Pushing the Limits(22)

     



 

The painting was me.

What I couldn't express verbally, I had expressed through art. I was  furious with the universe that she had died. I was angry and bitter, and  I hated everyone for it.

But she represented happiness and laughter. Her memories would always be  with me, and deep down, I knew that. I was battling with so much inside  that I didn't know how to express myself with words. Drawing and  painting gave me that outlet. I started staying after school to use the  art supplies as Mr. Bakersfield cleaned up the rest of the room. He  never barraged me with questions or asked how I was doing. He was just  there.

I hadn't realized it at the time that my counselors put me in art  classes due to my lack of interest in talking things out. It's what  finally clicked for me and gave me what I hadn't realized I needed.

But then school wrapped up for the year and my outlet was gone. I was  back to being bitter and angry, and I just wanted my paints back. One  day, after grabbing the mail for my mother, I noticed an envelope  addressed to me. I flipped it over, looking for a return address, but  there wasn't one.

I ripped it open to a folded piece of paper. When I unfolded it, I immediately knew who sent it.

Mr. Bakersfield.

It was a flyer for an art class at the local college. It was open to  high school and college students. At the bottom in his handwriting were  the words, Make a masterpiece. Do her proud.

I cried, relieved and happy that I'd be able to do just that.

I spent the next three years focusing on art. I signed up for every high  school art class and any available at the college. I started at the  beginners level, but by the time I graduated high school, I was  mastering techniques college seniors were still trying to nail.

So when it was time to start thinking about college and majors, it was a no-brainer for me.

Go to art school as far away from Illinois as possible.

Graduate and find a job.

Never stop painting.

Create something worth making-and I plan to do just that.





As I head to my Monday restorative art class, my earbuds pumping with  Adele, Professor Van Bergen steps right out in front of me, scaring the  earbuds right out of me.

Grabbing my iPhone to mute the music, I flash an annoyed glare and wait for this unfortunately meet and greet to pass.

"Oh, hi, Aspen." Her voice sweet with sugar, but laced with fake  politeness. "I was just in Morgan's class … " she pauses and corrects  herself. "I mean Professor Hampton's classroom. He was showing me one of  your pieces, and I have to say I'm very impressed. He seems to think  you'll go far in your career."

Returning her fake smile with one of my own, I mimic her sweet, fake  tone. "Thank you. Your opinion means so much to me." I place a hand over  my heart, pretending to genuinely care about her opinion.

The undercurrent of my statement doesn't go unnoticed and she stands  taller, trying to assert her importance. It would be comical if she  didn't seem to have an infatuation with Morgan and my relationship-even  if there is no relationship.

Clearing her throat and tilting her nose to the ceiling, she says, "As  it should. Tell me, Aspen, are you still planning on going to graduation  school after you graduate?" She doesn't give me a chance to answer,  railroading on. "Because, it'd sure be a shame if anything got in the  way of such a promising future." She mimics my gesture by pressing a  hand over her heart and pretending as if she really gives a shit.

My eyes narrow in on the conniving bitch. My mouth opens to respond, but  I quickly close it. I've got a dozen inappropriate things I'd love to  say right now, but I know my boundaries. She smiles in victory and pats  my shoulder as she takes a step to walk around me. "Ta-ta, Aspen."

Ugh! I want to throw one of my high heels at her, but they're way too  valuable to waste it on someone like her. Plus, I'm not sure I could  really get myself out of that jam. "Sorry, Dean Fletcher. The shoe just  slipped off my foot and flew into Professor Van Bergen's face."

I curse under my breath and continue walking to my classroom. Hopefully,  the universe will help me out and a crater will fall to Earth and land  right on top of her, sparing me the time and energy of having to plot  something myself.

But just in case the universe doesn't come through for me, I better start thinking of something myself.





CHAPTER TEN

MORGAN



I remember waking up one morning in Ohio, the ground covered in fresh  snow. Being born and raised in Southern California, it was a rarity to  get snowstorms. On my way to work, I underestimated the conditions and  slid my car right into a ditch. It flipped once and landed in the  culvert, my head smacking against the window in the process and causing a  slight concussion.         

     



 

The cliché of how your life flashes before your eyes is exactly what I  wasn't expecting. Ignoring the pain and relying on the anger to get  through day to day, I hadn't expected to see my life with her flash  through my mind the moment I thought I could possibly die.

As I lay in the hospital, I recalled those flashes, which brought up the  very reason why I left in the first place. I hated that I thought of  her at that moment. I hated that she even crossed my mind. I hated I  gave her so many years of my life that ended up being wasted.

So when my phone rings with her name flashing on my screen, all those  painful feelings rush back in, anger boiling right back up inside.

"Is there a reason you're calling?"

She clears her throat before responding. "I'm just checking up on you."  She pauses, but I don't speak up. "I heard about Ryan." Her words are  genuine, but hearing her voice again makes me want to punch a hole in  the wall, which I've done several times before because of her.

"It was six months ago," I reply harshly.

"Well, I didn't have your newest cell number. I ran into your mother last week and she gave it to me."

Of course she fucking did.

"It wasn't hers to give out," I state firmly. She's the last person I wanted to hear from.

"Look, Morgan … " I hear her hesitant breath through the phone, and I'm quick to cut her off.

"Don't." I hang up and let out a frustrated breath. She's the last  person I want to hear from or to have her pity. In fact, I didn't want  anyone's pity. But Jennifer-the very person I was about to walk down the  aisle with-I don't want anything from her at all.

"Morgan?" I hear Natalia call out from the hallway.

"In here, Short Stuff." I brush a hand over my face to wipe the firm  lines off my face. The last thing I want is for her to worry about me  when I'm always worrying about her. "Whatcha need?" I ask as soon as I  see her waltz in.

She sits on a chair and shrugs her shoulders. "There's a dance tomorrow night."

"Oh?" I lift my brows. "What kind of dance?"

"It's stupid." She lowers her eyes.

"Natalia … what kind of dance?"

"It's just a Valentine's Dance."

"You don't want to go?"

"No, it's stupid." I notice the little wrinkles around her lips, and I know there has to be more to the story.

"Didn't someone ask you to go with them?" I ask, wondering if  eleven-year-olds still think boys have cooties or not. She stays silent,  not moving or making a sound, and I know I've nailed the issue. "I take  that as a no," I say softly, hoping she'll feel comfortable enough to  talk to me about this. I know she's grown up without a mom for half her  life, so I assume her and Ryan were close and talked about everything.  "Are you sure you don't want to go and just hang out with your friends?"

She finally looks up at me with a scowl. "No. I said it's stupid, okay?"  She stands up and marches out of my office, and I'm left with my jaw on  the floor, wondering what the hell just happened. She's the one who  came looking for me in the first place and mentioned the dance. Did that  mean she wanted to talk about it? Why else would she bring it up then?

I'm stumped as I try to think it through. I seriously have no clue what  I'm supposed to do. Of course, she wants to go, but I guess the boy she  wanted to ask her hasn't asked her yet?

Ah, fuck if I know.

I turn my laptop off and walk out to find her. She's in the living room  flipping through channels, staring at the TV as if her life depends on  it. I know she hears me walk in, but she doesn't acknowledge it.

I grab my keys off the counter and shout, "Come on. Let's go."

She finally looks up at me, dumbfounded. "Where?"

"To the store. You need a dress, don't you?"

Her face drops. "Do you have wax in your ears? I said I wasn't going."  She turns away again. I don't know if this is where I should be handing  her a pint of Ben & Jerry's or a magazine or something, but I'm not  about to let Natalia mope around all night when I know deep down she  wants to go.

I walk toward her, grab the remote out of her hand and switch the TV  off. "Hey!" she screeches, but I ignore it. I grab her by the arms, lift  her up and toss her over my shoulder. "What are you doing?" she  screams, kicking her legs and hitting me with her pathetic little fists.  "Put me down!"