Page 30 of Secret Obsession
Anddefinitelynot because his words elicit a physical response in me.
Holy shit—he’s deranged. And I must be, too.
“The day I kneel at your feet is the day I die,” I manage to respond.
He shrugs, sitting straighter and focusing back on his easel. “We can simulate your death if you want,baby. But you’re not leaving this earth one second before me.”
I shiver.
The professor appears at my side with the syllabus and material list. After a quick scan, I pull out my charcoal pencils and show them to her. She nods, grinning, and reiterates what we should be doing. Capturingmovement, the action of drawing.
And then she’s tearing her work from the pad and leaving it blank for me. It takes way too long for the newfound ache between my legs to fade. Matters are only made worse in that I have to watch Miles.
I sketch his profile, his nose, his chin, the slope of his throat. I’m a shit drawer, I realize. Especially when it comes to people. My figure doesn’t look anything like Miles.
“Looser lines,” the professor advises, halfway through the class. She grips my wrist and shakes my arm gently. “Draw with your whole arm, Willow.”
She says something to Miles, but I miss it. My face is on fire.
Why did I have to take an art class, at all?
Because I thought it would be fun?
Well, it’s not. It’s judgmental and hard andstupid, and my eyes are burning for no goddamn reason. I give up on watching Miles because it’s not helping. I instead turn to the clock, drawing the circle and the numbers, the hour hand, the minute hand, the blurred second hand. Capturing it mid-tick.
But really, just willing it to move faster.
I put more effort into it, trying to get all the little details in the shadows right.
Miles’ stool scrapes along the floor, and suddenly he’s looming over my shoulder. He snickers.
“Maybe you should stick to singing,” he says in my ear.
And then he’s moving past me, his bag over his shoulder. Most of the class is filing out along with him. A new blush rises to my cheeks. I was so desperate to get out of here, and now I’ve missed the end of class.
I hurry to put my things away and shove the syllabus into one of my notebooks. The professor waves goodbye, and out the door I go. I’ve got a math class after lunch, and homework due for it. It’s Quantitative Problem Solving, which is really fancy wording for applying math to real-life situations.
Although we’ve really only just started, it seems like an interesting subject. And hopefully useful in whatever career path I choose.
Computer science is supposed to open a lot of doors… except right now, it’s feeling more like a lot of them are slamming in my face.
My phone buzzes when I’m halfway to the coffee cart. I step off the sidewalk and answer Violet’s call with a frown.
“What’s up?”
“Are you on the warpath or something?” Violet asks.
I pause. “Um, not at this moment.”
“Where are you?”
I tell her.
“Stay right there. Don’t move. Seriously.”
“Okay, okay.” I look around, but the quad is empty. It’s a little early for lunch, I guess. And it doesn’t help that it’s freaking cold out, with another storm blowing in this weekend. Still, I stay where I am until I spot Violet coming from the parking garage.
She grabs my hand and tows me right back in the direction she came. She doesn’t stop until we’re at her car, both safely inside with the engine running. I put my hands in front of the vents, my teeth chattering.
