Page 20 of Rivals
Once I get back into my place, I reach for my phone. I feel like I need to text Revna and make sure she gets home ok. I asked for her number, and she gave it to me without question, which, now that I think about it, is odd for her, but I’ll take it. It made sense for me to have it since we are working together.
I type the message out and stare at the screen, hoping she responds. She doesn’t, so I head for the shower, hoping a text will be waiting for me when I get out.
Her scent still floats around the space. Before I shut the door, I glance at the painting and see the outline of lips on her forehead. I know it’s her. I don’t even know how we came up with it. I’m trying not to be scared about it because OBA has never nearly erased my memory. Sure, things would get blurry, but for the most part, I would remember it. But this time, I only have wisps of dancing with Revna, burying my nose in her midnight hair and keeping my hand with hers as we painted. I don’t know who came up with the general outline of the faces or why it was the pose that it was, but it felt right. It also feels like it’s the beginning. I’m convinced we are going to get to the next round. There is no way we couldn’t. The piece is unique, original, and close to being worthy of the MoMA. Our final piece will be, though, because I know we will win. I don’t know how I just do. I’m choosing blind confidence right now, and I want to get started on the next submission. Time is not our friend.
I get out of the shower, and there’s still no response from Revna, so I call her. I wait and wait, but she doesn’t respond. I angrily throw my phone on the bed and clean the mess we’ve made in the past forty-eight hours while I try to ignore the fact that I want her to call me back.
***
I’m pissed. This is nothing new for me, nor is it new that my anger is directed towards Revna, but it is for entirely different reasons. I lug our painting to school and pray that it doesn’t get damaged on the way.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Did she make it home safely? I’m sure she did, but a part of me wanted to figure out where she lived and make sure she was safe. I slept for a while, and the memories began to come back. I remember the way she looked at me when we were painting together. I remember the way her lips parted when I kissed her.
She’s holding back. She is keeping herself from everything she can be. I could see it while we worked together. I hate that I feel these things with her, but it feels like she is somehow connected to me. It fuels an uncomfortable longing for my anger and desire for her to approve of me. It feels like the thoughts that spin in my head are too much, and only she can quiet them.
When she stepped through the door of my loft, she inspired me in a way that consumed me. Most of the art I do is in spite of what I was told I couldn’t do. It is the anger that seems to constantly pump through my veins. But with Revna, I believe it’s possible to be more than that.
With this competition, I think it’s possible that we can be the artists that we have been striving to become. My theory is that we seem to urge each other on, as we have for years. I would see her work and then want to do better. She would see mine, and then the spiral would continue. The piece that she sold threw me for a loop in our unspoken competition. I wasn’t only jealous, but I wanted to know what she felt when she painted it. All I saw was pain. The next time I saw her after it was sold. She acted like nothing had happened. I found that odd. But now, seeing her work, seeing her in action, I think it’s possible that she’s using the drugs to distract herself from the pain she so constantly feels. The pain that I so constantly feel.
***
I dropped off our painting in the gallery, where we will present again, then head to the class that Revna and I share. I’m hoping I can talk to her for a little bit. I’ve gone over what I want to say, but I don’t know how well she will take it. As I step through the door, I spot Ryan chatting Revna up. I ignore her like I always do, but keep a watchful eye and wait for my opening. She smiles at him. Why did she smile? Those should only belong to me. I start to stand and interrupt, but then she touches the guy’s shoulder. I plop my butt back in the seat and seethe.
Maybe what we created together means nothing. It shouldn’t mean anything to me, yet I’m already thinking about the next piece we will create together. That process was something I’d never experienced before. I want to feel it again. Sure, it may have been the drugs, and it likely was the drugs. But I don’t care because it was the perfect combination. I want to feel it again. I need to. She has instantly become a drug for me, one that you know may hurt you, but you want it anyway.
The first taste is the most addicting. I hate myself for it, and she doesn’t deserve it. She should be the last thing on my mind. But that’s what happens when you need another hit. It continues to plague your mind until you get it. So, against my better judgement, which isn’t very good to begin with, I decide to get another hit. Or ten.
I watch them talk and try to ignore the building jealousy. I have no reason to envy this guy, but I am. The green monster is burning through my veins, and I can’t take it anymore. I kick my stool back and stalk over to her.
Chapter 18
Revna
Mypencilgoesbackand forth, making light lines on my sketchbook, trying to finish one of my finals because I lost so much time with Lachlan. As much as it bothers me to say it, I enjoyed our time together. It was probably the drugs, but that kiss is still rolling around in my head. It was definitely the high. It had to be.
A hand touches my shoulder, and I jump, ready to punch whoever touched me. Ryan lifts both his hands in surrender. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my body down. It’s fight or flight for most people. For me, it’s fight then flight, so they can’t chase you.
“Hey, Revna. How are you doing? Oh, and congrats on getting into the next round for the MoMA competition.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear, not sure how to take the compliment, but I don’t want to be rude. “Hi. Thanks, Ryan. I’m just as surprised as you.”
“Really? I don’t know how you and Lachlan pulled it off, but I’ve never seen you make something like that. It was captivating.”
I smile, shrugging again. The words,it was a mistake, want to burst from my lips, but I press them together to choke on it. I’m not sure why he’s talking to me to begin with. I think we’ve only ever said hello in class or passing in the hallway. We’re not friends.
The desire to end this conversation is growing, and I want to get back to my sketch. “So, what’s up, Ryan?” I ask, forcing a smile.
His hand rubs the back of his neck, and he meets my eyes. “I wanted to ask you a question.”
“What’s up?”
His hand slides through his longish blond hair with that attractive wolf cut, and I can sense the nervousness rolling off him. “So, are you busy next week? I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me,” he asks.
My tongue swells in my mouth. I’ve been asked out before, I’ve gone on dates, and I’ve also bailed at the last minute. It’s not because I don’t think I’m pretty enough or something, it’s the opening-up part I don’t like. I don’t like getting close to people for a reason. It leaves too much room for them to hurt you.
“Oh, uh, I—“
“She’s busy.” My head whips around so violently that I think I pulled something in my neck. I look back at Ryan, and his eyebrows scrunch together as he looks at Lachlan. My eyes bounce back to Lachlan from Ryan. Lachlan’s nostrils are flaring as he stares Ryan down. What in the world makes this man think he has the right to say anything to me, let alone make decisions for me? I lift an eyebrow at Lachlan and look him up and down, daring him to talk.
