Chapter 3 Len

The harsh fluorescent lights of Athena's Family Diner finally flickered off as the neon "OPEN" sign was switched to dark. Ava watched through the streaked glass as the bustling New York City nightlife carried on outside, indifferent to another late shift ending.

Lizzie had clocked out hours ago to rush off to some night class or another, her frenetic drive to escape this greasy purgatory always inspiring a mix of admiration and envy in Ava. Now it was just her and Len, the miserly old coot, wrapping up the nightly ritual of restocking, mopping, and prepping for another day of culinary misery.

Ava felt emotionally drained from the events earlier that evening. The groping, the humiliation, the despair of having her body so brazenly violated...it was all too familiar. As she stared blankly at a dried ketchup stain on the table top, part of her couldn't even muster outrage anymore at the degrading acts of entitled assholes.

In a strange way, she almost didn't blame the pack of Neanderthal fuck bros who had so crudely molested her. Ava understood the intrinsic nature of her own beauty, that delicate vulnerability that inspired both wonder and rapacious hunger in the human spirit. She had studied it, admired it, and immortalized it on canvas since she was just a lonely little girl losing herself in sketchpads.

Mona, Marsha, Tina...the list of subjects was endless, random strangers Ava had discreetly observed and then meticulously rendered in her private artistic trances. Peeling away their clothing layer by layer, baring them in unflinching detail with deft brushstrokes until they were frozen in immortal vulnerability. How many times had she lost herself fantasizing about the different ways she could sculpt those unsuspecting muses, either adorning them in idealized perfection or tarnishing their beauty with calculated flaws?

Art was her escape from a stark reality of being perpetually used and discarded. Ava's canvases were a domain where she was utterly in control, playing god over these fleeting vessels of flesh, moulding and re-shaping them on a whim to satisfy her creative desires.

Lost in that familiar rapturous trance, Ava barely registered the scuffed footsteps of Len approaching from the service corridor. The diner's paunchy manager gruffly cleared his throat, tearing her back to the present moment.

"You just gonna sit there starin' into space all night, Princess?" he growled in that signature outer-borough snarl of his. "Or you actually got someplace to be, people who give a rat's ass whether you make it home or not?"

Ava simply turned her waif-like frame to gaze up at Len, not uttering a word. She knew the power of those big emerald pools, the way they could effortlessly transfix and disarm even the brusquest curmudgeon. With a sigh, Len seemed to relent beneath that plaintive stare that spoke volumes.

"Alright, alright..." he muttered in obvious annoyance. "Whataya want from me? Out with it!"

With a coy hint of a smile, Ava rose from the booth and closed the distance between them, never breaking that piercing green-eyed gaze. "Len...I was just hoping maybe you could walk me out to the bus stop?" she asked in a soft, breathy tone.

The grizzled old man recoiled with a snort of derision. "What, you need a g*ddamn babysitter now too? Ain't my job to hold every hand-wringin' waif's just 'cause the mean streets got you scared."

Ava stuck out her lower lip in an instinctive, irresistible pout that would make angels weep. Len visibly wavered, all bravado melting as he raised a meaty paw to pinch the bridge of his bulbous nose. "Jeez, alright, fine! But gimme a damn break with the sad Bambi routine!"

A triumphant glimmer flashed across Ava's porcelain features. Truth was, she didn't feel remotely safe trekking back to her crumbling studio alone tonight-not after being so brazenly pawed and degraded just for serving some entitled douchebags their drinks. The thought of what could happen if she encountered opportunistic predators of their ilk made her stomach churn.

And despite Len being an ornery prick who clearly objectified his barely-legal staff, Ava knew the bitter old man would never let actual harm befall one of his "girls." Misogynistic baggage aside, he still operated by a perverse code of ownership over his flock of underpaid servers. Better to stay in the clutches of that demon you know.

The two made their way out into the cool city night, Len lumbering gruffly ahead while Ava followed a few paces back, pulling her thin hoodie tighter. The neon haze from garish storefront signs seemed to give everything a tawdry, dreamlike glow.

At the bus depot, Len paused and turned, his rheumy eyes scanning Ava from head to toe in a way that made her deeply self-conscious. Then, with unexpected tenderness, he crouched down to her level and reached out to tilt her chin upwards.

"Listen up, sweet'eart," he rasped, that thick Brooklyn accent softening ever so slightly. "I know you got a whole world of hurt behind those baby greens. You're too pretty for your own good, too talented for this pigsty. You deserve better than being just some dirt bag's whore..."

Ava's eyes widened at the uncharacteristic words, her pouty lips parting in stunned silence as Len regarded her in a way she'd never quite seen before-not with complete dehumanizing lust, but...empathy. Paternal concern, even?

Then, just as quickly as the tender moment materialized, it evaporated into harsh reality. Len abruptly straightened up, fixing his face into its trademark sneer as he spun on his heel. "Get on home safe, Princess. Don't need no more trouble waitin' for me at that bus stop."

With that, the heartless diner manager stalked off into the night, leaving Ava to ponder whether the gruff words of affirmation were simply protective instinct...or something darker, more predatory. She shivered despite herself, hailing the very next yellow cab that pulled up to whisk her back to the dismal little sanctum she called home.

The rattling taxi pulled up to the curb of Ava's rundown Brooklyn walk-up. She fished some rumpled bills from her apron and scurried up the cracked concrete stairwell, desperate to put this night behind her.

As she reached her apartment door, Ava paused, brow furrowing. The entrance was cracked slightly ajar.

"Son of a...I told that asshole to give back his spare key," she muttered darkly, mentally bracing herself for a confrontation. Ava shoved through the door, ready to unleash a storm of profanities.

The sight that greeted her brought her up short. There was Malcolm, lounging shirtless on her tattered futon in his paint-splattered vintage trousers. His brooding, chiselled features were contorted in an expression of intense focus as he attacked a fresh canvas with savage strokes of colour.

Despite the intrusion, Ava felt the ghost of a smile tug at her lips. There was something undeniably electric about watching another artist in the throes of pure, unbridled creation. She couldn't help but drink in the flexing of Malcolm's toned abdomen, the way beads of sweat glistened on the tanned ridges as he worked.

With an exasperated sigh, she finally broke the silence.

Malcolm startled at the sound, nearly upending his palette. His face stretched into a broad, boyish grin at the sight of Ava. "Aves! There you are, gorgeous!"

The warm greeting was like being doused in cold water. Ava's nostril's flared, all traces of affection evaporating as fury took its place. "Don't you 'Aves' me, you psycho! What the hell are you doing in my house?"

She stalked over and jabbed an accusatory finger into Malcolm's bare chest, delighting at the instinctive wince that flickered across his features. "Give me back my spare key right now, creep! We're done, over, finito! I want you out of here before..."

Her heated rant was cut off as Malcolm reached up and tenderly cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing the silken, olive skin. "Shh...Baby, I know we've been going through some stuff lately," he purred in that gruff baritone that used to make Ava go weak in the knees. "But I promise, I've got it all figured out now. I'm finally getting my head straight, just for you, okay?"

Ava smacked his hand away with a hiss of rage, unconsciously leaning even closer into his personal space. "Don't you dare start with this manipulative shit again, Malcolm! Every time you 'get your head straight,' it's only a matter of days before you completely lose your mind again over some imagined slight! No more, you...you toxic bastard!"

A look of pure hurt flashed across the man's rugged features, only to be replaced by that slow, maddening smile that'd melted Ava more times than she could count. "Mmm...You know you love it when I'm a little toxic, Kitten," Malcolm rumbled, his voice taking on a rough edge. "All that fire, that passion...where do you think it comes from when you're slinging those pretty l'il brushstrokes, huh?"

With each purring word, Malcolm was stalking closer until Ava's back hit the wall with a dull thud. She opened her mouth to explode with another fusillade of vitriol, but the breath caught in her throat.

Her ex's powerful, half-dressed body was now just inches away, heat and the earthy, intoxicating blend of paints and musk radiating off him in waves. Despite herself, Ava felt a jolt of white-hot lust and desire rekindle deep in her core.

"You love the danger, the risk that someone so mad might just snap and defile your sweet innocence at any moment..." Malcolm's hand slowly trailed down Ava's trembling form, past the curves of her hips to grip her firmly. "It's the only real inspiration you respond to-being utterly overpowered and consumed by the dark side of our genius, isn't it?"

His lips were scarcely an inch from Ava's now, torturously close yet agonizingly far as she fought off the impulse to surge forward and recapture that sinful taste. She was utterly hypnotized by the sheer intensity burning in his stare, like a rabbit transfixed by a wolf's hungry gaze.

"N-No..." Ava croaked weakly in protest, using the very last vestiges of her resolve. "Stay away! Not again!"

The slightest hint of a sneer played over Malcolm's full lips as his iron grip tightened, immobilizing her. "Yeah...? Well, too damn bad, my sweet little Aves."

With that whispered growl, his mouth crushed into Ava's with punishing force. She instantly melted into the molten, frenzied kiss, all resistance and inhibitions evaporating as Malcolm effortlessly overpowered her. His broad hands roamed her petite frame with animalistic hunger as Ava unconsciously opened herself fully to his possession.

Somewhere in the primal recesses of her mind, a tiny voice cried out in protest at being devoured so completely by this irrational, toxic soul mate. But it was a feeble whimper drowned out in the maelstrom as Malcolm hoisted Ava up and staggered with her to the futon in a thrashing tumult of tangled limbs...

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