Page 21 of King of Pain
Jen finally snaps out of it, shaking her head and muttering under her breath, “I wasnotready for that. Nope. Not at all.” She turns to me, a smirk splitting her face. “You okay over there, Pacini? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Fine,” I grumble, burying my face in the stack of records in front of me and pretending to be very,veryinterested in sorting them.
“Oh, this is going to befun,” Jen says, grabbing her clipboard and heading to the back. “I’ll just be in the storage room rubbing myself against something.”
“Jen!” I hiss, but she’s already laughing as she disappears behind the door.
Chance just chuckles to himself, enjoying every second of this.
The rest of the shift passes in a blur of conversations, mostly consisting of me being as awkward as humanly possible. And stolen glances. Lots of those. By the time my shift is over, I’m more than ready to go home and overthink everything in peace.
TRACK TEN
How Soon Is Now?
Chance
The registrar’s office at Mesa Community College is a buzz of students surrounding me in a swirl of nervous energy and excitement. Honestly, same. It feels good to be taking this step.
I join the line, clutching the course catalog in my hand. Art classes. That’s what my heart is set on. The idea of creating something from scratch, using nothing but my hands and imagination—it feels like something I need to explore. After years consumed by chaos and survival, this is the kind of peace I’m searching for.
Today is the deadline to register for classes, with the fall semester at the community college starting next week. I just hope the courses I wanted still have open spots. If they’re full, I’ll have to wait until spring, which would be exactly what I deserve for dragging my damn feet. “Next.”
The clerk at the counter, a woman with sharp glasses and a warm smile, waves me forward.
“Hi there,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi, my name is Chance Sullivan,” I reply. “I’m here to register for classes.”
“Great. Do you know what you’re looking to take?”
“I know I need core classes, but I was thinking about some art classes too,” I tell her.
“Ah, excellent choice,” she says, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “We’ve got a fantastic art program here. Actually…” She pauses and glances over her shoulder. “Marco, can you come over for a moment?”
A man, probably in his late twenties, strolls over, carrying himself with an easy confidence. He’s muscular with bronzed skin, dark, dense stubble, and a button-down shirt that clings to his broad shoulders. Marco looks like someone who’s inspired more than a few students.
“Yes, Evelyn?” he says, his baritone smooth and inviting.
“This is Chance Sullivan,” the clerk says, gesturing toward me. “He’s interested in taking some art classes.”
Marco’s dark eyes light up as he extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Chance.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I say, taking his very firm handshake.
“I’m the Chair of the Fine Arts Department. What mediums are you looking to study?” he asks, his tone warm and curious.
“I think I want to start with drawing and painting courses,” I say.
“Well, you’re in for a treat,” he promises, flashing a smile. “Why don’t I show you around the main studio?”
I nod and he leads me out of the registration office and across campus to the fine arts building.
The painting studio feels like stepping into another world. Tall ceilings and large windows bathe the room in natural light, while the faint scent of turpentine mixes with the earthy smell of paint. Easels line the space, some holding unfinished canvases that hint at the creativity flowing through this place. It makes me feel really fucking insecure, but I need to do this.
“This is where the magic happens,” Marco says, walking confidently backwards, spreading his arms like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “It’s a space to let your imagination run free. No limits. No judgment.”
I wander toward a nearby easel, where a painting of a single cabin on a mountain catches my eye. The bold strokes of color give it an almost dreamlike quality.
