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The days are excruciatingly slow without my freedom or the ability to fill them with the things I like to do outside of school. Instead, I have ample time to get lost in a spiral of dark possibilities.
I think about Efrem on a loop, catching brief moments of reprieve from my misery when racy moments of the time we’ve spent together flash through my mind.
As I treat the photo paper in the darkroom at the Chelsea School of the Arts, I study the image of Efrem I’ve decided to print for one of my school projects. Just looking into his intense eyes—electric even when processed in black-and-white—sets my pulse racing.
It’s the picture I captured of him at Pyotr’s Upstate estate, just before Efrem took my virginity. It’s a shot of his powerful, masculine face, blond hair falling into his blue eyes, his lips almost curving with amusement at our teasing banter.
But a deeper possessiveness lies there that I hadn’t registered in the moment. And in that expression, I can see all the dangerously tempting, sinful attraction that draws me to him like a moth to the flame.
I love every moment I’ve spent with Efrem, and I’m shocked by how much my feelings for him have grown in such a short time. I like him more than I ever would have thought. And more than anything, I wish I could speak to him.
Anxiety builds in my gut as I think about going radio silent on him for an entire week. After the intimacy we shared this weekend, I can’t imagine how that might look in his eyes. I keep hoping he might track me down at school like he did after our first date ended so badly. Then I could tell him what’s going on at home.
But it’s been three days, and still, he hasn’t shown.
Resisting the wave of disappointment that threatens to take me under, I carefully pin the photo up on the line to dry.
My deepest fear, the one I scarcely dare to even consider, is that after this weekend, Efrem doesn’t care whether I’m interested in him or not. That would surprise me. He’s never failed to make me feel wanted. I imagine he’s tried to contact me and took my silence as a sign to stay away. But we are in a completely new space than we were before I flew to Upstate New York.
“That’s a great picture,” Professor Blythe observes, stopping beside me to inspect the image of Efrem I just hung.
“Thank you.” I smile at the wild-haired woman who has one of those ageless faces that always leaves me wondering just what generation she’s in.
“This is what you’re prepping for your portfolio this semester?” My professor leans closer, her eyes narrowing as she studies his expression closely, making my stomach knot with an odd combination of nerves and possessiveness.
“Yes.” I wait for her assessment, curious if she’ll find anything I can adjust or improve about the photo. And my eyes shift back to Efrem’s handsome features. My heart aches with a hollowness from missing him.
And I feel silly because it’s only been a few days. But a lot could be made of those few days, and we still have several more to go.
“I think you should send this one to an art studio. If you find the right one, they might want to put it into their showcase. It’s that good.”
“Really?” I perk up, my pulse kicking up a notch as I join my professor, studying the image from behind her shoulder.
“Yes, see here? You’ve captured so much emotion around his eyes. His face is very expressive, even though he’s not really giving you a full-on expression. Great model,” she approves. “And I love your lighting. It gives him an almost… I don’t know, predatory look?”
That’s exactly the word I’ve thought to describe Efrem in this picture. It amazes me that he can look so dangerous and yet so striking. But then, in the moment, when that look was focused on me, I felt entirely safe. And with Efrem, I know I am. I feel it with a certainty that settles deep within my core.
“Anyway, maybe consider submitting it to the Danziger or Bruce Silverstein Galleries. I wouldn’t be surprised if you made it into one of their upcoming shows.” Professor Blythe turns to give me an encouraging smile before moving on to speak to the student treating a photo behind me.
Thrilled by the praise and honored by the fact that she thinks I could make it into the Danziger Gallery—one of my favorite studios to visit—I study the image a moment longer.
I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts about Efrem and what he might be thinking that I hadn’t fully considered why I liked thephotoas much as I do. But she’s right. It’s an impressive shot.
Beyond the captivating expression on Efrem’s dazzlingly gorgeous face, which until now has completely stolen my attention, I managed to bring the camera into an unusual focus. One that almost centers on his lips rather than his eyes.
His eyes suck the view in, their intensity demanding attention, but it’s the subtle curve of his lips that holds my focus, the lightest dusting of blond facial hair that almost shimmers as it catches the light.
The photo’s energy comes from the tension in his muscular neck, the veins evident against his smooth gray-toned skin. And his strong shoulders just barely make an appearance as they bunch, almost like a large cat crouching to stalk its prey.
The hint of greenery I caught in the background is perfectly out of focus, appearing as odd, hazy shapes that form a halo around his head. It’s a subtle hint that he’s in his natural habitat, not some studio where I doctored the light to so perfectly highlight the hard line of his jaw.
Everything about the photo draws me in, and I think my professor might be right. I just might be good enough to get hung in one of New York’s most popular art galleries.
I desperately want to tell Efrem and ask if he’s okay with that, because I don’t want to send it in if he would prefer to keep his anonymity. I know better than anyone how crummy it can be to have someone take a picture of you without your permission and plaster it in some public place for everyone to gawk at.
And I took this in the privacy of Pyotr’s estate while Efrem and I were just having fun. And while the world might not know it, I’ve captured the moment before one of the most intimate experiences of my life. I don’t want to ruin it by presuming he’s okay with being put on display.
