“I’ll be okay, Mom.” I pull her in for a hug before she walks out the door. Hesitantly, she accepts my dismissal, understanding that I need privacy and space to work.
Before she goes, she spins back around and points a pointed finger in my face. “I’ll be back at eight, not a minute after. Understand?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. That’s more than enough time. Thank you, and I love you! Let me know when you get home, please.” She promises to do that before ordering me to secure every lock and not open the door for anyone, to use my bear mace if need be. My laugh follows her out the door. I swear, my parents would have me armed if they could.
Once I’m alone, there’s nothing left to do but connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker I brought from home and get to work.
Two hours into it, I’m coated in paint and tinting paste flakes. Before tackling the most challenging segment and potentially ruining the best piece of canvas I have, I started on the smaller, finer details on separate components. I’ve already spoken to Mr. De Luca about using three individual canvases for my final. He was thrilled about it, excited to see how I could connect them all into one cohesive work of art.
Tongue pinched between my teeth, I get close to the painting, practically rubbing my nose against the wet flowers while twirling the brush between my fingers. Something outside startles me enough to fling the paintbrush back. Flinching, I swing around, watching as it rolls underneath the steel cabinet.
“Shit,” I grumble. That was my best brush.
Wiping my hands on a damp rag, I huff over to the back, mumbling the lyrics to Big Sean’sBewarebefore dropping to my knees.
With it being too low to the ground, I can’t see underneath. I try to squeeze my arm in the crack, but if I push any farther, I’ll scrape my skin off.
Huffing in annoyance, I jump to a stand. I slap my thighs to dust off my palms before shouldering the metal. An awful grating sound pierces my ears, rattling the drums as I push. I don’t need to move it far, just enough to grab the end of my stick.
There it is.
Cleaning the sweat from my brow, I bend at the waist, snagging the end of my brush between two fingers. Just as I come to a rise, a subtle crack in the wall traps my eye.
“What the heck,” I mutter, falling to my knees once again.
Right there, hidden behind the cabinet, is an opening disguised as part of the wall, probably an illegal entrance to somewhere in the building. Actually, upon further inspection, it appears to be more of a slab of wood painted and embedded to match the wall.
Pry it open and look inside, or tell a staff member. Those are my options. But there’s really only one choice to make when curiosity takes over. After making sure my door is locked, I claw my nails in the crevice, securing my grip before giving it a tug.
The edge of the plank is splintered, but I can fold my fingers over it. It takes a bit of work to get it open, but once I do, I’m stunned silent. To be honest, I’m not too sure what I’m looking at, just a dark, damp space with floating dust and swaying cobwebs.
Bits of light filter in from the room, allowing me to see a drop in the floor. This concealed space is about two feet below the regular height. Inside, there appears to be broken furniture, tattered mattresses, and boxes piled on top of boxes.
A basement, that’s what this must be. The renters before me must have used this space as storage.I can’t think of any other use for it.
I want to explore it, see where it leads and what’s buried in the mess. Bracing my hands on the wall, I prepare to jump down, when my music goes quiet.It’s probably Mom checking in on me again.
The music picks up while I secure the wooden door back in place, the calming sounds of Billie Eilish and Khalid’sLovelyechoing around the cement chamber.
Using my back, I return the metal cabinet to its original position. Then, running to my bench, I unhook my phone from the dock and check for new messages. It’s my mom, undoubtedly. I’m a bit surprised she’s contacting me so soon after getting home. Usually, she gives me more time.
I couldn’t get you off my mind all day.
Heart falling into my ass, I gape at his message in astonishment. For a moment, I had convinced myself it was all a dream. Mr. Ellis never messaged me. It was simply just a figment of my desires. And if it wasn’t, then it was a mistake, a lapse in his judgment that he would soon correct. Because why wouldhewantme?
But here he is, thinking of me.
All day, apparently.
Another message comes through as I stand mute, this one snapping me out of my stupor.How am I going to wait until Monday to see your gorgeous face?
You don’t have to.
Jumping on the edge of the table, I scroll through the hundreds of photos I have stored on my phone, debating on each and every one. They’re all pretty, highlighting all my favorite features. But if he’s missing me, I want to give him something special.
Turning on my knees, I set my phone on the windowsill, capturing that fading light as I pose with my hands between my thighs.
I look like a mess, with splatters of tint freckling my nose and cheeks. There are chunks of dusty rose pink paint clumping at the ends of my hair, making them heavy and brittle. I try to scrape them off, so I don’t look like a total disaster in the picture, but they end up breaking off my tips. Using a clean paintbrush, I twist up half my hair. It’s still wild with waves and tangles, but at least it isn’t covered in dye.
