“Hey!” Thi exclaims the second he spots me. He hops down from the stands in one easy movement, holding up some sort of fabric. “Look what Mitchell made for me. Did you know he crochets?”
“Mitchell?!” I almost choke on my own breath, taking the offered granny square. I turn it over between my fingers, half expecting it to bite me. Nope, it’s an ordinary square of white and yellow with a ‘T’ set in the center. Actually, ordinary might be underselling the tight stitching and clean edges. “You’re telling me that guy,” I gesture vaguely in the direction Mitchell just disappeared, “goes home after practice and just…whips out a crochet hook?” Thiago nods enthusiastically, apparently not surprised in the slightest.
“He says it helps with hand dexterity, and stress. The entire team has one just for sentimental value. The real masterpiece is the patch blanket he’s making. I just saw the pictures on his phone, it’s going to be killer when it’s finished.”
My eyes unfocus, no longer seeing the defined edges of the square in my hand. Swallowing, I return it to Thi and strugglenot to pout. The entire team has one, whereas I didn’t even know he had more than empty air batting around inside his head.
“Well you’d better tuck it away. If you turn this team into a knitting club, Everest will actually lose his mind.”
“Challenge accepted,” Thi grins and I smack his bicep. He pretends to half-wrestle me, but ends up tucking me beneath his arm as we make our way across the pitch. The smile across my face is genuine, and one that Everest matches as he nods and makes his own exit. My chest expands with a full, unhindered breath. Everything is finally clicking back into place.
Once showered and changed into a sweater and wide, bootcut jeans, Thiago accompanies me all the way to the quiet alcove where we eat, before kissing me deeply and heading off to start his own day. I catch him just before he ducks through the arch.
“Hey, Thi! Being an extrovert looks good on you.” He winks, his face glowing with life. I sit for a long moment after he’s disappeared, stretching my legs out in the morning light. Around me, students move at a slow, sleepy pace, half-awake and nursing takeout cups. My own is still beside me, half-full. To myself, I can admit this morning’s drills weren’t the worst idea, the burn of my limbs ebbing to a post-practice bliss. No matter what happens today, I’ve already accomplished something.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I cut across campus in an unhurried pace, breathing in the crisp air as it shifts toward late morning. The art building comes into view, all tall windows and looming entrance, yet I’m oddly excited to see what is in store for me today. The studio oozes the chemical smell of paint, students already scattered around with their pencils scratching against sketchpads.
And there, perched on his favorite stool right in the middle, is Reid. His mood hits me the moment I walk through the door, a dark aura pulsating around him like a heartbeat. Twisting awayfrom me, he drags his brush against the thin canvas sheet rolled out across his desk. I don’t linger to see what he’s working on.
As I have every day since I bumped into him in the hallway, my gaze slides past Reid like he’s just another body in the room, and I keep walking until I reach the back corner where my own canvas waits. There’s a faint outline that I’ve been working on, but the time has come to stop fucking around with the sketch and actually apply some paint. Setting my bag down and rolling my shoulders, I exhale slowly as I pick up a brush, turning it between my fingers.
The problem is, I’ve sketched a pair of eyes in perfect proportion, but until I start adding color, I don’t know who the eyes belong to. They just sit there, hollow and waiting, like they’re expecting me to decide something I’m not ready to face. So I hover, brush suspended above the paint palette, breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
“Morning, Meg,” Liz appears with a gentle expression. “How are you this morning?”
“All good,” I reply lightly. For whatever reason, my voice causes Reid’s shoulders to tense as he fails in pretending he’s not listening in. I twist so he’s out of my eyeline and Liz has my full attention. Gesturing towards the canvas, my lips twist. “I just don’t know how to start.”
“The first stroke is always the hardest,” Liz agrees, rounding the easel to stand by my side. Tapping a finger on her chin, a curl of her hair that won’t be wrangled into a ponytail bobs on her cheek. She stares for longer than I’m comfortable with but I ride the wave, waiting for her verdict. “This is beautiful,” she starts and I wince, waiting for the but. “But, it’s all very controlled. Have you ever considered…”
Taking my hand in hers, Liz guides me to smear the brush through the palette, and then up to the canvas. A smudge of brown, blue, gray and green smears straight through the iris ofthe eye, ruining the symmetry in a single stroke. I gasp, unsure how I feel but Liz smiles encouragingly.
“There are other ways to achieve the image in your head. Let loose a little, see what comes out.” To drive her point home, Liz shakes my shoulders, causing the bangles on her wrists to rattle. I force a smile until she retreats, then face my canvas alone. A slice of horror cuts through me but I just manage to wrangle it back. Against my better judgement, I don’t try to fix the paint smear. Instead, I push headphones into my ears, hit play on a random mix and drag the brush across the canvas again. Where I would usually pull back, I take Liz’s advice and let myself go.
Color builds upon color, thick in some places, thin and frantic in others, like my brain has finally found an outlet and doesn’t care about the outcome. My breathing shifts, syncing with the movement as my hand becomes steadier. There’s no face anymore, no subject. Simply emotion pressed into paint, spilling out in abstract swirls and harsh slashes. I’m not thinking about whether it’s good. I’m not thinking about anything at all, until I finally step back and recognize the shapes that have started to form.
The eyes have returned, punching through the medium rather than being carefully crafted by it. Stark cobalt cuts through hues of gray and green, the sheer life seeping from the glinting irises startling. They’re my eyes, I decide. My reflection looks back at me from within layers of rage and relief. At some point, Liz drifts back over to my side and her low whistle cuts through my headphones. I pop them out to grin at her.
“Now that’s what we want to see. Great work today, Meg.” I grin back at her as she lifts my canvas from the easel, appraising it before she brings it down in a blur of movement, cracking the frame across her knee. Wood splinters through the canvas, my eyes flying wide and mouth dropping open. Liz’s smile doesn’t falter as she bends the canvas in half, concealing the smearedpaint inside as she tosses it in the trash can. “The next one will be even better. I’m excited to see it.”
For a second, I don’t move. I just stand there, brush still in my hand, fingers slowly tightening around it as if I can rewind the last ten seconds through sheer will. If there was ever a time to develop a superpower, this is it. Alas, my gaze drifts to the trash can, to the bent, broken frame half-hidden amongst the scrunched newspaper. There’s a strange, hollow quiet in my chest. That was the first time I felt like I’d accomplished something, and I didn’t even get to take a photo of it.
“She tore up twelve of my pieces before she felt that I’d found my creative rhythm,” a voice cuts through my internal spiral. I stiffen before I turn to see Reid sitting in my stool. “It is for the best, trust me.” Despite my shocked state, I let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“Trust you?” My brows lift, disbelief written all over my face. The brush cracks in my hand, alerting me to the iron-clad grip I had on it. I toss the two pieces into the trash alongside my recent masterpiece.
“You’ve barely looked at me all week, and now what, you’re going to drop in with some encouragement?” I shake my head, a humorless huff slipping out as I grab my bag. “Give me a break. Whatever this is,” I wave my hand in front of his face, noticing a smudge of blue paint on the outside of my finger. Without thinking, I twist my hand and smear that paint along Reid’s cheek. “I’m not interested.”
For a second, he just stares at me like he can’t quite compute what just happened. The streak of blue stands out stark against his pale skin, cutting across the line of his cheekbone. Surprise flickers in his expression, edged with something darker, but I don’t stick around long enough to figure out what it is.
I shoulder my bag and turn on my heel, pushing my way out of the studio before I do anything else to antagonize him.The door begins to swing shut behind me, until someone else shoulders it open and lets it slam shut. The bang cracks through my being, the sound echoing down the hallway. I flinch violently, clutching my chest and stumbling into the nearest wall.
There’s a flash of Reid’s white hair as he also leaves, luckily not spotting me in the throes of panic and heading in the opposite direction. Good, he can stay as far away from me as possible. I can’t stand the hot and cold act, not knowing what he wants from me, not being able to get a read on him. It’s frustrating as hell.
Eventually, when my legs are stable enough to carry me, I make it down the stairs and across the quad, ducking past clusters of students who blur together into background noise. My body is on autopilot, my feet carrying me along familiar paths while my brain lags somewhere behind, still stuck on splintered wood and all-seeing eyes that have just started to reveal an unspoken truth before they were destroyed in front of me. In fact, I barely register where I am until I’m halfway up the path toward my dorm, the building looming ahead like a prison block. My pace slows to a stop, the breath sawing out of me as I stare up at the windows.
Yeah. No thanks. The thought of going back there, of sitting alone in that room and waiting for the walls to start vibrating with Reid’s music, makes my chest clench. Pulling out my phone, I check the time and blow out a quiet curse when I realize Thiago’s still stuck in class for another hour. Of course the one person who would actually distract me isn’t available. Although…maybe there’s an alternative.
Remaining there for another beat, weighing options I don’t really have, I huff out a breath and turn on my heel again. Fine. Let’s see if Everest is in class like a good boy or if he’s taking a break from following orders.
