Well, mostly solitary. An anchorite artist could choose to have a select hermit friend or two, right? Only the singular altar I worshiped at was that of my art and the shadows that watched me, if only in the darkest hours when sleep evaded me. When the constant state of exhaustion kicked in, along with an excess of caffeine.
“You paint alone today, Miss Mascot?” David Magnus, the art professor who prefers the term “Master” Magnus, the fucking freaker, leaned over my work. His loose shirt dangled close to my wet paint. Too close.
My hands hovered instinctively forward as I mantled over my work, protective like a hawk. “I don’t have control over who attends your class,” I managed, as soon as I was sure he hadn’t damaged anything. I held back the urge to grab his shirt and tuck it in but that would be seen as…inappropriate and I didn't do contact with anyone, almost, despite my weekly Tuesday night attempt at dating which failed yet again this week.
How sad can my life possibly be?
Abandoned by parents, the stalker-obsessed art student who I couldn't stand, and now taco Tuesday sucked as well. Justcasket me up, baby. Actually, that gave me a fresh idea. I flipped open my folio, grabbed a charcoal from my set and sketched an outline. A few angles and some shadow and I had the start of something…
Slightly obscene. A teddy dangling from an open casket beneath a lamppost. I had no idea why the lamppost was there. It just appeared. The teddy felt right and that was what mattered at the end. Maybe he was comfy in the casket. Maybe he was warm, and homeless. What a ridiculous, absurd notion.
I fucking loved it.
“You are…” David Magnus trailed off. He caught the corner of my folio with one pristine fingertip that looked as though it had never seen ink, paint or charcoal. “What is this meant to be?”
I grimaced at the sketch, wishing I'd kept the fragment of imagination inside my head. Showing incomplete art before I’d thought out its purpose was always a mistake.Always.
“Ah, a teddy in a coffin?” I offered, as I placed my charcoal back in my container, closing the lid gently. The tin scraped on itself, drawing eyes around the room.
My elbows pressed to my sides. I hated being the centre of any kind of attention, andMasterMagnus seemed to enjoy singling me out at every opportunity. Something that Ethan I hated. The attention was unwelcome for both of us, if for different reasons.
“A teddy. In a coffin,” he repeated, drawing out the single syllables until I sank on my stool. “This is what three years of fine arts amounts to in your eyes, Miss Mason?” His hand brushed across my freshly painted work, smearing the blacks into grays. MY hooded figure—already faint, and hidden in the shadows—merged with the darkness, and disappeared.
Paint smeared the heel of his hand, but he pretended not to notice as though his action had been unintentionally accidental.
We both knew it wasn’t.
You. Fucking. Asshole.
But I needed his class in order to graduate, and so I bit my lip, and said nothing. The ultimate roll over. Maybe my next art work should be belly white. That would suit the mood, at least.
“Better luck next time, Miss Mason,” he murmured, as though I hadn’t put four weeks of work into the painting he just ruined.
I stared up at him, knowing our interaction didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the class that had fallen more silent than ever. The usual brushstrokes and soft rustles, almost musical in their regularity, ceased.
And I was the center of everyone’s attention, yet again. Yay for me. At least, this time. I would earn that place.
“Thank you for screwing with my peace, Master Magnus,” I murmured into the hush that thickened with every word I spoke. My courage came from somewhere, even if I didn’t quite understand that place just yet. My heart hammered inside my chest cavity.You need this class. Do not fuck it up. But he’d fail me, regardless. I may as well walk right now. Ethan, of all people, might be my guiding force tonight, but he wasn't here to prevent catastrophe.
And so, as always, I went it alone.
“Be careful, Miss Mascot.” David Magnus matched my soft tone, my calm outlook. Perhaps we were just two academics, discussing future events, rather than my specific fate.
Or maybe we weren’t.
“If this is the path you continue along, my class may not be the best place for you to allow your…particular brand of creative freedom to flourish in.” the corner of his mouth curled up in derision.
A sycophantic snicker that sounded like the color brown originated from the front of the studio.
I shook my head, letting my black hair fall back, knowing that paint caught in it, adhering some of the strands together. “If this is how you treat your students, disrespecting their art, then I’m not sure I wish to be a part of your class,” I replied, maintaining the decorum of the status quo.
Somewhere outside but still nearby, I swore I heard a low laugh.
If he wanted to be the first to break it and lose his temper, he could be my guest.
Master Magnus’s face reddened. “Your time in my classroom has ended, Miss mascot. Please take your work, for what it is worth, and get. Out.” He practically spat the last two words in a temper tantrum at me for not getting his way, seething as he lorded his height over me.
The hour ticked over, and the grandfather clock in the hall beyond that I’d always hated, but appreciated in this moment, began its eighteenth hour chime. “Timing,” I murmured, as everyone gathered their things, casting curious glances my way. Perhaps measuring whether I would grovel my way back into Magnus’s good graces, or bribe my way back in.
