Sorry for taking so long to update, I promise more is coming soon <3 enjoy!
A week passed by, maybe a few days more than a week - I couldn't tell anymore. Eli had texted me a few times, asking if I was okay, apologizing for kissing me then kicking me out the way he did. I'd sent him some short replies, saying it's okay and whatnot, in all honesty the whole thing was a bit blurry. I couldn't bring myself to respond with more than a poorly written dry answer, though. He'd even invited me to go get coffee with him at one point, but I declined, saying I just had too much work to do and a painting I've been trying to finish.
In our anatomy class I made a point of at least trying to be friendly when he tried to talk to me, but I know I came off as rude a few times, trying to distance myself. And after his third time trying to initiate a conversation over text and me not answering, I heard nothing from him, and somewhere deep down, selfishly, I wished he would keep texting.
I wrestled with myself, mulling over the kiss so many times over in my head. When I was in class, when I was at home, late at night curled up in my window seat on yet another sleepless night, staring at the night sky. How could this have happened to me? I wanted, no, needed to feel disgusted with myself for this, to seek some sort of repentance for it, but whenever I opened my mouth to pray, I was silent. God was silent. And all these horrible, horrible butterflies with wings like knives erupted inside me.
~
I slid into my seat just as Dr. Mallicks, my art history professor, began his lecture. I was almost late, and I scolded myself internally for the uncharacteristic behavior, but I managed to make it right on time. I flipped open my notebook and couldn't help but glance at a sketch of Eli I'd done in class with him. I'd purposefully drawn it in my art history notebook, that way there was little to no way he'd ever see it, in case for some unlikely reason he needed to see my anatomy notebook.
Dr. Mallicks is a genius man with a Ph.D. in Art History and an MFA in Art, and he is exceptionally skilled in art restoration, something I was already very fond of, so when I met him, I became all the more inspired. He had been on countless archaeological digs and excursions in caves, tombs, and catacombs worldwide, rescuing art and helping restore it to its rightful beauty. His work was so inspiring. He had worked for a government agency called the Historical Preservation Society that operated under the protection of the military to go on those missions. After about 30 years, though, he decided to quit his work and teach instead. The pressures of war overseas were too much for him, and I respected that, seeing as he wasn't even a soldier. Knowing myself, they likely would've been too much for me, too.
"Today we're gonna be discussing Michelangelo's restoration efforts in the Sistine Chapel," Dr. Mallicks announced, pulling me from my thoughts. Normally I would be hanging onto his every word, eager to learn more about whatever he had to say, but fuck me and my wandering mind.
"I hope you all read ahead in your textbooks like I asked you too, but I digress. Did you know," he continued, "that Michelangelo spent four years working on the ceiling alone? It's considered one of the most significant achievements in Western art." He looked around the room, seeking our engagement probably. "You should know, after reading, but most of you are new to this class and so, I will give grace sparingly, but please, read your damn textbooks. I did help write this one, after all." he smiled around the room.
"Peter," Dr. Mallicks called, snapping me out of my daze. "Care to share your thoughts on Michelangelo's techniques?"
"Uh... well," I stammered, racking my brain for something intelligent to say. "He, um, used frescoes, right?" Shit.
"He did," Mallicks replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But what makes Michelangelo's work particularly noteworthy is his ability to capture the human form..." He paused, clearly expecting me to finish his thought, not like he never did this to me, but today I just couldn't think.
What the hell is wrong with me? I know this stuff!
"Sorry, Dr. Mallicks," I said quietly. "I guess I'm not feeling very inspired today."
"Perhaps you might find inspiration in your peers," he suggested, turning his attention to someone else. "Mia, what are your thoughts on the subject?"
"Michelangelo's work in the Sistine Chapel is revolutionary," She began, her voice steady and confident. Fuck her. "Not only because of his skill with frescoes and the human form but also because of the way he pushed boundaries, both artistically and religiously."
"Excellent," Mallicks agreed, nodding appreciatively. "Peter." his tone sharpened. Fuck, is he mad? "I need you to be present in this class. If you're having trouble focusing, perhaps we should discuss it after."
"Of course." I replied, nodding.
"I don't need your words, I need your actions." he said, his eyes boring into mine, then returned to his lecture.
I forced myself to listen, to engage with the material. The sound of Mallicks' voice droned on, though, filling the room as I pretended to take notes. My focus wavered in and out, and the lines of my notebook blurred as my pen idly traced out Eli's features again... and again. I wanted to stop, but I just couldn't, for some fucking reason.
"Alright, everyone," Dr. Mallicks announced, clapping his hands together. "That's it for today. Don't forget to read the assigned chapters for next week's class." Mallicks made eye contact with me, and I knew he wanted me to stay. The man was almost a father figure in my life, but for some reason, the thought of staying filled me with dread. Well, not really 'for some reason', he was going to ask me what was up and I wasn't ready to have that conversation.
As everyone began to pack up and leave, I hurriedly gathered my things, eager to escape the room and the anxiety that threatened to consume me. The campus bustled with the energy of students as I made my way out onto the snowy campus.
"Peter! Hey!" I froze for a second, listening to the scuffling feet and voices around me, was that...Eli? I scanned the crowd until my eyes found him, and there he was, smiling and waving. Oh fuck please not now. I turned and sped up my pace slightly, pretending like I hadn't seen him.
"Peter, wait up!" He called again, his voice trailing behind me as I kept walking.
A hand grabbed my shoulder gently. Fuck me. I turned to face, or more, look up at, an out of breath and disheveled Eli.
"Hey." He smiled, letting me go.
"Um, hey, long time no see. Did you need something?" My voice came a lot less confidently than I'd intended, my breath visible in the cold air. I felt so stupid saying that, as if I hadn't seen him in class three days ago. Another mental scolding for me.
"Well, um, you've been quiet, and I wanted to see if you were alright." He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. He was wearing little gold hoops in his ears I hadn't seen on him before, but they seemed very classy on him, they couldn't have been bigger than a dime. They paired so perfectly with his olive skin.
"I'm fine. I'm just dealing with um...stuff." I replied weakly. "What..what are you up to?"
"I was just getting out of class, about to go home, but then I saw you and... I don't know," he paused, "Where are you going?"
I chewed my cheek anxiously, "I'm... I just wanted to finish a painting. I'm going to the art studio." I shivered as the nerves and cold air scratched at me. My voice lowered, "You can come if you want to. It's not that important, just something for my portfolio."
"I'd love to, I haven't seen your art all that much yet, besides the stuff you've done in anatomy. I bet you're fucking great though."
"I'm okay, my art professor likes my stuff for the most part, so I get by." We walked quickly, neither of us wanting to be in the snow any longer. The crunch of snow beneath our boots echoed in the stillness of the afternoon.
The faint smell of paint and varnish in the studio surrounded us as I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
"I didn't know you had keys to this place." Eli closed the door behind us while I turned on the lights.
"Yeah, Dr. Mallicks gave me a spare after I helped him restore a painting last year. I don't know who the artist was, but apparently, the piece was from 18th-century Germany. I don't know if he forgot to take the key back or if he just doesn't care that I have it, so since then I've just used the studio when I've needed it."
Eli paused, looking at me surprised, "Wait, what?"
"What?" I asked back, equally confused as he seemed.
"Like as in Dr. William Mallicks? You did restoration work with him?" Eli's eyes widened at me, "Holy shit Peter. I've been trying to get on his recommendation list for an internship for the Historical Preservation Society for like, years. Do you do stuff with him often?"
I sat, unrolling my paint brushes from their canvas quiver. "Well, yeah kinda, I mean when I first started doing restoration work I was 16, and I went to one of his seminars and showed him my work from then he's sorta just taken me under his wing. Do you take any of his classes? Wait stupid question, you just said you've been trying to get a recommendation from him."
"Not stupid," He chuckled as he sat on the stool next to me, "I actually took every class he offered, damn saying that out loud makes me sound desperate." he laughed harder, "Strangely enough I met him similarly to the way you did, although I am not the greatest artist and I haven't done any restoration work myself, so nothing to show on that end, all i've got is a deep love for art history. He's a partner of the museum though and he comes to all the events we have, I'm always so impressed by his work." Eli sighed and turned to look at me, "God I'm so jealous that he spends so much time with you though, man."
It was my turn to chuckle, "That is funny that we met him in pretty much the same way. Mallicks is pretty incredible, I agree, don't get me wrong, but don't be jealous of me honestly." I dipped my brush into some paint.
"How could I not be? You're literally living my dream."
I chewed my lip in thought, "I dunno, he cares a lot but he also has like really, really high standards. You've got a good shot at getting on his list in my opinion, it's not all about your art skill, that's not all the HPS does. Shit, I don't even know if he really likes me sometimes."
