2. Willow
2
WILLOW
“I drew inspiration from Roman statues veiled in thin drapery,” I say, standing before my Inspirations Class at RISD. My grip tightens around my sketchbook as I glance at my sculpture—a blend of marble and clay. The marble veil, painstakingly carved, drapes over the clay figure beneath it.
Professor Harlow studies it, her sharp eyes unreadable. “And the veil—what does it represent?”
“Fragility and resilience,” I answer. “Marble is rigid, unforgiving, while clay is pliable but prone to cracking. Together, they reflect the tension between strength and vulnerability.”
She nods slowly. “Why mix materials?”
I swallow. “Because life isn’t one thing. Marble is permanence, an ideal. Clay is human, imperfect. I wanted to explore that contrast.”
A pause. Then, a measured, “Interesting. Let’s see where you take this next.”
She moves on to the next student, but my chest feels tight as I return to my seat. Sofia, my next door neighbor and a talented mixed media artist, catches my eye and gives me a small, reassuring nod.
Rudy leans over from the seat beside me, his sketchbook balanced precariously on his knee. “Hey, that was solid,” he whispers, his voice low enough not to draw attention. Rudy’s always nervous in these critique sessions, but his talent with 3D painting speaks for itself. His work practically leaps off the page. “Professor Harlow’s just… intense. Don’t let her get in your head.”
I manage a small smile. Rudy’s encouragement helps, even if he’s a bundle of nerves himself. He’s been my closest friend here since I started over as ‘Rose Taylors.’
After class, Rudy dashes ahead, flinging his arm over my shoulders with dramatic flair and letting out a sharp whistle. “I am going to fail this class, and it is all Rosalita’s fault.”
“Yes, it is Rose’s fault you banged your way through half of the 3D art department and forgot about your midterm project,” Sofia deadpans, stifling a yawn as she catches up.
“Excuse me!” Rudy gasps, clutching his chest in mock offense. “My extracurriculars are a form of research, thank you very much. And for your information, I’m about to make history with my midterm. Just you wait.”
Sofia snickers, brushing her dark curls off her face. “History? Babe, you’re about to make an excuse for why you didn’t finish in time. Again.”
“Wow, the betrayal!” Rudy cries, his voice echoing in the corridor. “Rose, back me up here. You know I’ve got vision!”
“Vision? Sure,” I say with a shrug, grinning despite myself. “Execution? Still pending.”
We’re all laughing as we step outside, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, and the moment I see Unknown Number , my stomach drops.
I freeze, my hand tightening around the phone. Rudy notices instantly because, of course, he notices everything. “Ooh, what’s this? Is that your hot boyfriend calling again?” His voice drips with exaggerated curiosity as he leans in, trying to peek at the screen.
Sofia’s eyes widen, and she practically squeals. “Wait, hot boyfriend? Rose, you’ve been holding out on us. Spill. What’s his deal? Is he a brooding artist or a secret heir to a fortune?”
I roll my eyes, hoping to downplay it. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say quickly, a little too sharp to sound casual. “And his name isn’t important.”
“Not important?” Sofia arches a brow, her lips twitching with amusement. “Which means he’s definitely smoking hot. Like, rip-your-clothes-off hot, isn’t he?”
“Can confirm! He lived with her all second semester freshman year,” Rudy chimes in, grinning wickedly. “He has dark hair, blue eyes and the most charming smile. I almost fell in love with him. He is the true reason I am a bisexual man.”
“I thought that was Ross Lynch’s fault, you know, before cheating on Jaz?” Sofia questions, popping her strawberry scented gum.
Rudy giggles. “You know you're right, because Austin Moon is catnip to me, can’t explain it.”
I press the decline button and shove the phone back into my pocket, my hands trembling. “You’re both ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously accurate,” Rudy says with a triumphant grin..
“Come on, Rose,” Sofia pleads, her grin widening. “We’ve been friends for months, and this is the first I’m hearing about your clandestine romance? Dish! Is he the reason you’re always so serious? Because if he’s as hot as Rudy says, I don’t blame you for being distracted.”
“I’m not distracted,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended.
The playful atmosphere dims as they exchange glances, their teasing tapering off.
Rudy pulls back his arm, an apologetic look on his face. “Rosalita-”
I take a deep breath, forcing a tight smile. “It’s fine,” I say. “Really. Let’s just drop it.”
Sofia nods, perking up when she thinks of another topic to talk about. “You guys still down for drinks tonight?”
“Absolutely,” Rudy says. “I’m in desperate need of liquid inspiration. Rose, you coming?”
I shake my head. “I think I’ll skip it. I feel a headache coming on.”
“Boo, whore,” Rudy says, pouting dramatically.
I lift my middle finger in response, earning a cackle from him as Sofia covers her mouth to stifle her laugh. Turning in the opposite direction, I head back to my apartment, leaving their laughter behind.
The voicemail notification still glows on my phone like a taunt, even as I juggle the phone in my hand. Six numbers. Six new beginnings. Each one shattered by his persistence.
I shouldn’t listen. I should delete it, move on. But my finger hovers over the play button, my heart pounding.
The first message from a year ago plays, his voice soft, almost tender. “Willow… I love you. You know that, don’t you? I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t know why you think you need to run, but… please, just call me back. We can fix this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
I clench my fists, his words wrapping around my chest like a vice. My thumb hovers over the delete button, but I can’t bring myself to press it.
The second voicemail from eight months ago starts, more urgent this time. “Willow, I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks. I know what you said, but please, I need to hear your voice. Tell me you’re okay. Please.”
The air feels colder as I walk, the faint buzz of campus celebrations drifting in the distance. My steps quicken, unease prickling at the back of my neck. My pulse quickens. I glance over my shoulder, but the street is empty except for the faint glow of streetlights and the occasional rustle of leaves.
He sounds desperate, on the edge of breaking, but I know better than to trust the vulnerability. He always knows how to pull me in, like my own personal siren to my death.
The third message from a few weeks ago, cuts through my thoughts like a blade. His voice is sharp now, each word dripping with anger. “You think you can just run away from me? From us ? That’s not how this works, Willow. You’re mine. You always will be. And if you won’t come back, I’ll drag you back here, Willow— because you belong here.”
A shiver runs down my spine. My hand trembles as I pause the message, the air suddenly feeling too thick to breathe.
By the time I reach my apartment building, my heart is pounding. I fumble with my keys, the sharp click of the lock echoing in the silence. The familiar scent of old wood and fresh paint greets me as I step inside, but it does little to calm the unease coiled tightly in my chest.
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the cool surface of the door. They’re better off without me. All of them. They deserve someone who isn’t broken, someone who doesn’t make them so vulnerable. I kick off my shoes, followed by pulling off my socks as I glance back down at the phone, that unknown number still staring at me, daring me to call back.
But I can’t. I won’t. They need to move on. I need to move on. I toss my shoes next to my door, and throw my socks onto my couch, followed by my hoodie.
I delete the voicemail messages.
I delete the call.
"Okay, delete ex-boyfriend’s voicemails—check," I mutter. "Now for wine and a bath to drown in my sorrows." I can already picture the steam easing the tightness in my chest as I slide off my leggings and make my way to the bathroom, but then it hits me.
Wood, paint, ash and whiskey.
My breath catches in my throat, and my heart skips a beat. The scent is unmistakable, thick and rich, like smoke clinging to the air. For a long moment, I just stand there, my mind spinning, trying to convince myself that I’m imagining things. But I know I’m not.
I slowly turn the doorknob, and as soon as I push it open, there he is.
Cast.
Sprawled across my bed like he owns it, his presence overwhelming the small room. His striking green eyes catch mine immediately, an almost predatory hunger flickering in them. He lounges against the headboard, one arm slung lazily across the pillows, a smirk playing on his lips. He looks like he’s been waiting for me.
I gasp, and the sound rips from my throat before I can stop it. My pulse kicks into overdrive, and my stomach twists into a hard knot of panic. What the hell is he doing here? How did he even?—?
His voice is low, smooth, with that dangerous, playful tone curling around every word, like a tease.
“You know, Willow,” he drawls. His eyes rake over me, the intensity that sends sparks across my skin. “I thought we got rid of your ignoring problem, maybe a spanking would help that?”