Chapter 5
EMMA
Yawning, I dropped down in my chair and pulled my books out.
Sitting through art history when I was tired was never fun.
But Vahn and the friends he called over kept me up all night.
One would think that they’d take a break after going at it for three hours, but no.
He had a brief argument with me in the kitchen when I went for a drink, and then went right back at it.
Apparently he had more stamina than most.
The worst part was that through all the moans, groans, and fuck me harders, all I could think about was the way he grazed his thumb over my lip.
He barged in on me with no clothes on. Yet it was that small action that was so intimate to me, I felt vulnerable and exposed, but hot and heavy at the same time.
I could’ve sworn he was going to kiss me.
He even bent down like he was going in for one, and a part of me wanted him to.
But I read the situation wrong. Vahn didn’t want me.
He was annoyed by me. Like always. Girls like me weren’t desired by guys like him.
The only place I would find someone who could look into my soul, was in a book.
I sighed and flipped open my text book.
Growing up the way I did, one learned to be astute and observe their surroundings. The smallest thing could determine what my day was going to be like. It wasn’t the mood in the house when I got up in the morning that I looked for.
It was the underlying hints that something was off. A smile wasn’t always a good thing, food in the fridge did not mean you were free to eat, and a quiet morning did not equate to a quiet day.
I should’ve picked up on Vahn’s mood. I’d known the guy for almost four years now, and he never made a move, so why would he now. Vahn Kessler didn’t see me that way.
“Is that why you quit before you came?”
How did he know that? Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I couldn’t help it. Paranoia was key to surviving in the places I grew up. It was a necessary emotion. It also made everyday life difficult.
Every time I left the house, I got this sinking feeling in my gut that someone was watching me. I knew I didn’t have a stalker, but there was a chance that some guy would recognize me.
Sure, I could’ve hidden my identity behind a mask and wig like others—Vahn always had his face covered on camera—but it somehow felt wrong to me. Like it wasn’t authentic enough. I couldn’t explain why I felt that way. Ruby Rose wasn’t really me, so it shouldn’t matter. Yet it did.
I spent my entire life trying to be someone else to appease others. Maybe I just wanted to hold onto something real for once? Or maybe I didn’t have the energy to fake it anymore? I didn’t know and I didn’t think too much about it. Until I walked around campus.
That’s when the hairs on the back of my neck rose.
Ninety percent of the students here had no idea who I was, yet it felt like they were all staring at me and whispering.
Did they know how I paid for school? Had they seen my shows?
And if so could they differentiate Emma from Ruby? That was the real danger.
I had a brother, I knew how men thought. Not to mention the various letters I’d gotten from fans, any of which could’ve been sent by a guy on campus. My career helped us stay afloat, but it made it incredibly hard to trust people. I questioned everything.
Did that guy two rows down keep looking back at me, or someone else?
Why did that one smile at me, why did that girl talk to me, and why did that one avoid eye contact?
Not even the professor was safe from my scrutiny.
If he looked a little too long my way, I wondered if he wanted something from me.
Sometimes I wanted to stand up and scream ‘yes that was me and I’m not ashamed.’ But I was ashamed, and not because of what I did. There was nothing wrong with how I chose to pay my bills.
I was a fraud, that’s what I was ashamed of. Three times a week I got on camera and talked about something I had no experience in. And people paid me for it. There was something fundamentally wrong about that. I wouldn’t want to take an art class from someone who had never painted.
I know my little show wasn’t the same as a college class. And most of the people who watched were there for one reason, but I was still attempting to educate them regardless. I should have some idea about what I was talking about beyond research, right? Even Vahn could see how inept I was.
“Unlike you, I know how to fuck myself.”
Screw Vahn Kessler. What did he know? I may be inexperienced, but that could be changed. I just needed someone to do things with. That shouldn’t be too hard to find. According to my brother, guys were always willing.
“Good afternoon.” Professor Winston walked in and headed over to the chalkboard.
He walked with a similar air of confidence that Vahn did. Long, purposeful strides as if he knew where he was going every single time he took a step. Not even lack of clothing stopped him. He just continued on going while his dick bobbed along with him.
That thing was huge. Having it point at me was kind of terrifying. Were they all that intimidating and angry? Was I seriously thinking about Vahn’s junk right now? His abs were much nicer. And the way that tribal tattoo crawled up his left side…
Nope, I was not going there. I had a class to focus on.
Sitting up straighter I turned my attention to the professor.
“Today we’ll be talking about why the renaissance is known as the rebirth of art.” He reached up to pull down a projector screen and turned off the light. “You’ve all heard of Da Vinci and Michelangelo, but can anyone tell me who painted this?”
He clicked a button bringing a painting of a fruit bowl up on the screen.
I waited a few minutes for someone else to answer before saying, “it’s Fede Galiza. She was one of the first to paint still life and fruit.”
“That’s right Emma,” Professor Winston nodded. “She was a pioneer in her genre, which is why I find it odd that no one in this class, aside from Miss Rose recognized her work.”
I shirked back a little when half the class looked my way. Being the center of attention was not a place I was comfortable in. Yet, I stayed in the bath when Vahn barged in. Why didn’t I jump out and cover up?
“It’s because she’s a woman,” someone in the second row called out. “She was obviously undervalued in her time, like we all are.”
“Because she was a woman.” Professor Winston’s eyes fell on a blonde girl in the second row. “Is that your entire argument Miss Hendricks?”
“Am I wrong?” She asked back.
We all fell quiet, waiting for the professor’s response. Adam Winston was an amazing teacher, but he didn’t like to be challenged, unless said challenge had merit. A lot like someone else I knew.
Goddamnit. I needed to stop thinking about him.
“No, you’re not wrong.” The professor shook his head. “Fede Galiza was a woman trying to make a name for herself in a male dominated society, which is precisely why you should’ve recognized her work Miss Hendricks. Feminism 101 is down the hall, I suggest you sign up.”
The rest of the class chuckled, while Miss Hendricks shifted her eyes away from the professor. That’s when I noticed the slight flush in her cheeks and the irritation in her eyes. She wasn’t staring at the professor like an embarrassed student, it was more like a woman scorned.
There were rumors floating around campus about Adam Winston’s extracurricular activities, but I never thought twice about them. Somebody always had something to say about someone else. People liked to talk, I learned that in fifth grade when I was dubbed a mother killer.
According to the other kids, my mother died giving birth to me. That wasn’t true. She was still alive as far as I knew, but I couldn’t prove it. She left when I was around five, and I hadn’t heard or seen from her since.
When I was little, I missed her. Now I knew that leaving was the best thing she ever did for us. Not every woman was meant to be a mother.
Because of that experience, I knew how soul crushing rumors could be. So, I refused to listen to them. Now however, I found myself wondering if there might be some truth to them.
Professor Winston was an attractive, single man in his early thirties. I could see the draw. But I’d like to think he had more class than to sleep with his students. Maybe that was because he was my favorite teacher, and all I wanted to see was the good in him?
When I cared about, or liked someone, all I saw was the good. My father tried to sell us when we were kids, and he’d probably do the same now if he could. Yet I still answered every time he called.
Mitch kept repeating the same mistakes over and over again, and no matter how bad he messed up, all I could see was the big brother who told me everything was going to be okay when I cried at night.
I told myself that I was just being nice, but maybe I was a pushover. The sad part was that I wouldn’t change anything. I’d still go around smiling for people when I didn’t want to, because that was all I knew. There was only one person I never felt the need to please.
“Now what did all these artists have in common?” Professor Winston asked.
To which someone called out, “They had talent.”
“Yes Mr. Harker, they had talent.” The professor sighed. “But talent will only get you so far. I could write the next great American novel, but if I didn’t put it out there, then no one would know.”
The guy sitting beside me said, “Why spend all that time writing a book, if you aren’t going to put it out there?”
“That’s an excellent question Mr. Gains,” the Professor said while pointing at him. “Why would anyone create something they had no intention of sharing?”
Various people spouted off things like, it wasn’t good enough, or it wouldn’t make them any money, all of which were valid arguments, but they weren’t right.
“Art comes from the soul.” I interjected. “It’s not easy to bare yourself to the world.”
“That’s stupid.” One girl said.
Another argued, “I think it’s deep.”
“Yeah, but publishing a book isn’t the same as walking down the street naked.” The guy beside me added.
The words came out before I could stop them, “It’s worse.”
The professor’s eyes locked on mine. “Care to elaborate on that Miss. Rose.”
Not really, but I didn’t really have a choice now. Everyone was looking at me. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Huffing out a sigh, I opened my mouth and said, “Your body is always on display, whether you’re wearing clothes or not. But art is raw. It comes from the wounds and scars we tuck away. That’s why one painting will make you feel something, and another won’t.”
“Wow,” someone muttered. “I didn’t think of it like that.”
“That’s the problem with your generation.
” The Professor rolled his eyes. “You’re so engrossed online that you’ve become disconnected from the world.
Which brings us to your assignment. I want each of you to create something.
A painting, drawing, write a short story, I don’t care.
The only requirement is that the piece represents you. ”
“What do you mean it should represent us?” Miss Hendricks asked.
“I suggest you figure it out because if I don’t look at it and see you, you fail Miss. Hendricks.”
Great. How was I supposed to do that? I didn’t know who I was. My first instinct was to figure out something the professor would like, but that wouldn’t work. He’d see right through that.
Basically, I was screwed. If I had someone who could help me break my bad habits, and point out when I was people pleasing, maybe? But I didn’t even have that.
And if by some miracle I found someone, how would I know if it was working? Would I actually be finding myself, or learning what made them happy? My instinct was to be the perfect version of me for everyone around me. Well, almost everyone.
I didn’t care if Vahn was happy or in a good mood. If he pissed me off I told him, and when he was an ass, I fought back. Why was that? Why was he the one person I didn’t try to appease?
“You’re too busy pleasing everyone else to listen to yourself.”
Did Vahn see right through me? No, he was just a jerk that enjoyed teasing me. But maybe he was a jerk that could help me? Did I really want to go there? It was just one assignment. One assignment that might make me fail the entire class.
Crap.