Page 2 of What Is Love
“Still…you have a gift, Lottie.” Her gaze shifted to the paper and envelope still clutched in my charcoal-covered fingers. She frowned, making me wonder if my dirty fingers offended her, which would be strange considering her profession. She quickly schooled her expression before meeting my eyes. “Do you have any questions about your final?”
I did, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. So I just shook my head.
She gave me what I knew to be her disappointed smile before walking away. “All right, everyone. Class is almost over. Let’s clean up for the day.”
I unclipped my burned butterfly from the easel, took it over to my art portfolio case—each student in this class had one—and carefully placed my drawing inside. Seeing my dirty fingersagain, I remembered to head over to the sink in the back corner of the room and wash my hands. The only other student who used charcoal in this class preferred to wear gloves to avoid getting messy. I, however, enjoyed the way my hands looked afterward. Unpolished. Dirty. Not perfect. It was my only way to rebel without consequences.
As I turned my hands in the water, dark splotches around my left wrist caught my attention. My stomach dropped as anxiety made my heart pump a little faster. Before I had started drawing, I’d unthinkingly pushed up my sleeves a little to avoid getting them dirty.
Surely, if anyone had seen, they would have said something.
The more I thought about it, the more I calmed down.
No, they wouldn’t.
No one cared. And if they did, it was only until they were met with resistance.
Still, I needed to be careful. The attention would only hurt me more.
Staring at the purple marks marring my pale skin, I was reminded yet again that I was in hell.
As soon as my hands were clean, I quickly dried them and pulled down my sleeves. Before returning to my easel, I hung up my smock that protected my school uniform, which was a black blazer over a black button-up blouse and a pleated burgundy skirt.
Noting the time, I moved quickly to collect my things. Just as I was closing up my bag, the last bell of the school day rang, and everyone headed out.
“Lottie, can I speak with you?” Ms. Clark asked before I could reach the door.
I turned back to face her. She was standing in front of her desk with her hands clasped together in front of her.
She stayed quiet until the door shut behind the last student to leave. “I know you said you didn’t, but I’m going to ask again anyway. Do you have any questions about your final?”
Anxiety began playing havoc with my heart again. It felt like a warning that to ask anything would draw too much attention. “No, Ms. Clark.”
Disappointment flashed across her face before she turned away to walk behind her desk. She busied herself by looking over a stack of papers. “Well, if you ever need anything, please know that you can always come to me.”
“Thank you,” I said, wanting to end the conversation and get the hell out of there. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Clark.” I was out of that classroom before she finished her own goodbye.
As I weaved around the many students who still filled the halls of Kendry Academy, my watch buzzed. I glanced at it and saw a text from Mother:Come home immediately.
I hadn’t fully calmed down from my interaction with Ms. Clark and now fear was joining the party inside me.
What did I do?
What mistake did I make?
I went over everything I had done that day as I picked up the pace on the way to my locker. I’d weighed myself that morning. I hadn’t gained any weight. I hadn’t even dared to look in the direction of the kitchen when I’d come downstairs. My hair and makeup had been done and maintained throughout the day to her standards. Like I had always done every morning, despite having housekeepers, I’d triple-checked my room to make sure nothing was out of place. I’d especially made sure not to leave any of my drawings visible.
When nothing else in my daily routine stood out, I tried to remember if Mother had mentioned anything that was supposed to happen today. Again, nothing came to mind. My chest beganto tighten enough that I could feel my heart beating against my rib cage.
What if I’d forgotten something she had told me, or she forgot to tell me but would insist that she had?
Stop. It’s going to be okay.
I didn’t know why I lied to myself.
It wasn’t going to be okay.
It rarely was when it came to her.
