𝐍𝐲𝐱 (𝘨𝘹𝘨)

IX - body and mind

Victoria Valentín

It's three in the morning and I'm in the art room, finishing a portrait of my parents. I will never get over their death, but I can feel myself getting lighter over the days I've spent at Lila. I blame Irene's fast paced personality and her up-beat way of living. I can't live sulking, I have to keep going.

I'm painting them from memory; my mom's deep complexion and freckled face, my dad's high cheekbones and curly afro. My mother and father's relationship with Irene was always a very healthy one, one that was full of laughter and joy. I know Irene never shows it—for my own sake—but she got really emotional when they passed away. It was easier for Irene, though, because she's older and knows what life has planned for her.

I have no clue what life has planned for me. All I know is that tonight Irene is hosting her annual spring ball at Lila and that I'm going to wear a deep green dress.

I start varnishing the painting when I hear footsteps. I put down my brushes and tip toe to the doorway of the art room. I peek out and see Olive walking down the hallway, her olive-tinted skin glistening in the dim light of the hallway. She has a towel around her neck and she's wearing a sports bra. I feel my breath hitch as she runs her hand through her tussled short hair.

My face gets hot and I quickly turn back into the art room before she can see me. She must've been working out right before this moment, causing her skin to glisten with sweat.

I slowly sink down with my back against the wall, putting my hand over my heart (which is absolutely erratic) and my breath is labored. I take deep breaths to slow my heartbeat and close my eyes tightly.

In the half year I've been at Lila, I almost forgot I'm gay.

I'm putting on my golden dangling earrings, getting ready for the spring ball, when I hear a knock on my door.

"Come in!" I sing out, reaching to adjust my hair. I turn around as I hear the door open and see Olive Rios wearing an oversized T-shirt and boxers.

I flush and ask her if there's anything she needs. I stop fidgeting with my hair and take a step towards her.

"I need help," She blurts out. I raise a brow, looking her up and down. She takes her hand through her hair and my breath hitches as I get flashbacks to how I felt last night. Her attire isn't helping, it just reminds me of how masculine she is and how attractive I find that (in a girl).

"I'm assuming you're asking for help with clothing," I tell her and she nods her head. I glance once again at the mirror, making sure I'm completely ready. We walk together out of my room and down the hallway, into hers.

Her room is stout and cozy. The bed is low and the ceilings are high, which makes the room look extremely comfortable. The sheets are navy blue and tussled. The windows are closed and the curtains are shut, which makes me assume she had been taking a nap this afternoon. There are a few books littered on the ground and I pick one up, it's in Spanish.

I turn to Olive with the book in my hand. It's a thin book and must be simple to read. I see a small blush rise to her neck and ears, making me smile a bit.

"I didn't know you read in Spanish," I told her, gathering the rest of the books up. I hear her clear her throat as I place them on her nightstand.

"I'm trying to re-learn how to speak it," I hear her say. I turn back to her and walk towards her closet. I hum in response, wanting her to keep talking to me about it. She continues, "My dad was Colombian and spoke it to me when I was a kid, so I understand it fine, but I can't speak it very well." My heart swells a bit.

"That's very admirable of you," I tell her, "and it's extremely hard to re-learn a language. You're a natural bilingual, so once you extend your knowledge, you'll speak it fluently." I hear her clear her throat again, which tells me she isn't used to talking about herself.

I let my hands drift through the closet and I find nothing that resembles anything formal. I walk back to her, taking her hand and dragging her down the hallway.

There's a large pair of familiar double doors at the end of the hallway. I open them, seeing the covered furniture in white sheets and the large windows, covered up with curtains. There's a thin layer of dust on everything, letting me know that Irene has not yet been able to clean this part of the house, due to the heavy emotions that must come with the memories.

The room is momentous and large. The red velvet furniture and intimate tea tables are covered in white sheets and the wooden floor creaks when I walk towards the closet. My heart clenches as the memories of the room flood into my mind.

"This was my parents' room," I tell Olive. "I really hope moths haven't gotten into the closet," I say as I open the two doors, I walk in and turn the lights on. The wooden interior of the closet became illuminated and I turn towards my dad's side. I slide a wooden door open and find all of his suits in absolute perfect condition. He never liked wearing them because he felt too formal.

"I'm sorry about your parents," I hear Olive say.

I chuckle a bit at the memories, letting some tears flood my eyes, but they never drop down. I let the clothing embrace me and I find the smallest suit. It is still big—at least compared to my measurements—but it should fit Olive. I turn to her and show her the suit I picked. She nods her head, with a small smile on her face.

I'm down in the stone-floored foyer, entertaining guests and greeting familiar faces. Irene is the center of everything, wearing a tailored navy blue suit with little crystals that look like stars. Her curly hair is styled up and she looks like a queen with a small crystal crown on her head.

My thoughts drift to Olive and I wonder if the suit fit well. It should have a bit of an oversized fit, but the button-up blouse should fit right (since it was my mom's) and I gave her a thick leather belts for the pants. I gave her my mom's fashionable platform loafers that I always used to play with as a kid, which should've fit well.

I quite enjoyed finding her something to wear, but the satisfaction is always at the end result. I had left her in her room to get changed, telling her it would be okay to be fashionably late.

The violin and piano broke me back into reality, shaking my thoughts away from Olive for a moment. I greeted some more people. If I had to assume the amount of people in the room, I would guess it would be around fifty. Some people had wondered around the house's ground level for their own entertainment or gone into the gardens to admire the sunflowers in the moonlight.

I turn around and see her coming down the staircase. She's fumbling with her blazer in a distracted manner. Her hair is gelled back and her eyes have a bit of eyeliner under them, making them look more angular then they are. The top few buttons of her blouse are unbutton, making my cheeks flush in red.

She looks up and looks around the foyer, rubbing the back of her neck and blowing a breath out of her mouth. She meets my eyes and starts walking towards me. My breath hitches and my heart clenches at the sight of her strolling towards me.

"Do I look okay?" She asks, I spreading her arms wide with a crooked grin, giving me a turn on her heels.

I give her a small hum in response, not trusting my voice. I internally scream and give her a small smile. There's no way I can physically contain what I'm feeling right now, the whole world must know that I'm attracted to someone I'm not supposed to be attracted to. The whole world must see that my heart is about to burst out of my chest in a pool of red.

A/N: was the build-up okay?