Chapter Ten
Evelyn
Life moves on, even when your life is altered irreversibly. It’s something I’ve known for a lifetime. The world didn’t stop when my mom died, or when my had to get his stomach pumped when I was eight or when I lost my virginity.
So, I don’t know why I expected it to be different after Asher and I fucked. I expected to walk out of his office and see that the world had paused, the birds a blur against the sky, mid-flight, the wind holding its breath, the sun in the same place it was half an hour before.
But of course, none of that happened. I walked out of his office to see the same world, the same campus, the same old buildings.
So why do I still catch myself looking for signs the world has stopped days after it happened.
“Evelyn? Helllooo?” Bree waves her hand in front of my eyes and the sounds, sights, and smells of The Bean Queen return.
“Huh?”
“Goddamn someone is distracted.” Bree says. “Are you okay?”
“Yep.” I nod, forcing a smile. “Just thinking of something I want to paint when I get back to the dorms.” It’s all I’ve been doing since Asher and did the unforgivable. I’ve even skipped class to finish one canvas I was working on. It’s the only thing that can distract me from the throbbing in my heart.
“Are you sure?” Bree pushed, her concerned bestie face on. “You’ve seemed a bit out of it the last couple of days. Did something happen with your dad?”
I shake my head. I’ve been to see him a grand total of twice since I started at CSU. “No. Bree, honestly, I’m fine.” The lie tastes sour on my tongue, but I don’t want to worry her.
“Okay.” She says, but the concern in her eyes doesn’t dim. “Speaking of your dad, my mom asked me to make sure you still have her number. She wanted me to tell you that if you ever want her to go check on him, she’ll pop round. Just send her a message.”
I nod, my eyes twitching with the need to fill with tears, but I push them back. “Tell her I said thank you, will you?”
She nods. “How is he, your dad?”
I wince. “Worse than usual.” The last time I saw him he was paler than normal and almost jittery, like a kid on too much candy. “He’s … he was friendly enough but…” I shake my head. “I don’t know, I just got the sense he was hiding something.”
Bree nods. “I’m sure he’s fine but if you ever get worried call her.” I nod but her eyes stay firm. “Promise me, Ev.”
“Thank you.” I breath. “I’m going to visit him for thanksgiving so I’m leaving straight after my date with Jake so it should be fine for now.”
Bree grins, her cheeks lifting. “So, are you excited for your date.”
“I, umm, well …” I don’t know what to say. Am I excited? I don’t think so. I like Jake, as a friend and thinking of him as anything more is kind of sickening, especially now I know him better.
“No?”
I crumble, my head clutched in my hands. “I’m just a mess right now, Bree.”
“You can talk to me about it, you know that Ev?”
I nod. “It’s just complicated, my feelings are just all over the place.”
“I knew it!”
“What?” I look up to see her eyes narrowed.
“You’re having boy issues that aren’t to do with Jake!”
I stare, open mouthed.
“You can’t keep things from me.” She grins. “Now, spill.”
“I …” I hesitate. I can’t tell her, can I? but why the hell not, it’s not like Bree would speak a word of it to anyone. I open my mouth, prepared to tell her, but then her eyes shift up.
“We have a visitor.” She says quickly.
My stomach knots but when I turn it isn’t Asher who’s standing there, it’s Jake. Relief and disappointment slam into me but I wave to him anyway.
“Well, isn’t it the two most beautiful girls on campus.” He says, sitting beside me. I try not to wince at his words but … Jake is just a bit much.
I roll my eyes. “Hey, how was training?”
Jake, a true football player, grins broadly, teeth flashing. “Brilliant. I was promoted from bench warmer to team player.” He turns to me, his eyes warm. “Excited for our date tonight?”
I force a smile. “Sure am. I’ve heard good things about that Italian.
“It’s going to be the best damn date with no pressure you’ve ever had.” He says firmly.
I stand. “It better be.” I swing my bag over my shoulder. “Anyway, I need to head. I have a TA meeting with Asher.”
Jake shudders. “That dude scares the shit out of me. I swear he always looks angry when he looks at me.”
I bite my lip. It’s true, Asher does look at Jake with contempt, but it’s not his fault, it’s mine.
“I bet he looks hot when he’s angry.” Bree teases with a smirk.
“Okay, that is my professor and boss you’re talking about.” I snap, the words sharper than intended, my jealousy turning them barbed. “I need to go.” I turn and walk away, ignoring Bree as she shouts my name.
I can’t believe I just let that happen. I got jealous over Bree, who has no interest in him, who has a boyfriend, who is my best friend. I shake my head as I walk to Asher’s office, anger and shame heating my cheeks.
I’ve known for a very long time that addiction lives under my skin, but I thought I could outrun it. Never drink, never do drugs, never pick up a single cigarette. But it turns out what I’m addicted to isn’t a narcotic, he just acts like one to me. When I see him, hear him, fucking smell him, my body reacts; my heart pulses, aching, my blood rushes, fogging my brain. He is my addiction.
I take a breath as I reach his office door and then I’m pushing through without knocking, needing that little bit of extra control. His smell washes over me instantly, feeding my need for him, but no more. I am not my parents. I do not have to bend to my want of him.
“Asher.” I say stiffly, placing my bag on the floor near the couch before sitting down, notebook at the ready for our briefing.
“Evelyn.” He smiles and my heart falters. “How are you?”
“Perfectly find.” I say. “So, what’s the focus for after thanksgiving then?”
“Art Nouveau.”
A tingle starts in my toes as an unwilling smile creeps across my face.
“Really?” I say, excitement bleeding into my tone. Art Nouveau is one of the most underrated forms of architecture and art, in my humble opinion. A movement focused on the beauty of the natural world, the curves, and dips that earth provides to us free of charge.
“I take it you’re happy about that.”
“I love Art Nouveau.” I say, reaching down for a pencil but I go too fast, too hard, because my bag tips, spilling the contents across his hardwood floor. I jump up, cursing as my art supplies roll across the floor, paint, pencils, charcoal, and oil pastels.
Asher smirk intensifies as he helps me retrieve the contents of my bag.
“What.” I grumble.
He says nothing, and instead, simply picks up my sketchbook that has fallen open in the flurry of activity. I yell out, but it’s too late, the sheets are all loose and they fall to the floor in a scattering of paper wings. I reach across, trying to snatch them all from the floor, but he’s picked most of them up already.
His eyes are wide, the gold flecks shining like molten gold. “Evelyn, these are amazing.”
I shake my head and hiss, “have you never heard of privacy?”
He shakes his head. “To keep these private would be a crime. These are fucking incredible.” My stomach warms at his words. “I cannot believe you’ve kept these a secret from me.”
Sitting down in a huff of embarrassment, I cross my arms. “You’re just trying to get on my good side.”
“No these are amazing Evelyn.”
He holds out one of my pieces. It’s the head of a girl, her face unravelling like a ribbon, who she is consumed by a viper of poison. I was in an especially dark mood while painting that.
“Fuck me.” He shakes his head once again. “You have to major in art.”
I laugh. “No way.”
He scoffs. “Why?”
“Like I said all those weeks ago, I want stability. I’m not entirely fond of the starving artist aesthetic.”
He bends down then, coming so close that a flash of the other day pierces through my thoughts, his breath mingled with mine. “Evelyn, I know you don’t like listening, but you must listen when I say this. These,” he points to the sketches, the paintings, the messy scribbles, “are worthy of galleries. You do not waste a gift like this.”
I warm at the praise, and the passion with it, Asher’s love for art shining through like a mirror of my own but … it just isn’t viable. “Lots of artists are worthy of galleries, doesn’t mean they have any stability from it.”
“That may be true, but not every artist will take the art world by storm. These would.”
“It’s a hobby.”
“It’s your life blood.” He corrects, seeing through to my soul.
I reach and grab my bundle of papers from him. “It’s a private hobby. Now can we actually get back to the reason for this meeting.”
He sighs. “I’ll leave it … for now.”
“Good.”
He sits beside me at the couch, his warmth seeping, his smell intoxicating, but for the first time since we fucked, the tension has gone, like something deep inside the both of us has shifted and for now, I can pretend like I’m not absolutely aching to be in his arms.