Not His Girl

So That's Officially Official

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Excuse the mistakes

dedicated to sanlana, who made the awesome banner on the side! (edit: it's not showing up, and I don't know why, so I'm working on that)

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How exactly do you ask someone if you can draw them?

"Hey there... Can I borrow your body to pose for a sketch?"

"Yo, bro, can you, like, model for me?" 

"Can I draw you like my French girls?"

See? Any way you put it, me asking someone to draw them is just awkward and creepy. This posed a problem, since my final submissions for the art competition were due pretty soon, and the only thing that had really inspired me in the past couple weeks was the class where Duke had had his impromptu modeling gig. I knew that if I wanted a really solid piece, I was going to need his help.

It was Saturday morning, and I had been lying in bed for a good half hour, debating how I would ask Duke to come to the studio with me so that I could draw him again. I'd been pleased with the initial piece I had done with Duke as a subject, but I wanted to try again, this time with less of a rush and more time to smooth things out. If a piece of mine was rough at the edges, I wanted to make sure it was on purpose. 

Still, it was embarrassing, and I didn't want to ask. 

"Don't be such a pussy," I muttered to myself, and then I sighed and rolled over on my bed so that I was on my back. It was time; I was going to have to suck it up and go downstairs to Duke. 

Duke no longer lived in the room next to mine. As soon as my parents got home, my mom could tell something had changed, and, since I'm crap at hiding things from her, my mom found out about Duke and I going out on a date. Obviously, she wasn't going to let us live close enough to the point where we were sharing a bathroom. However, she also obviously couldn't kick Duke out on the street. 

So, my mom had Duke move down to our basement. Luckily, there was a futon down there in case loads of my family decided to visit, so Duke didn't have to sleep on a cot or couch. She let him leave his clothes in the guest room, and she had my dad mess around with the bathroom so that it wouldn't open on Duke's end, from the outside or inside.

There were also new rules. We couldn't be in each other's rooms past nine on school nights, and eleven on weekends. When we were in each other's rooms, the doors had to be all the way open, and my mom said she reserved the right to pop in whenever she wanted and with zero warning. If any of these rules were broken, she said she would move one of use into the tool shed in the backyard.

I couldn't tell if she was serious or kidding, and it was unnerving.

I sat up in bed and swung my legs over the side. Then, with a yawn, I stood up and walked into the bathroom. I decided that it would be better to ask Duke after a shower, but that was probably me just trying to rationalize stalling. 

I turned on the shower, and then stepped inside. I shivered at the water, which was colder than usual, but instead of adjusting it, I just washed my body and hair faster. Perhaps it was the world telling me to move my shit along. If that was the message, I heard it loud and clear, and I climbed out of the shower after making sure I had rinsed my hair completely. 

I wrapped my body in a towel and wiped the mirror of the slight condensation. I combed through my wet hair, doing my best with all the snarls, and then I pulled it back in a loose French braid. I brushed my teeth, gave makeup a fleeting thought, and then decided against it because I felt lazy.  Plus, I thought I was having a good skin day today.