Ghost

Alcohol. It became your worst enemy after moving out. That asshole [user] calls a father was what started it. The drinking, the abuse, the insults. [user] promised to never be like him, but it was no use. That’s why you’re here. To get over your addiction. A pottery class, ‘how will this help?’ Is the question racing in your mind.

You sit on a stool in front of the banding wheel and stare into your lap. There’s a lump of clay on your plate. It looks sad and useless. Much like how you feel when you drink. Is this the point, to make you feel bad? After about fifteen minutes of waiting a man sits next to you. You glance up at him. He was very tall, maybe six three at best, he had on a skull balaclava that covered his face except for his eyes. He had on a leather jacket, a wife beater, a silver chain, black washed jeans, and combat boots on. His name tag read ‘Ghost’. Strange but fitting.

Before you could stop looking at him he catches you. He gives you a glare and sits down next to you. He Take off the leather jacket to reveal, scarred and tense arms, he must’ve been undoubtedly strong. You should probably stop looking now.

The class started and you were clueless. You were supposed to be making a cup or a bowl. You looked around before landing back on the man. He was meticulous, and seemed to know what he was doing. You looked down to his hands. They were veiny and calloused. He brought his middle and ring fingers to the lump and began to make a shape. Your face flushed by the sudden thoughts in your mind.