The Art Class (BL)

9. No caller ID

Alex:

With a sigh of exhaustion, I carelessly tossed my bag aside, the weight of the day's frustrations finally catching up. My stomach rumbled in protest, a poignant reminder of the neglect it had suffered amidst the chaos of college life. Dragging myself to the fridge, I swung open the door, greeted by a disheartening collection of mismatched leftovers and half-empty condiment bottles.

My fingers grazed over the sparse array of options—or lack thereof—until I finally settled on the simplest of snacks: a cheese stick. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Just as I closed the fridge door, my phone began vibrating in my pocket, its insistent ring cutting through the room's stillness. With a sense of dread, I glanced at the screen.

No Caller ID: My heartbeat quickened, anticipation mingling with trepidation as I hesitated before answering.

A shiver ran down my spine as I heard her voice on the other end of the line, dripping with mischief and familiarity. "Heyyyy Bestie," she giggled, the sound both playful and unsettling.

"How did you get my number, Evie?" I replied, my tone laced with annoyance, masking the underlying curiosity.

"That's no way to talk to your best friend now, is it?" she teased, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.

With a resigned sigh, I relented. "Well, what do you want then?" I asked, bracing myself for whatever mischief she had in store.

"I was wondering if you wanted me to pick you up for class tomorrow morning?" she offered, her tone oddly blank, almost as if it were a statement rather than a question.

A flutter of confusion consumed me. "Wait a minute, how do you know I'd need a ride to class?" I questioned; my voice tinged with suspicion. There was something mysterious about her sudden intrusion into my routine, something that didn't quite sit right.

The line was silent for a heartbeat too long; my only sound was breathing. Then, her voice returned, calm and slightly impatient. "Well, do you need a ride or not?"

My hesitation dissolved into acceptance, a relief weaving through my apprehension. "Well, yeah, that would be helpful," I stated, unable to suppress the slight tremor in my voice.

"That's what I thought. I'll be at yours tomorrow morning—don't make me wait," she declared, a commanding edge slicing through her words. And with a click, she was gone, the line dead before I could even process her abrupt departure.

Stunned, I realized I still needed to give her my address. How would she be able to get me otherwise? The question spun in my mind, a growing sense of unease settling in. "Wait, I never even tell her my address like I didn't give her my number," I murmured to the empty room, a shiver of apprehension threading down my spine. Oh my god, she's so weird."

I assume she figured it out in some weird way. The prospect of seeing her tomorrow made me roll my eyes. She's annoying, but I'm pretty hard on friends, so she will do it.

After that call, I decided a cheese stick wouldn't suffice. I needed something more substantial, so I walked to the local café. It was around 1:45 p.m. at this point, so I suppose it was perfect timing for a late lunch.

The café was the ideal escape—something indulgent to distract me from the bizarre turn my day had taken. With its warm glow and the murmur of afternoon lingerers, it welcomed me like an old friend.

The familiar scent of fresh coffee and baked goods wrapped around me as I stepped inside. "Hi, sir; what can I do for you?" The barista's cheerfulness was a bright note in the dimly lit room, her smile wide and inviting.

"Could I grab a menu, please?" I asked politely.

"Of course, order when you're ready," she replied with a nod, handing me the menu.

I retreated to a secluded corner with the menu, the quiet clink of cutlery and soft indie music filling the gaps in my thoughts. My eyes danced over each item. It was the simple pleasures that called to me today—a chilled iced coffee to soothe the lingering heat of a confusing day and a ham and cheese croissant.

As I settled deeper into the embrace of the café's worn-out seat, I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to Evie's mysterious call. She's a strange one, but I can't shake the feeling it's more than that. I need to ask her tomorrow how she got my number.

But then, like a shadow creeping in, Zack's imposing figure loomed large in my mind. Agreeing to be his friend had been less of a choice and more of a survival tactic. Shaking my head to banish the unsettling images, I felt a flush of embarrassment heat my cheeks. The memories of what he did to me clung to my thoughts, making me feel small and pathetic about my body's reaction. It's not like I wanted to act that way "ugh stupid fucking body" I said aloud.

"Are you okay, sir?" The waiter's voice broke through my reverie, her concern evident in his furrowed brow. Holy shit, I must be crimson from how hot my cheeks felt. I mumbled a quick reassurance, eager to escape the spotlight. Note to self: avoid public displays of inner turmoil especially about Zack.

But the waiter's lingering gaze told me she wasn't convinced, her concern shadowing our interaction.

Fumbling for an excuse, I weakly smiled and said, "It's okay, really. I should just take my jumper off." Yet, I couldn't help but wonder—was I really okay? Or was I merely treading water in a sea of conflicting emotions, caught between two suspicious people I now had to call friends?

I may be running low on friends, but I'm certainly not desperate enough to label Zack as one unless he's holding some serious leverage over me.

I made a mental note to avoid letting my thoughts wander down those treacherous paths in public again. After all, a little embarrassment was a small price for a delicious, iced coffee.

The waiter returned my smile before delicately setting down my iced coffee and croissant, a subtle sway to her hips as she turned and sauntered away. As I took a sip of the rich, creamy iced coffee, a surge of pleasure washed over me. It was like a secret elixir, instantly lifting my spirits. The combination of the cool, refreshing coffee and the warm, flaky croissant was the perfect antidote to my turbulent emotions.

After relishing every last bite of my indulgent meal and savouring the final drops of my decadent iced coffee, I settled the bill with a tip, expressing my gratitude to the waiter with a subtle nod of appreciation. Stepping out into the crisp afternoon air, I felt a sense of contentment wash over me. Each step home felt lighter, the satisfaction of a good meal lifting my spirits.

Once I arrived home, I set myself to the task of tackling the dreaded mid-semester report. With a sigh, I opened my laptop and began diving into the abstract world of art history, a subject that had never entirely captured my interest. Nevertheless, I knew I had to soldier through it, focusing on the intricate details of artistic movements and the evolution of abstract expressionism.

Despite the dryness of the subject matter, I found solace in the fact that I could channel my creativity into the three paintings required for the report. I decided to use acrylic paint, given my familiarity with it. I didn't need to think too much into it since the report wasn't due for another two weeks.

...

After a few hours of study, my sister came home from work looking exhausted. She went straight to the kitchen to grab a snack and then retreated to her room without another word.

Looking at my watch, I realized it was 7:30 pm. Holy shit, I've been studying that long?! Preferring to give my sister some space, I retreated to the kitchen to scavenge for a quick dinner before seeking refuge in the welcoming embrace of the lounge room. The prospect of an evening movie beckoned, yet the daunting task of choosing what to watch loomed over me like a dark cloud.

Fingers poised over the keyboard, I succumbed to temptation and typed in "Movies with Dylan O'Brien." Admittedly, I admired his acting abilities. I definitely didn't want to watch something with Dylan O'Brien in it because of how hot he is. Right?...

This was going to be a fun night. I settled on "The Maze Runner" and made myself comfortable, ready to lose myself in the story. As the opening scenes unfolded, I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. This was precisely what I needed—a captivating escape from the complexities of my own life.

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