Pushing the Limits(11)

I take him through the exhibit and point out my favorites. I can tell  he's bored of my fashion vocabulary, so I breeze through them without  making him suffer for long.

"Okay, so maybe we shouldn't have started there," I say, laughing.

"I'm really starting to doubt your tour guide skills, Aspen."

I roll my eyes. "I haven't had any complaints."

"I bet not," he murmurs so I almost don't hear him.

"Well, since it's been awhile since you've been here, you should see the  local student exhibit. It's a collaboration of the high schools and  colleges around here."

"Would love to."

We walk side by side down the hall as I lead him toward the exhibit that's on the other side of the gallery.

"So much has changed since I was here last." His eyes gaze around,  taking in all the new features that have been added and remodeled in the  last few years.

"Oh, yeah? How long has it been?"

His features tense as he faces me. "Five years."

"Wow … That's a long time to be away from home."

"Sometimes it feels like it's been a long time. Other times it feels like it hasn't been long at all."

"I know exactly how that feels," I say matter-of-factly. "I've been avoiding going back home ever since I left."

His lips curl up slightly, showing off those impressive dimples again. "Sounds like we've both been running from home."

I smile at the truth in his words, his voice so somber and hoarse. "I guess so."

We step into the student section of the gallery, his eyes bouncing from wall to wall.

"Are those … Ariel Rose Collection paintings?" he asks, narrowing his eyes as he studies the three paintings on the wall.

"Yes." My heart skips a beat at the mention of her name. I called her  Ari, but naming them the Ariel Rose Collection felt more like a tribute  to her. "How'd you know?"

He's still staring at them, mesmerized, as he takes a couple steps  toward them. "She has a very distinctive style. Raw, dark, edgy. Gothic.  The abstracts are so emotional, it's impossible to not be affected by  them." He pauses a moment, collecting himself. "I would recognize her  work anywhere." I'm stunned silent, feeling a little awkward at the fact  that he knows her work. Rather, my work. "She's a student?" He turns  and asks.

"Uh, she was," I stammer, nodding. "Couple years ago," I lie. "You like  that style?" I shouldn't ask questions, but I can't help myself. Even  though it's the exact reason I use a pseudonym, I can't fight the  feeling of excitement beating in my chest at him being a fan of my  work-especially since he has no idea it's me.

He turns and looks at me. "Yeah, I actually have a couple of her  paintings that I found at an online shop. I had no idea she was from  around here though." He reaches back and rubs his hand on his neck,  clearly surprised. I want to ask what he's thinking, why he's so  intrigued by her, how he heard about her, but I stop myself before the  words escape my throat.         

     



 

"Yeah, I really like the different way she connects you to the pieces," I add, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"It's deep. But there's a sense of vulnerability to it, too. It's really breathtaking."

My breath hitches, my eyes tearing up as I hear the passion and  sincerity in his tone. The way he talks about the AR Collection is  almost too much, but I swallow back the tears and hold it together.

"Yeah, they're inspiring," I say, edging away and hoping he follows me to another part of the exhibit.

"From what I've seen so far, Aspen, you have an extremely distinctive style to your pieces, as well."

I look back at him, puzzled. My cheeks heat, and I hope to God he  doesn't recognize the similarities. "You've hardly seen any of my work."

"Well, actually I have." I raise a brow, intrigued. "I saw a partial of  your portfolio before classes started. I wanted to know what kind of  students I was getting, being that I was teaching at a new school and  all. Not just anyone gets into the art program at CSLA. So once I saw a  few of your pieces, I requested for the entire portfolio." My legs halt  in front of him, his intense eyes making it impossible to think  straight.

"Why?"

"It's not every day, or even every year I get a student like you." His  words take me by surprise. I blush, lowering my eyes to avoid his  intense ones. I don't talk about my work to many people. It's deep and  personal, and I prefer to keep it to myself.

"Like what?" I ask softly, unable to drop the subject. We slowly begin  walking again, the gallery getting quieter and quieter as we walk to a  more vacant area.

"You have similarities in all of your pieces. Almost like a trademark.  You use bold and bright colors to accent a dark, painful image."

He's right, so I can't even argue with him. When I paint for the AR  Collection, I paint completely raw and free. No expectations. No  boundaries. No pressure. But when I paint as me, I only paint the  surface of my emotions. I don't show the extent of the pain or guilt I  suffer with inside. I don't let anyone see that part of me, so I pour it  into my AR paintings.

"In fact, when I first saw you, I almost didn't believe the artist  behind those paintings and the girl in my classroom were the same  person." I notice we've gotten closer somehow, almost touching.

My lips curl up slightly, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you walked into my classroom with your curve-hugging shirts,  tight, dark skinny jeans, and leopard print fuck-me heels. It's not hard  to miss considering none of my other students have ever shown up to  class dressed like that."

His eyes stay fixed on mine, so deep that it feels as if he's looking  into my soul. I can feel how hot my body is, heating more and more with  every noticeable breath he takes.

I shrug, trying to act unaffected. "Perhaps I just have good fashion sense."

"Perhaps." He smirks. "Or perhaps it's a cover up. You're guarding what's really inside with an outside distraction."

My mouth tenses at how blunt and forward he's being. I distract him? I  don't care how my body and heart reacts to him. I don't give that part  of me to anyone. "You don't know anything about me."

His stare remains intense. "I just might know more than you think."

Before I can ask what he means by that, we're interrupted by Kendall.  "Oh, I didn't know we were giving one-on-one tours now," she teases with  a flirty tone. We quickly part from each other, putting much-needed  space between us to relieve the evident tension that's there. "Not that I  really blame you." She gives him an obvious once-over and winks at me.

"Kendall," I say with a sharp edge in my tone and grit my teeth. "This  is Morgan, Ms. Jones' nephew." I widen my eyes at her so she stops  undressing him with her eyes. "He's also my Advanced Art professor twice  a week."

"Oh!" She stands up straighter as if that changes everything. "It's a  pleasure to meet you." She extends her hand to shake his, and I have to  fight back a laugh at how formal she's acting.

He takes her hand in his and shakes it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, as well."

"Kendall lives down the hall from me and goes to CSLA, too," I explain.  "And she works here." I nod awkwardly before adding, "Apparently, she  can't get enough of me."

He laughs and then the three of us continue standing there in uncomfortable silence.         

     



 

"Well, I better get going. I only have a few minutes of my break left."  Kendall gives me a wide-eyed look that I know translates into an ‘oh my  god' and ‘you better tell me everything later,' and then waves to  Morgan. "Nice meeting you!" Once she's out of view, I close my eyes and  sigh.

"She seems nice," Morgan draws out.

I burst out laughing at his attempt to break the tension. "Yeah, she is. Obnoxious and loud at times, but she's a good friend."

He turns back toward the pieces we were just looking at. "So why aren't  any of your pieces in here? I'm sure Aunt Mel would give you a prime  spot." I can hear the sincerity in his tone, which I can't blame him,  considering I work here and most people would jump at the opportunity,  but I could never explain my real reason for keeping them to myself.

"I'm a little more reserved when it comes to showing off my work."

"It'd be great exposure and look great on grad school applications. Not  to mention, your pieces are one-of-a-kind. I'm sure people would love  them. You wouldn't have to tell people they're yours during your tours,  but at least you'd get to see their expressions when they look."

I purse my lips together, swallowing down the guilt and pain from  keeping the secret of my sister's death. "Maybe. I'll think about it."

He smiles in return, content with my answer for now. It's a complete  lie, but at least it'll keep him from asking more questions.