Violet
Remember how I said all signs pointed to it being a good day?
I’m thinking that thought was a little presumptuous. Or a lot.
Art history was interesting, as always, but the rest of my classes seemed to go on and on endlessly. In Drawing 204, my very eccentric professor announced a new project we’d be working on.
He wasn’t eccentric because he often wore red pants with a patterned button-up shirt that didn’t match. Or that those non-matching bottoms were always two inches too short, and instead of buying new pants, he just wore thick, white crew socks that he pulled up to cover his legs where the pants didn’t.
Sometimes to top off his outfit extraordinaire, he wore a brown leather vest.
I didn’t get it. I didn’t think I ever would.
But his bad fashion choices weren’t what made him eccentric. It was his teaching method. The art department would probably just say he was a creative thinker, a man who was a good example of outside-the-box thinking for art majors. He was good at art, he knew the ins and outs of drawing, and sometimes he would say something that really made something click inside me.
Most of the time?
Most of the time, I sat there cringing, hoping he wouldn’t turn his artful wrath on me.
He was passionate. For him, that passion translated into yelling. I spent ninety minutes, twice a week, in a studio with about fifteen other students listening to him yell almost constantly. Except of course when we were all to be silently creating, a time he walked around and pointed out all the flaws in our work.
I wasn’t sure if I preferred the yelling or the criticism.
Anyway, I noticed as the semester went on, I would always get a stomach ache before his class. A bit of anxiety would twist up my insides, and I would dread the one class I had looked forward to most when I made my schedule for the fall semester.
Aside from his habit of yelling, scolding, and unique teaching methods, he gave me the creeps. Like the actual heebie-jeebies.
It was a real thing because I felt it twice a week.
Artists were sensitive to the energy around them. Of that I was acutely aware, and his energy smelled. Bad.
Anyway, this new drawing lesson he announced? It made me want to drop the class.
Seriously.
Also? I was now legitimately thinking the dude was an old pervert.
We were going to be learning more about drawing the human form. Shade and light, contour, etc. So for this unit, we would have a model, one who would come in and pose for the entire ninety-minute session. The students would come prepared to work the entire time, and each of us would draw said model.
The caveat?
The model was going to be naked.
Butt-ass naked.
Look, I was an artist. Creativity was my jam. But looking at some girl’s naked cooter for ninety minutes and trying to draw it?
Ew.
I had so many questions about this:
1. Was this model in that much need of money that she would stand on a podium, naked, for people to stare at her?
2. Did the professor post an ad for this? Old teacher seeking naked model. References needed.
3. As a naked model did you shave? Let it grow?
—This is a legitimate thought. I mean lady-scaping, or man-scaping, was a real thing.
4. Did the university okay this?
5. Why did the university okay this?
Of course, I didn’t ask any of these questions in class because if I had, I would have gotten shouted at. I’d pass.
He already announced the model was a female. Shocker. Not that I was interested in seeing some dude’s frank and beans dangling. I didn’t want to try and draw that.
Obviously, as I trudged from the art buildings to my dorm room, I wasn’t exactly present in the moment, instead focused inward on the cringe-worthy task I would have to undertake over the next few weeks. I was uncomfortable already.
This was why I didn’t notice I was being followed.
Not until it was too late to go running in the opposite direction.
“Violet, hey,” Ross said, stepping up beside me.
Giving him the side eye, I wondered if I could pretend I didn’t hear him. He must have known what I was going to do (because I’d done it before), because he caught my wrist and held it.
I stopped walking and tugged it back. “Ross. Hey.”
“I tried to call you last weekend,” he said. “You didn’t call me back.”
“Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” I said. “I wasn’t feeling good, so I just stayed in.”
A look crossed his eyes. “Still using that, huh?”
I bristled. “Yeah,” I snapped. “I’m still telling the truth.”
“Down, girl,” he said, holding up his hands. “I was just kidding.”
“Ha. Ha,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from the words.
“So, hey,” he reached out and tugged the front of my cardigan. “There’s a party Friday night. It’s at the Beta Phi house. It’s going to be killer. I’ll pick you up at eight?”
Did he seriously just insult me and then ask me out?
“You know that sounds, uh, pretty painful, actually. I think I’ll pass.”
Ross’s already dark eyes darkened further. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to,” I snapped.
What was it with him? How many times did I have to turn him down for him to get a clue?
“This little game of playing hard to get is getting old,” he intoned, stepping toward me. I didn’t appreciate how he was trying to use the fact he was a foot taller as intimidation.
“I’m not playing. We had one date, Ross, and it was over a month ago. I think it’s safe to say I’m not your type.”
Translate that to: he’s a moron with a big head and is an insensitive jerk-face.
“Of course you’re my type.” He gestured to me, as if that somehow proved his words. “C’mon, just come out with me. I’ll make sure you have a good time.”
I lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “You mean like the last time you made sure I had a good time?”
The good-natured, frat-boy attitude dropped, and what I knew was the real Ross appeared. He was already standing close, probably trying to make it look to those passing by that he was totally hitting on me and I was eating it up, but he moved in closer. His hand snatched up my arm, his fingers closing around my elbow.
“Let go.” I warned.
“What are you implying, Violet?” he said low, his voice holding a note of warning.
“You know exactly,” I spat and tried to pull away. I was done with this conversation. I was done with him.
He clearly thought otherwise and gave my arm a squeeze and pulled me back.
“Ow,” I said. Pain radiated through my elbow and down my arm to my wrist. “Let go. You’re hurting me.”
“I’ll see you Friday?” he asked, as if my agreement were the only way he would let me go.
“I’m not going to the party with you,” I insisted, laid both my palms on his chest, and shoved.
His hand tightened before it released me, and I stumbled back. I stared up at him, breathing a little heavy, and reached out to cup my aching elbow.
“That didn’t hurt.” He scoffed, blowing off the way I cradled it.
Emotion swelled up in me. Embarrassment. Pain. Exhaustion.
“Hey, babe. Who’s this?” said a voice close by. The next thing I knew, an arm was dropped over my shoulders and I was pulled gently into a side.
Startled, I glanced up, forgetting all about my elbow.
A guy I had never seen before smiled down at me, a little twinkle in his green eyes. Dark-red hair fell over his forehead.
Before I could open my mouth to ask him who the hell he was, Ross beat me to it. “What the hell is this?” he demanded.
“What’s up, man? I’m Nate.” Nate didn’t offer a hand or anything. In fact, he just stood there, keeping his arm around my shoulders.
Ross glanced at me, his eyes angry. “You’re dating someone?”
“Uh, no…” I stuttered. Nate squeezed my shoulder lightly, as if telling me to play along. “I mean, yes.”
Ross crossed his arms over his chest. “Which is it? Yes or no?”
“It’s new.” Nate picked up the conversation. “First date is Friday. Going to a party.”
Ross’s eyes flared. “The Beta Phi party?”
“Yep, that’s the one.”
I wanted to stomp on Nate’s foot. What the hell was this guy doing?
“This the reason you turned me down? You’re cheating on me?” he roared.
“Babe, you told me you were single,” Nate said, only mildly offended his date might have lied.
“I am,” I intoned. Then I glanced at Ross. “I told you. I’m not interested. I went out with you. It sucked. I’m not doing it again.”
Ross’s face paled, then flushed red. He was pissed. It made me nervous, but this guy standing next to me gave me some extra courage. Besides, I was tired. Exhausted, actually. And I really wanted Ross to stop calling and texting. Clearly, this was the only way he would get the hint.
Ross made a sound, then turned his anger on Nate. “Good luck with this one, man. She’s a real piece of work. Half the time, she’s too sick to hang.”
I bristled but decided it wasn’t worth it. People like him were a dime a dozen. I didn’t look sick; therefore, I was just a hypochondriac or lying.
“Maybe she’s allergic to you,” Nate offered.
A giggle bubbled up out of my throat.
“I’ll tell you what.” Ross reached into his back pocket and pulled out two twenty-dollar bills. He held them out in front of Nate. “You manage to get this chick to show up on your arm on Friday night, these twenties are yours. Not only that, but your cover to get in the door is on me.”
“I’ll take that deal.” Nate agreed and held out his free hand for a fist bump.
Ross made an angry sound and knocked his fist away, then stalked off as though he were about to go steal some candy from a baby.
When he was gone, my shoulders sagged a little, and I pulled away from my rescuer.
“He just totally left me hanging,” Nate said, glancing at his fist.
“He’s a douche.”
“You gonna leave me hanging, too?” He offered his fist. I touched mine against his. “Sweet.”
“Who are you?”
“The guy you have a date with Friday night?” he said and grinned.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going out with you.”
“What!” he exclaimed. “I just totally saved you back there.”
“You did not save me,” I muttered. “I was fine.”
He gave a pointed glance at my elbow, which I was absentmindedly rubbing again.
I wasn’t about to explain to him that my body was more tender than most. That certain touches, especially at my joints, were sometimes painful. He’d probably be just like Ross and several other men I’d tried to date in the past. Completely incapable of understanding.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Hopefully, he’ll stop calling.”
“He bother you a lot?” Nate asked, his voice turning serious for the first time since he stepped up to my side.
“Nah,” I said, brushing him off. “He’s just an asshole.”
“An asshole who owes me forty bucks and cover to a frat party!” he said like he’d won the lottery.
“I’m not going out with you,” I said again.
“A guy does a good deed, and look what happens…” He shook his head sadly.
I felt my lips twitch. “It’s just forty bucks.”
“I’m just a poor college boy.” His mossy-green eyes widened, and I had to admit he was good at looking pathetic.
I shoved his shoulder and laughed. “Stop it.”
“Aw, c’mon. How about it? It’s just a party. I’ll even pick you up and bring you home. I won’t even expect a goodnight kiss.”
“I’m not kissing you,” I declared.
He smiled, sly. “But you’ll go to the party?” I started to shake my head, but he hurried to say, “It will get that guy off your back, seeing you with me. He’ll think you moved on.”
I thought back to the last disastrous date I had with Ross and how much I would love if he fell off the face of the earth.
“She’s considering it,” Nate said. Some random stranger walked by, and Nate looked at them, pointing at me. “She’s considering it!”
I laughed and grabbed his hand, pushing it down. “Fine. One party. Just long enough for you to get your forty bucks and to make Ross never want to call again.”
Nate surged forward and caught me around the waist and lifted me off the ground for a quick, excited hug. “I’m rich!” he declared after I was back on my feet.
I shook my head, but couldn’t stop the smile. “I’ll see you Friday?” I asked. Maybe hanging out with him wouldn’t be so bad.
For some reason, an image of Stark flashed into my mind. The way he looked partially concealed by the shadows in the driver’s seat of his god-awful Jeep. And then again of the way he looked hunched over the engine with duct tape in his hands.
All of the sudden, going out with Nate seemed like a really bad idea.
“Eight o’clock,” he answered.
“This is just as friends,” I blurted, catching myself off guard. Then, to soften the harsh way I practically yelled it, I gentled my voice and said, “You know, to help each other.”
Nate cocked his head to the side. “Ah, she’s got her eye on someone else.”
“No,” I said, quick. Was it that obvious?
“Clearly, it’s not that clump nugget.” He thumbed in the direction Ross left. “And since you seem immune to my captivating charm, I’m thinking there’s someone else.”
“There’s no one.”
“But you want there to be.” Nate gestured. “C’mon. Tell me his name.”
I laughed. He was incorrigible. I liked him.
“Tell me your name?” he asked instead.
“Violet. So eight o’clock?” I told him. “Room ten. First floor.” I pointed to my dorm.
He followed my finger, then pursed his lips. “Tell me who you had to kill to get a private dorm room.”
I leaned in and whispered. “If I told you, then I’d have to kill you, too.”
“Scandalous,” he whispered back.
“See you Friday, Nate,” I said, then backed away.
He waved, and I turned around. I shouldn’t have let myself be talked into that party, but it was only for an hour or so. If it got me off Ross’s radar, it would be worth it. Besides, Nate was pretty funny. He wouldn’t be so bad to hang out with.
My thoughts drifted back to Stark. I’d looked for him today on campus. There hadn’t been a trace of him in sight.
I couldn’t help but wish it was him I’d be going out with on Friday.