HIS FOR THE TAKING

The candlelight flickered, creating dancing shadows on the canvas, distorting the nude female form Ava Sinclair had meticulously painted. Sitting back, she felt the ache in her lower back from hours of work, reminding her of her earthly presence.

Lost in her art, Ava felt transformed - like a deity breathing life into her creation with every brushstroke. Her self-portrait revealed her delicate features frozen in a mix of ecstasy and defiance as she admired her work. This daring piece displayed her vulnerability with its unabashed depiction of her skin and curves.

A part of Ava hesitated at exposing herself so openly to the viewer's gaze. Her upbringing had drilled into her the importance of innocence and modesty above all else. The echoes of those voices lingered in her mind, urging her to cover up...

However, another part of her found a sense of liberation in baring herself through art - reclaiming her body as something beautiful and worthy of study rather than shame. Each nude self-portrait she created helped shed layers of societal guilt engrained within her. Through her art, she transcended moral boundaries, elevating the human form into something sublime.

As she put the finishing touches on her piece, Ava felt a surge of clarity wash over her like a wave. This painting was different - it was her masterpiece, signaling her liberation from life in obscurity as an unknown, struggling artist.

Ava jolted from her trance when the phone's alarm disrupted the moment. Muttering a curse, she silenced the device, almost spilling her cold coffee. The 25-year-old artist's thoughts snapped back, returning to her reality as she checked the time.

"Shit, Shit, I'm going to be so late..." Ava leapt from her makeshift couch, hastily tying her chestnut hair into a messy bun. She discarded her tattered oversized shirt and crossed the small studio apartment, chest bare, retrieving her waitress uniform from a heap on the floor.

"Ugh, I really need to get this gross friggin' smell out..." Ava muttered in disgust as she pulled the black polyester polo over her slim frame. No matter how much detergent she used, the

uniform always reeked of a sour marriage between stale beer and diner grease baked over decades into the fabric.

As she bops into the scratchy black pants, Ava's gaze landed on the masterpiece self-portrait still shining with wet oils in the candlelight. She couldn't resist a sly smirk at how thoroughly she had captured the sensual contours of her nude form, boldly exposed without a shred of prudish shame.

"Well, aren't you just a proper Aphrodite tonight, Miss Thang?" Ava chuckled as she addressed the subject of the portrait with a saucy wink. Her attention quickly shot back to the clock as she realized she had dallied too long in admiring herself. "Sh*t shit sh*t!"

Hopping frantically on one foot, Ava jammed her second shoe on as she snatched up her decrepit yellow waitress apron and beaten messenger bag serving as her purse. With a deep breath to brace herself, the artist-turned-server flung open her apartment door, the potent smell of curry and body odor from the hallway nearly knocking her backward.

"Another evening at Athena's Family Diner," Ava sighed, descending the stairwell. Her wooden shoe echoeing against the linoleum steps. Despite the chores awaiting her, a serene smile traced it's way up her lips as she thought of her self-portrait. Tonight was just another grind, but maybe her big break was near.

Ava burst through the service entrance of Athena's Family Diner, her chestnut locks already frizzing from the muggy summer night air. She scanned the cramped back hallway with frantic emerald eyes, praying Len, the ornery manager, wouldn't be skulking nearby.

Of course, the Greek bastard seemed to materialize out of nowhere, his squat, pot-bellied frame blocking the doorway leading to the main dining room. Len's bushy caterpillar eyebrows furrowed as he crossed his meaty arms over his sweat-stained white undershirt. "You're late, Princess," he growled in his thick Brooklyn accent.

"Len, I'm so sorry! I completely lost track of..." Ava began babbling her excuses in a breathless rush, but the stocky little man's scowl only deepened.

"Save your fairytales for the children's menu," he cut her off with a dismissive wave. "I don't give a crap about your fingerpainting hobby. You clock in 10 minutes past start time again, and your scrawny ass is out that door, capisce?"

Ava's chest tightened as she imagined losing this dead-end job. As much as she loathed having to sling cheap diner slop to ungrateful savages, it was her only tether to survival. Having no family, no partner, no safety net in this cold city, the thought of destitution sent a shudder down her spine.

"Please, Len...it won't happen again. I swear!" she pleaded, unconsciously sticking out her lower lip in a petulant pout that made her look younger than her 25 years. "I need this job. You know I'm one of the few good servers you've got in this shi...fter."

She just barely caught herself before the expletive slipped out. Ava knew better than to further test the volcanic temper of the miserly old man who looked at his diner staff as a slothed crossed between indentured servants and leprous beggars.

Len's leathery face remained stoic as he pushed past Ava, letting his wide frame brush against hers perhaps a little too closely. "Then get your sweet ass out on the floor before I give you another reason to cry those baby blues out," he grumbled over his shoulder.

Ava waited until he waddled off before releasing the anxious breath she'd been holding. As she hurried to the time clock, she muttered under her breath, "Prick. You're lucky my art supplies cost more than your whole roach-infested sh*thole..."

Was that a reprieve or a warning shot? Ava tried not to dwell on it as she hastily tied her apron around her narrow waist and made her way into the bustling dining room. Plastering on her warmest smile, she grabbed her first order pad, ready to begin another evening sacrificing her dreams to the diner's demanding devotees.

***

The dingy fluorescent lights flickered overhead, bathing Athena's Family Diner in an atmosphere that could charitably be described as "grimly authentic." Ava squeezed between tightly packed Formica table tops, her cheap slip-resistant sneakers sticking to the sticky linoleum with each step.

Her green eyes swept across the ramshackle clientele seeking a greasy respite. Dishevelled locals nursing bottomless mugs of diner brew. Grizzled neighbourhood drifters hunched over cold plates of congealed eggs and sausage links. Even a few working girls, freshly sated from outcall pickups, thumbing idly at their phones as they blew wads of cash on towering nachos shellacked in viscous neon cheese.

Ava smirked to herself, knowing those ladies of the night were likely pulling in more on a slow Tuesday than she did waitressing all week. A tiny, rebellious voice deep inside wondered if she could ever bring herself to that life - selling her toned body for cash instead of wage-slaving it away. Just as quickly, the notion was banished as she shuddered thinking of all the horrific STDs circulating these days. She wasn't that desperate...not yet, at least.

Her gaze snapped back to her surroundings as a rough chorus of hoots and raucous laughter erupted from the diner's far corner. A greasy clutch of frat-bro types, maybe five or six ranging from their late 20s to mid-30s, gesticulated wildly with beer bottles clutched in their meaty paws. Even from across the diner floor, Ava could feel their beady eyes boorish roving her petite frame in the trademark jiggle-fest of sleaze balls assessing a new "score."

Suppressing a shudder of revulsion, Ava swivelled on her heel and bee lined back toward the service corridor where her best friend and fellow lifer Lizzie was slouched in a torn vinyl chair, feet kicked up on a milk crate. The wiry redhead's head lolled back, her mouth slightly agape as she napped between what was surely a double-shift from hell.

"Yo, Lizzie! Lizzie!!" Ava hissed under her breath as she gave her friend's boots a sharp nudge.

Lizzie started awake with a yelp, her green eyes flying open as she flailed her arms in a moment of panic.

"What the fu...oh. It's just you, bitch!" She threw a venomous glare at Ava, who simply rolled her eyes.

"Listen, Liz...I can't go back out there right now," Ava pleaded, desperation tingling her soft voice as she glanced over her shoulder warily. "You know that pack of meatheads in the corner booth? They've been eye-raping me all night, undressing me with their piggy little minds. I...I feel so creeped out and exposed. Just take my section for a bit?"

Lizzie levelled her gaze at Ava for a long beat, clearly irked at having her only break time interrupted by her friend's melodrama. "Oh hell no, Princess! I just started my shift, unlike your lazy ass. I need this cat nap to stay sane and not completely snap on one of these mouth-breather bozos."

"Please, Lizzie?" Ava stuck out her lower lip in a devastating pout, her big doe eyes widening beseechingly.

"You know how gross men can be with me, trying to touch me and shit. Just do me this solid until their checks close out? Please?"

With an exaggerated groan of frustration, Lizzie swung her combat boots back to the grimy tile floor and thumped up to her feet. "All right, all right. But you owe me double coverage on any nice ass that wanders in later."

"Deal!" Ava blurted in relief, impulsively throwing her skinny arms around Lizzie's wiry frame and squeezing tight.

Just then, the rotund silhouette of Len the manager appeared in the doorway, chewing on the remains of a cold cigar butt. His piggish eyes landed suspiciously on the two friends as he barked, "Vegas! Corner booth needs their next round. Handle it."

Ava's face went pale as a wave of nausea hit her gut. "B-But Len..." she stammered helplessly. "I was hoping Lizzie could..."

The oily little man held up a pudgy palm to silence her. "Listen sweetheart, I don't give a crap about whatever's twisting your lil' panties into a knot. Those jerk wads been askin' for you by name, so you best be a good girl and hustle that tight little behind over there." He punctuated the crude directive with a contemptuous sneer.

Powerless to protest further without risking her job, Ava swallowed hard and gave Lizzie's hand a final squeeze before tugging her apron strings tighter. Squaring her narrow shoulders, she marched with as much false bravado as she could muster toward the booth of entitled douchebags.

As she approached, they seemed to amplify their raucous guffawing, shoving and jostling each other like badly behaved frat boys as their lascivious gazes drank in every inch of Ava's petite, uniform-clad figure.

The bleached-blond leader of the pack turned toward her with a smarmy, dimpled grin, blatantly looking her up and down. "Well, hello there, darlin'! Thought maybe we were gonna have to slip the little spic wagon jockey a twenty to get you stationed our way."

His buddies roared with ugly laughter, slapping the sticky table top in juvenile appreciation at the racist jab aimed at Len. Ava refused to look shaken, simply retrieving her order pad and doing her best to stare through the ass hat.

"Welcome to Athena's, gentlemen. Can I get you started with some more drinks?" she intoned in her perkiest customer service cadence.

Before the words had fully left her lips, she felt a sharp pinch as one of the pricks reached out and casually squeezed her firm backside. Ava flinched, her rosy cheeks flushing crimson as she jerked away from his groping hand.

"We could use a couple more pitchers for sure, honey..." the instigator crooned with a depraved wink."But maybe you could pour us a real thirst-quencher under the table first?"

The whole lot of them dissolved into raucous chuckles and chest-thumping over the boldly indecent proposition. Bile rose in Ava's throat as she fought to hold in her fury, unwilling to give these privileged pigs the satisfaction of an outburst.

'Just keep smiling, get their order, and bail...' she repeated to herself like a mantra. But as she turned to hustle away, another rough paw reached out and brazenly palmed her ass in a lingering squeeze.

A shocked yelp escaped Ava's lips despite herself, her armful of menus scattering as she involuntarily recoiled from the violation. Suddenly, all eyes in the restaurant seemed locked on her frozen frame as realization of being publicly groped washed over the young girl.

One patron's mouth twisted in disapproval before quickly looking away, pretending not to notice. Another winked conspiratorially at the rowdy group. Everyone had seen...but no one cared enough to intervene for a lowly diner slave being degraded.

Tears of humiliation and rage stung at the corners of Ava's eyes as she fled back to the service corridor, not even daring to glance in the direction of the still-whooping degenerates who had molested her. She barely registered Lizzie's concerned shouts as she blew past her friend, slamming through the kitchen doors into the blessed solitude of the mercifully empty walk-in freezer.

Once inside, the biting chill of the frigid air enveloped Ava like a slap to the face. Great, shuddering sobs wracked her tiny frame as all the pent-up anguish came flooding out in wave after wave...

***

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...

***