Pushing the Limits(13)

"No." I shake my head and bring my knees to my chest. "I'll be fine. I just need a minute to calm down."

"Are you having an anxiety attack?" He kneels down in front of me.

"Feels like it," I respond honestly. "I just need a minute. It'll pass."

"Do you get these a lot?"

"Sometimes … I mean, yeah, I guess. It just depends."

"What can I do?" he asks in a rush, brushing a rough hand through his hair. "God, I feel so helpless."

"Count with me," I reply. "Sometimes that helps."

He nods as I begin slowly counting, his husky voice a balm to my anxious  mind. When we get to seven his warm palm is on my shoulder, his hand  slowly tracking down to my elbow before he repeats the motion as we  count down to one.

I inhale through my nose and slowly exhale through my mouth once more, feeling the tension ebb away.

His gentle caress continues as his brows rise. "Better?"

I smile and nod. "Yes, I think so." I'm still trying to focus on my  breathing, but with his body so close to mine, I can hardly focus on  anything except envisioning what his lips would feel like pressed  against mine. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He smiles. He reaches his hand out and waits until I  place mine in it. "Do you know your triggers?" He pulls me up so we're  both standing again.

I want to ask why he cares so much, why he's taking such an interest,  but I don't. That'd be rude, so I respond, "Yes, I have a list," I say  softly. "I'm quite aware of them." My cheeks heat at the embarrassment  of having another episode in front of him.

"Are they avoidable?" He opens the other door for me and waits until I  pass through. "I mean, is there a way to bypass the triggers?"

This heavy conversation is making my head spin, so I decide to lighten  it up and get the thoughts out of my mind. "Why do you think I come to  art class twice a week?" I turn my head and smile back at him but  quickly face forward again. The last thing I need to do is run into a  wall or something.

That'd be the icing on the freaking cake.





Halfway through class, I'm starting to feel normal again. Ellie and I chat quietly as we work on our assignments.

"Damn, Aspen. That's incredible," she exclaims, peeking over my easel.  "I love how detailed you are. It's just so … " she hesitates, searching  for the right word.

I smile as she praises me, feeling pretty good about myself before I  hear a deep, familiar voice behind us. "Moving," Professor Hampton fills  in.

"Yes!" Ellie agrees. "It's so moving. Absolutely." I keep my face down  to hide the blush that's creeping up to my cheeks. Ellie smiles before  grabbing her things to put away.

"Great work, Aspen." I still don't face him, hoping he can't see the goose bumps on my arms and neck.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"I'm starting to notice a theme," he continues, not backing away like I  wish he would. I realize most of the students have left now, leaving us  alone once again. "This girl … she's in a lot of your pieces." I curse the  fact that he's seen my other projects before. I feel his hand against  my lower back as he leans in and touches the drawing, rubbing the pad of  his thumb along her jawline. "She has strong features."

"Yes," I confirm. Although we looked alike, we had differences. I have a  brown birthmark under my eye and she didn't have one at all. I part my  hair on the left side and she parted hers on the right. She had a mole  on her jawline, and I have one on the right side of my neck, just under  my ear.         

     



 

He backs away just slightly, removing his hand, but now we're shoulder  to shoulder. "She's my sister." My heart aches the moment I tell him. I  don't talk about her, and I find myself really surprised I just admitted  that to him.

"She's an important person in your life … " he prompts, turning his body toward me.

I swallow, the genuine curiosity in his eyes make me feel comfortable  enough to continue telling him a bit more. "She was," I explain. "She  passed away six years ago."

"I'm so sorry." His eyes soften. "It's had a strong effect on you."

I nod. "You could say that."

"Keep it up. Whatever you're feeling is feeding your ability to create.  I've never seen someone concentrate so fully before." Was he watching  me? "I can see the way your eyes study the lines of your pencil and how  it's like an extension of your hand. You're very talented."

"That's very nice of you to say, Professor Hampton. But I … I don't like to talk about her. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not." He flashes a sincere smile my way. "I just wanted you to know, that's all."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

I hear his footsteps as he walks out of the classroom without another  word. As I focus on the drawing, I think about her. I think about the  empty darkness that lives inside me. I think about how different my life  would be if she were still here. I think about how unfair it is that  she isn't experiencing college with me. I think about how much I hate  her for dying. I hate that she's not here with me. I hate that I hate  her.

I hate everything.

On the surface, I'm a girl who uses art to express myself.

On the inside, I'm still lost and confused.

I'm drowning in my thoughts that I don't even hear Professor Hampton  walk back in. "Are you still here?" Professor Hampton's voice comes from  behind me, sending a pulsating ache right in between my legs.

"It appears that way," I respond without looking in his direction. "The silence helps me think."

I feel him step next to me, looking at the painting. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking … " I pause briefly. " … that I need more challenging assignments." I laugh, turning to face him.

"I agree." He smirks.

My eyes widen in surprise, and I laugh again. "I was kidding."

"Well, I wasn't." He crosses his arms over his chest, showing off how  tight his shirt looks against his biceps. "The most talented students  usually need to be pushed out of their comfort zone the most."

I grab the drawing in one hand and the easel in the other. As I'm  walking in the other direction to put my things away, I say over my  shoulder, "I think, Professor Hampton, that's considered favoritism."

"Technically, class is over. So I don't think that counts," he counters,  his tone thick with amusement. I turn around and see a wicked grin  spread across his face.

"I think it definitely counts." I grab the last of my things and toss my  bag over my shoulder, standing in front of him. "Thank you for  earlier."

"You already said that."

"I know." I blush. "But maybe we can pretend it never happened?"

He takes a step closer, adjusting the strap that was sliding off my  shoulder. My breath hitches as his knuckles press against my bare arm.  His eyes remain locked on mine as he responds, "What didn't happen?"

I smile in return, my eyes dropping to the floor before looking back up at him. "Thanks."

"Have a great rest of your week, Aspen."

"You, too." I try to control my breathing as I walk out the door. I  don't know what it is, but being around Professor Hampton brings out  emotions in me I haven't ever felt before. One minute my heart is  beating so hard, I think it'll beat right out of my chest, and the next,  I'm practically hyperventilating in front of him and gasping for air.  It's as if he intentionally gets close to me, making it nearly  impossible to think straight. But when it's just the two of us alone, it  almost feels natural. A teacher and student who both enjoy art, who are  attracted to the same types of pieces and enjoy discussing it. A  teacher and student who can't seem to stay away from each other in or  outside of the classroom. A teacher and student who hardly know anything  about each other, but the attraction so intense it keeps pulling them  together.

A teacher and student who cannot become more than a teacher and student.         

     



 





MORGAN



As I take Natalia to her weekly therapy appointment, I drive past the  church Jennifer and I used to attend. The church we made new friends in.  The church we'd planned on saying our vows in.

I clench my teeth at the thought of how everything here reminds me of  her, which of course, I fucking hate. I grew up here. I met her here.  We'd planned on making a life here together.

As far as I knew, we were happy. Besides drawing and painting, she was  my life. We met during our first semester of college at Berkeley and  right after graduation, I proposed. I continued on to graduate school,  so we set the date for two years out.

A dog, a house, and a new job later, we had everything going for the  next chapter in our lives. I couldn't wait, and then I saw her naked on  top of Ryan, moaning and screaming out his name.