breathed in the warm, spring air. It was a relief for my first day to be over, and the sexual tension I felt in the presence of Edward, which had been getting uncomfortable during painting, melted away from my body. I was again a free man, unbridled by the mind, or lack thereof, of my groin. I began the rather long three mile walk to my aunt’s house, and had to head past the athletic fields for the most direct route, retracing my steps from the morning. In what I could only assume was the football team’s practice field, there was a scrimmage going on. The road I was following snaked right by it, and on this side of the road, I could see the overweight coach and Edward, whose black, messy (in a beautiful way) hair I recognized immediately, with his helmet off. They were talking to each other, and I got steadily closer.

In a sudden fit of unease, I crossed to the other side of the road, unwilling to risk an encounter with Edward. In one day, one bloody day, I had fallen for him. As my counselor had droned on with information about the school, I accepted that fact, but I hoped it was just a quick crush, nothing more. To my surprise, and if I’m honest with myself, delight, Edward walked calmly across the road to meet me as I passed. I could plainly see his muscular legs beneath a pair of athletic shorts, and his well-muscled, but not insanely so, arms contracting as he swung them in step.

“Jamie, I’m Edward Blake.” At this point, he held out his hand for me to shake, which I just stared at unbelievingly, and after an uncomfortable pause, he withdrew it. This seemed to break his eternal coolness, if only for a second, and he seemed confused, before the calm, blank expression was back up. “I apologize for not introducing myself before; I was a bit out of it.” He said it in a formal, clipped tone, as if my paralysis which prevented me from shaking his hand had upset him. Still, all I could do was stare. He stared right back, his gaze suddenly getting intense and searching, his steely grey eyes looking into my soul.

“Blake! Get your ass back over here, you’re on!” Fat man yelled over, having returned to watching the scrimmage while we – he – had talked. Edward once again nodded once at me, then turned and jogged back to the field. I admired his slow running, for reasons I’m too ashamed to voice out loud. He was driving me crazy. I walked back to the house, the three miles taking me a good forty minutes, for the majority of which I was in a daze, before a horn from an angry car warned me that I had been drifting too far into the road.