The Art Class (BL)

4. Misplaced or Stolen

Alex:

The piercing sound of my alarm shattered the peace of the morning and my sleep. Reluctantly, I forced myself to roll over to my side towards the bedside table. Groaning, I fumbled in my dark room for my phone, still half asleep.

Wait a minute; it wasn't in its usual spot on the nightstand. Confusion clouded my still-drowsy mind until I looked towards the light shining into my room from the door.

I noticed a figure standing at the doorway.

"Beep, beep, beep," my sister chanted in a sing-song voice, her words playfully mocking the sound of my phone that I finally realised I had lost.

My irritation surged. "Ugh, shut up," I grumbled, my voice thick with sleep-induced annoyance. "Hey, rude," she shot back, not fazed in the slightest. "You weren't awake, and it's almost time for your class." Her words came out with an amusing giggle. She knew very well I was not a morning person and liked to torment me with that knowledge.

I wouldn't be surprised if my morning routine was a source of endless entertainment for her. She was around 10 years older than me, so she was long done with college, assignments, and stupid due dates. You would think that coming up on thirty, she would be more mature, but you would be surprised by the number of pranks she pulls.

Coming to my senses, I shot out of bed, accidentally startling Natalie; I suppose that's payback. "What's the time?" I asked Natale while yawning. "9:05am, that's why I woke you up, dumbass. Don't you set alarms?".

I only have a little time before class starts. I felt my heart sink when I realised that today I had my main art class again, an event that promised little more than the company of Zack." Oh, shit," I muttered under my breath. Yet, there was a strange sort of anticipation mingled with dread, for every encounter with Zack seemed to veer into unexpected territory. There was seriously something wrong with that guy who makes someone you just met sit on their lap to prove a point.

Shaking my head to get the scene of last night out of my head, I felt a chill in the air, which reminded me that it was one of those cold, dreary days. With little regard for fashion, I reached into my drawers and pulled out the most comfortable ensemble I could find—a well-worn zip-up hoodie and a pair of baggy pants. Today was not a day for stylish statements; comfort took precedence over style.

Going to the mirror to check the state of my hair, I noticed the severe bedhead I have. I grabbed a de-tangling brush to start fixing the mess on my head. After fixing my hair, I put on the clothes I had picked out. With each snug zip of the hoodie and the comforting embrace of the loose-fitting pants, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. In this cosy attire, I could shield myself from the biting cold.

Feeling like I was going to be extremely late, I snatched my backpack and descended the stairs. I glanced at the time on the wall, and I was only met with a disheartening realization. Once again, the demands of punctuality clashed with the desire for nourishment, leaving me with a familiar ultimatum.

"Well, I suppose breakfast will have to wait," I murmured. With a resigned sigh, I stepped out into the crisp morning air. I started my walk, determined to defy the inevitability of tardiness, at least for today. With class starting soon, I opted for the bus. A last-minute shift blessed me with extra cash. I won't get it until next week, but it's money I desperately need.

Even though I bundled up, the short walk to the bus was tiring. I'm so glad I decided to take the bus. I can't endure this weather for much longer. Once I reached the bus stop, I sat down and curled up into a ball until the bus came. Once the bus finally arrived, I purchased my ticket and made a beeline for the back of the bus. No one was in the back few rows, which was great; I love my personal space.