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How do I live with her stupid decision? I want to tell her to screw off. I don’t want to live with it. Every time the thought roams through my mind, I want to shoot it. It doesn’t belong there. Your mom isn’t supposed to nail your boyfriend. Some things are off limits. At least I thought they were.
It’s something about sitting without anything to look at or read—no TV, no book—that makes your mind wander and churn up the muck plaguing you. Models have to be completely insane to want to do this long-term—or completely at peace with their lives and without problems.
I wish my life were simpler.
I've wished it so many times over the years. At some point, I had to accept that some people don’t live peaceful lives. Shit falls from the sky, and they’re the folks in the wrong place at the wrong time.
They’re my people.
Nathan’s voice has a soothing richness to it. I could listen to him all day. His paintings are different. They are raw and vibrant, sublime and searching. They boast a feeling of infinity and a clashing finality too powerful to contain.
If he painted me would the piece have the same movement and elegant brush strokes? Would I be beautiful or would he portray me as turbulently as the rest of his work?
The room falls silent, and I glance up. Nate is in his spot at the back, carefully avoiding looking in my direction. Not moving for hours is harder than you’d think. Every few seconds a finger wants to twitch or my leg wants to stretch.
I channel my thoughts elsewhere, but they keep swinging back to Matt. We were a couple for so long I forgot what it felt like to be alone. I saw him every day, gave him everything, did anything he wanted, and he still left me. I don’t understand. We were happy—at least I thought we were. He’d tell me I was his ‘baby girl,’ and kiss my temple. When we were together, every kiss was slow and perfect. His mouth on my body was bliss. He loved me. There’s no way he could be with me like that if he didn’t, right? I mean, I should have known. I would have seen it.
But I didn’t. The truth didn’t materialize until I was gone. I thought Matt and I were forever. Beth is right. I need a rebound guy. I need to figure out who I am and what I like. Maybe I don’t want sweet, vanilla sex. We never did anything else. It didn’t get carnal. There was always control and no one crossed the line. Hell, neither of us even had the line on the horizon. Besides the initial discovery of where stuff was and what it looked like, we did the deed the old fashioned way—the thingy went in the traditional hole. I’d been okay with that. I guess Matt wasn’t. Maybe he wanted to do something he couldn’t ask me to do, so he asked—
Oh, God! That’s a horrifying thought—I’m the prude, and my mother’s the slut, so he asked her.
I don’t want to win him back. I just want to stop mourning over something that turned out to be worthless.
The class ends without incident. Everyone packs up their things and leaves.
As I dress behind the cabinet, I wonder if karma is real. If it is, what the hell did I do to deserve this? I tug on my sweats and pull my hair into a ponytail before walking out into the room. It's so quiet I thought I was alone, but, as I turn around the screen, I see Emily sitting there, waiting for me.
She’s got her blue hair poofed high on her head and a matching blue hoop earring in her nose. The black collar around her neck is spiked and partially hidden by the black leather duster covering her skintight black dress. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I echo back. “Are you here to kick my ass or invite me to go clubbing? And by clubbing, I mean maces—me and you—at the bitchy Barbie rush tonight.” I smirk, not expecting it to be either. She’s here to chew me out for modeling, for breaking Carter’s heart, and, most heinously, for stealing her man. I’d have issues with that too. But I didn’t know her first. I knew Carter. And I’m not her mother, so I don’t owe her anything. I frown and slap my bag down on a desk, digging through it to find my wallet, and hoping I have enough cash to score a can of chips. Yeah, I’m still on that.
Pringles. The dinner of champions.
Emily snorts and folds her arms over her chest. “That would be amazing, but since the school frowns on bludgeoning sorority girls, I thought I’d make a peace offering.”
And that’s a weird turn of events. I stop pawing through my things and look up at her. “What’d you have in mind?”
“There’s a haunted bar down on 6th Street. Come with? My treat.” She offers a half-smile which is notable considering I didn’t think her mouth could even move that way. She’s usually sporting an expression so intense most people stop, turn around, and walk the other way. Emily has a severe case of RBF—resting bitch face—but she owns it, so it’s all good.
“Really? So, what made you change your mind? I thought I was an insidious slut trying to poach your man? Why the sudden change of heart?” I realize I’m kicking a hornet’s nest, but I need to know.
She blanches and steps toward me, trying to shake it off. “You offered to hook up with him, and he shot you down. That’s good enough for me.”
We’re standing eye-to-eye. She’s wearing purple contacts and blinks at me. I wonder if I should correct her, explain how Carter blew me off because he wants something real, not a one-night stand.
“How’d you know about that?” My stomach twists. We were in Nate’s office. Did she see the whole thing?
She shrugs. “I was passing by and saw your embarrassing attempt at PDA. You were hot. He was cold. All is good with Emily again.” She smiles brightly, which just looks wrong on her edgy, punk face.
So should I smooth things over with Emily or go home? I don't really want to go home. Bitchy Pants will be there now, and tomorrow my mom is coming with my ex in tow. I want to get sloshed and take my aggressions out on someone hot. I want to lose it and not care about what happens next.
I’m nodding and pulling my bag onto my shoulder, zipping the top as I say, “Sounds good. I’m in.”
“Awesome. And to prove it to you, we are going to find you a rebound guy. Tonight. I’m not leaving until you’ve got a man to take home.”
“And fuck senseless,” I add hastily. At that moment, I glance up and see Nate in the doorway.
He waves a white envelope. “Your check, Miss Hill.”
