You Can Run To Me

Nineteen

Art was still one of Nat's most precious pass-times. She continually looked forward to it, and even the teacher was a little impressed by her fervor. Whenever she woke in the middle of the night, art was her refuge too, and she would draw away the night terrors. Yet it made no sense, as art was no distraction from him, or her friend's mistrust, or her distraction itself. Indeed, she spent a lot of time drawing him. It might be a little girl with a balloon she was actually drawing, but somehow little bits of him – his eyes, his lips, the way his hair sat – crept onto the canvas. But it didn't worry her there as it did everywhere, so it was a form of catharsis.

Some days they had volunteer models to draw, others objects, and others still they were free to draw whatever they wanted to, be it real or imagined. On the particular day in question, it was the first of these three options. Students often offered to pose (fully clothed, mind) for the amateur art class in return for not money or free food or anything physical, but for the credit. And sometimes to flirt with people (less fully clothed). This was, of course, pretty fortunate for the students, as there wasn't enough funding for an enrichment class to pay models. Thus it wasn't all that much of a surprise when Delia announced to the class that today there would be a model that they had to draw.

Natalie decided that today was the day she should try her hand at acrylic paint. It wasn't her favorite medium, but she knew she'd never get better at it without practice. She had invested a while back in a nice set of acrylic paints, including a pretty convincing average skin shade, which she could mix with other paints to get just the right shade for the subject. A few of the other acolytes looked to be setting up to try at an abstract drawing. Of course, none of them would finish in this single session, so the model would have to come back next week, and sometimes even for a further session after that. Creativity must not be rushed, after all.

Delia had popped out of the art studio to bring the model in. Apparently he was one of the rare few willing to bare skin for the students. This would give them all a chance to try drawing more than just faces, and practice shading on a slightly grander scale. Maybe I should to a surrealistic piece, thought Nat, as she looked at the other preparations going on around the room, turn him into the devil or something. She rummaged around in her bag until she found a grubby HB pencil and scrap of pale paper. She started sketching horns and pitchforks and hooves and the like, wondering if his pose would suit. It would undoubtedly take longer than they'd have with the model to get all the detail perfect, but once she had the face and body shape down, it would be just as easy doing it with the model as without.

She could hear the model and Delia coming in quite clearly as Delia was laughing loudly, evidently greatly amused by something he'd said. Natalie stopped her sketching, and set the pencil aside. The door that linked their art room to the one next door (great for modest models who didn't want to walk through the corridors half-dressed... or be seen going to the art rooms) opened slowly. Nat heard his laugh before she saw him, and instantly recognized it. No. Not him! An awful mix of dread and excitement bubbled through her as Ephren Carter strode bare-chested to the center of the circle and sat down gracefully.

Nat noticed the student next to her staring at her (how they kept their eyes off him is yet a miracle) curiously, and realized that she must have spoken out loud. She almost told them to mind their own business, but quickly decided it didn't matter. No doubt they'd forget it in a minute or two. It was hardly something worth blabbing about unless she snapped at them and made it something to blab about.

She wished she didn't have to look at him. On the other hand, this was a fantastic opportunity to unabashedly stare at him. The question was; did he know she was there? He didn't seem to have noticed her. In fact, his eyes had skimmed past all the faces in the room as he walked in, but hadn't settled on hers for any longer than anyone else's. Meanwhile he was practically flirting with the art professor, much to Nat's distaste. Much as the woman was only a few years older than any of them, she was a professor. At least, that's how she explained the curdled feeling inside her. It wasn't jealousy, of course. What a ridiculous suggestion!