Livia McAdams. A beautiful nightmare.

Regardless of her character, she is freaky in bed: Don't they say the wild ones are the most passionate? After last night I deem that true.

I can see why Damian liked her, and I can also understand why he couldn't keep up with her; she's insufferable in getting her way.

She's lying in bed, sheets barely covering her body. She's like a porcelain doll under the sunlight shining from my window. Just watching her sleep inspires me.

I get my polaroid from my nightstand and compose my shot. Fanning my film away from the light, it begins to clear; seeing it's okay, I get out of bed and draw out a flat handmade wooden chest. I open it; did I leave it unlocked? Ignoring it, I use my permanent marker to write the date and her name; afterwards, I place the photos in my photo album.

I've always loved a good muse; you can say it's a hobby I picked up at the beginning of high school. My Au Pair, Emelia Schneider, who used to take care of me from twelve to fourteen, introduced it to me.

She used to say that mindfulness is key to taking a good photo. It's not about your surroundings but the subject of your gaze. Taking yourself out of the image and feeling your subject is what will reveal it for what it is. It was a good lesson to learn and has stuck with me till now.

She was a great teacher and evidently a good fuck for Dad.

I discovered them in certain positions one early afternoon I came home from school. I saw clothes in the hallway and heard moaning coming from Dad's room. When I pushed his door open, I witnessed my father thrusting inside her. He caught my gaze for a moment and didn't look embarrassed or stop what he was doing. He just continued and looked away.

Like my polaroid, that image has imprinted on my mind.

My father loves his women, and it's probably why mom left; the last I saw her was when I was seven. One day she was there, and the next, she had packed and left in the night.

I blame dad, but I also appreciate that he stayed and raised me.

No one knows about my hobby, and I wouldn't want them to. They wouldn't understand. It's not about sexual gratification—maybe before the photo taking but not after. Art is art, and it comes in many forms. I just so happen to appreciate sleeping beauties. When you're relaxed, you're in your most vulnerable and beautiful form. There isn't any faking or having to prove something. You're yourself, without the world buzzing in your ear about who you should be.

Livia might be a bitch, but she's a beautiful one when she's asleep, not pretending or devising plans to ruin people's lives.

I flip through my photo album, the countless beauties in their raw forms. I pause at an empty slot where Luena's should be.

The second time we slept together, Junior year, she caught me taking a photo. Instead of being disgusted and calling me a pervert, she asked me to take one of her, only if she could take it home. She didn't know about my collection and only believed it was my first offence, so I did and gave her the photo.

Compared to all the girls I've been with, she was the most real. She wasn't pining after me or pretending to be something she wasn't. She was honest, and I liked that. I will admit there was a moment I fell for her, but it was short-lived. I feel bad for using her and not being honest about Livia's intentions.

But sometimes, it's best to spare someone's feelings and let things play out as they may.

I hear Livia stir in bed, so I quickly lock my chest, pushing it under the bed.

She sits up in bed as soon as I stand.

"What are you doing?" She yawns, glancing at me curiously, before burying her face in her phone.

"Looking for my shorts," I say, legging into my boxers that I grabbed from the floor, "last night was great. Who knew you'd give me the time of day."

She chuckles dryly, "I just needed to blow off some steam." She gets out of bed and grabs her dress lazily off the phone as she still looks at her phone.

"So, do you think your plan succeeded? Has Damian blown up your phone yet?"

I open my dresser-draw for a clean shirt and glimpse her putting on her thong in the mirror.

She smirks, "work in progress." She walks to me, motioning for me to zip up her back, "I heard through the grapevine that he's flying to Italy tomorrow...." She says distastefully, "with Luena."

Grapevine is code for social media. I swear, people don't value their privacy nowadays.

"Is that so?" I ask when she turns to me. "Well I guess that plan of yours isn't a work in progress. Time to raise the white flag, Livia."

She coos, "aww...you think some air miles will dissuade me," she chuckles coldly, "If anything it motivates me." She encircles her arms around my neck, "you and I are going to Italy, Ren."

I laugh, removing her arms. "I'm not going anywhere, but enjoy yourself."

She scoffs, "come on, Ren. You don't have a choice."

I chuckle, "and why is that?"

She wraps her arms around my neck again and leans into my lips to whisper. "Because if you don't go," she pauses a moment with a smirk on her face, "i'll tell everyone about your little hobby."

I remove her arms and back away, "what are you talking about?" I respond alarmingly.

She candidly points to my bed. "Your treasure chest of memorabilia. I stumbled across them last night and took pictures."

I eye her incredulously, "how did you—"

"If you refuse to come with me, I will send them to all the girls you took unknowing photos of. Seeing as how they probably come from rich families, I'm assuming you'd have a huge child pornography lawsuit on your hands."

She goes to my bed and kneels to draw out my wooden chest. Opening it, she handles my album and flips through it, removing the photo I took of her.

She seriously looks at me, throwing the album back into the chest. "You're a pervert, Ren. A hot and stupid pervert." She waves the photo at me, "pack your bags. We leave noon tomorrow."

She rolls her eyes grabbing her heels near the door, and leaves the room.

Didn't I tell you? No one would understand my art. And the greatest bitch of all is using it to her advantage. Italy, here I come...because I have no choice.