36
Valentina
Idon’t like art.
Let me clarify. I don’t like creating art. Drawing, painting, all that, I hate, which doesn’t really work out for someone getting an art degree.
I guess I thought I would be looking at art more than actually making art. My professors know I don’t want to be an artist, but they keep telling me that practicing art will help me understand art. Really, all it does is make my hand cramp and make me rethink every stroke.
It’s a great time.
Currently, I’m working on a drawing that is supposed to represent “life in motion”.
For the past few hours, I’ve been sitting on the steps of Carter Hall, a main building on campus with a large set of stairs leading into it, trying to at least draw up the outline of my piece before I add in the smaller details.
My eyes scan the campus again when my attention is drawn to Huxley, who is sitting beside me. He showed up about an hour ago and hasn’t moved from this spot.
“Hi,” I say, finally acknowledging him.
“Hi,” he says with a soft smile.
I look over his position, leaning on the step behind him with his legs stretched out. It doesn’t look comfortable. “Are you really just watching me draw?”
He nods. “Yup.”
“Why?”
“It’s calming.”
I smile and glance at my picture. “There’s still a lot I have to do.”
“I’ll stay here all night if I have to,” he says without hesitation.
“It will be too dark.”
He instantly pulls his phone out, presses a few buttons, and then shines a light onto my paper.
I laugh. “You think of everything, don’t you?”
He turns the light off and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Of course, Love.”
His gorgeous smile makes me forget about his uncomfortable position and how much longer we’ll have to sit out here. He doesn’t have to be here. He could be anywhere else, with anyone else. But he’s here. And my heart flutters harder than my chest is used to.
“Hi, Huxley.”
My eyes fall on the girl approaching us up the steps. She doesn’t glance my way at all, which means she’s only here for him. But Huxley doesn’t acknowledge her.
“You coming to the party this weekend?” she asks, still trying to get his attention.
“I don’t think so,” he tells her dryly, his eyes still on my paper.
“You sure? I heard it’s gonna be at the frat house on West Street. And there’s always a room open there.”
“He said no,” I snap, gripping my pencil so hard it could break. Huxley looks at me, but I don’t take my eyes off the girl who slowly lifts her eyes in my direction.
She looks me over and smirks. “You don’t answer for him, Sweetie.”
“Actually, she does.” My eyes fall to Huxley as he stares blankly up at the girl. “And my answer is still no.”
The girl shrugs as she starts to walk past us.
Thank god. Normally, they don’t give up that easily.
Once she gets closer, she suddenly leans down to Huxley and whispers loud enough for me to hear.
“Let me know when you’re done pretending to be a boyfriend,” she tells him. “I’ll show you a better time than she ever could.”
The girl stands up straight again, staring down at me with a smile that says I’m going to steal him from you.
I hold her gaze, trying to remain strong, but I fail. My eyes fall back to my drawing while I pray for the earth to swallow me whole.
Girls have been staying away from Huxley. At least, as far as I know, they have. I can’t imagine him staying with me if other girls are still coming up to him every day. Girls like the one standing here right now. She could take Huxley away. It would be so easy for her. I don’t stand a chance.
“You wish,” Huxley says to her. The girl and I both look at him, her in confusion, me in shock. He just stares at her, no emotion or interest on his face. “Goodbye,” he says with a dry smile.
The girl huffs and glares at me before stomping up the steps.
Did he…did he just choose me?
“Fuck.” Huxley pushes his hands into his hair, gripping tightly to the strands. “How much longer are they going to keep this up?”
Words fall out of my mouth before I can think to keep them in. “How many girls have you been with?”
His entire body tenses for a moment, then slowly, he pulls his hands from his hair, letting them rest on his knees.
“You don’t want to know that.” His voice is stern, and I know I shouldn’t push it.
“More than 50?” I ask anyway.
“Valentine,” he warns.
Don’t push it. But I do. “More than 100?”
He turns to me quickly. “Why do you want to know this?”
“I want to know you.”
“But why this?”
“Why don’t you want to tell me?”
He glares at me. But it isn’t a cute glare that will turn into a smile. He’s angry, and I made him that way.
“Believe it or not, Valentina,” he bites, “but I still have secrets that I’d like to keep to myself.”
“How is it a secret if the whole campus probably already knows the answer?”
That look of sadness when we talk about his sex life fills his eyes, and I would kick myself right now if Huxley couldn’t see me. So instead, I pinch my left arm. But that pain doesn’t suppress the pain in my chest from hurting him.
“Right,” he scoffs, standing and tossing his bag over his shoulder. “Why don’t you go ask one of them then if you’re so fucking curious.”
He heads down the steps, but I don’t call him back. I shouldn’t have asked him about this, and I shouldn’t have tried to force him to tell me the truth.
With everything else, I’ve let him have his pace, and he’s let me have mine. But this seems different. This is one of the main reasons we got together in the first place. A piece of information that should have been brought up in the beginning.
But there’s a reason it wasn’t.
I knew talking about his sex life bothered him, which is why I shouldn’t have pushed him now, and I won’t push him again. If he wants to tell me the truth, then he will. I can’t expect him to open up to me when I know I can’t open up to him just the same.
Surface-level conversations seem like the safest route. And if it comes between that and breaking up, I’ll take learning the bare minimum if it means keeping Huxley next to me.