Dance with a Devil

"Paint won't magically appear if you keep staring at it," John rolled his eyes, watching the tense girl in front of him as she placed her hands on her hips, paintbrush in her mouth, and stared at the blank, white wall in front of her.

Violet shot him a glare but didn't say anything. She was concentrating on what she could paint--having this job was hard. It was even harder when she asked John what he wanted, and he shrugged his shoulders.

She dipped the brush in some dark blue paint and she heard John mutter, "Finally," and she shot him another glare.

"Get out if you're going to continue criticizing me," She said, in a low voice, her full concentration on the mural. She heard John's footsteps retreat and she sighed, finally relieved of the pressure that she had when he was watching her every move.

Violet knew this was too much. Well, maybe not too much, but the fact that she deliberately took on so many jobs to help John really said something. They were two people that didn't like each other very much, and yet they spent so much time together. She wanted to do it, though, but she didn't know why. She didn't know how it would benefit her other than helping The Maine.

Just a small part of the mural was done--splashes on dark blue on the white wall, when sudden shouting came from the living room. It caused Violet to drop her brush and it splattered all over the newspaper covered floor.

"What the--" She started, inching towards the living room. Who was John talking to?

"I don't fucking care--" John started, yelling into his phone. He looked furious.

"No!" He shouted again. "Don't fucking say that shit to me! You know I had no idea that was going to happen!...No! No!...I don't give two fucking shits about those guys...No, I'm serious, I don't...Fuck you--"

John's eyes caught Violet's, as she was peering through the doorway between the foyer and the living room, and she swore she saw the smoke billow out of his ears. He immediately ended the call and he stood in front of her, his jaw clenched together, and his nostrils flaring.

"Um..." She started, unable to say anything. "I--I, uh, I heard you shouting and--and I wanted to know what the--what the fuss was, um, about...I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry. Please, don't kill me..." She rambled on, backing away from him.

"Just shut up, Violet," John said, turning around, facing away from her. He places his hands on his hips and he sighed.

"Do you mind if I ask who that was?" Violet attempted, but John shot her a look and said, "Yes."

Violet inched closer to him, take a step at a time, and she reached out and touched his arm. He yanked his arm away and shot her another look.

"Just let it go," He snapped. "Go back to painting that fucking wall."

"John..." Violet tried to touch him again but this time, his hands caught hers and he slammed her against the wall, his face just inches away.

"Stop trying to worm your way into my life," He snapped, through gritted teeth. He let her go, causing Violet hold her wrist in pain--he held it with a death grip. His eyes looked so angry.

"Fine," She said, curtly. "Sorry for trying to help."

"I don't need help," John snapped.

Violet turned on her heel and practically stomped off to the foyer. Now she was too angry to paint anything or she'd end up painting John's head under a guillotine. She paced the foyer, grumbling to herself and questioning why she was helping him in the first place--her thoughts always going back to that.

Then her mind evolved to the question of what made John so angry. Her eyes travelled to the forbidden room again and she stopped, staring it. What could be in there that not a single soul, except John could see? Did it have to do with the phone call? Who was he yelling at, anyway?

Violet took a break from painting--feeling as if she couldn't paint for the rest of the day, so she packed it all up. John was somehow nowhere to be seen. She didn't know where he could go without her seeing, but he managed to do so. She sighed and made her way out to the garden--some fresh air would be nice.

She pulled her phone out and called Garrett, hoping he would make her feel better.

"Hi, Vi," Garrett's soothing voice answered on the other line.

"This is one of those days where I hate you for this job of enslavement I have here," She said, sadly.

"What happened?" Garrett asked, curiously.

"He was yelling at someone on his phone and it was really intense--I have no idea what he was talking about, but it really hit him hard because he was fuming. I asked him if he wanted to talk about it and tried to get him to open up a little so I could help him or something, but he pushed me away, as usual, and even physically hurt me while doing so." Violet held her wrist that was bruising slightly. John's bony hands were stronger than she thought.

"He hurt you?!" Garrett asked, a aura of protectiveness could be detected and Violet rolled her eyes, "It's not like he punched me, but he grabbed my wrist and held it in a death grip. I can see a bruise forming, though."

"What the fuck?"

She sighed. "I don't know where he is but I'm debating on whether or not I should just leave. I can never tell if he wants me here or not."

"Well, I'd sure like it if you came home now..."

Violet looked around, peering inside the house, but John was nowhere to be seen, still. Her eyes suddenly caught a random stranger's who was standing on the sidewalk; she didn't even move an inch when she saw that Violet saw her.

"I'm just going to see if John is willing to apologize and then I'll be home in like, twenty minutes, okay?" She said, still looking at the stranger.

"Okay. I'll see you then. I love you, Vi," Garrett said before he hung up the phone. Violet repeated his words back to him and she pocketed her phone, still locked with the stranger's.

"Uh, can I help you?" Violet asked.

"I'm sorry," The girl blushed. "That must have been really weird...I just couldn't help but overhear that you're talking about John? John O'Callaghan?"

"Um...yeah..." Violet said, suspiciously.

"Oh," The girl said. "Sorry--he's just my neighbor, that's all. I haven't seen him in a while--I mean, not since August, anyway. Is he doing okay?"

Violet shrugged. "I wish I could properly answer that question, but I can't. I'm currently angry at him." She shot a glare back at the house even though John most likely didn't even see it.

"Right, well," The girl said with a smile, holding onto her bicycle. "Just be careful, okay? I know John well enough to know he's not the greatest guy to be around. He can be manipulative and if he wants something, then he'll get it. I couldn't help but overhear that he hurt you. It won't be the first time. I've seen you over a lot and just wanted to warn you..."

"Warn me against what?" Violet asked, curiously.

"The beast that is John O'Callaghan," The girl replied, before she walked her bicycle into her home, which happened to be next door.

Violet stared after the girl, her mouth slightly agape. She knew that John was a complete womanizer, but what else has he done? And what caused it?

She glanced back at the house and found a pair of green eyes staring at her through the kitchen window. John was wondering where she had gone, but she didn't know if she wanted to go inside again.

John O'Callaghan was a beast?