Pushing the Limits (5 page)

She grabs her putty rubber to lighten an area near a branch when she finally senses my presence behind her, but I tell her not to stop. I could watch her draw for hours. Just the simple act of watching her eyes and body captivates my attention to the point that I forget we aren’t alone.

Students begin filing out at exactly eight p.m. They have plenty of time left to work on their project before it’s due, but that doesn’t stop the wave of sadness that overcomes me as I watch Aspen pack up her supplies and leave. Her portfolio is so somber, but in person, she radiates light. She’s friendly and gives off that carefree vibe on the surface, but when she’s lost in her work, her persona changes into something completely different.

I’m just not sure what that is yet.

I pick Natalia up from school every day in between my classes. She was able to continue attending the same school after she moved in with me, but it hasn’t been an easy transition. She’s been getting into trouble for talking back, pushing girls in the locker room, and even throwing food in the cafeteria.

They’ve been pretty sympathetic given her situation, but she’s still had to do detention after school multiple times. I know there’s nothing I can say that’ll help her feel better or give back what’s been taken from her. I know there’s nothing I can do that’ll change it either. And that guts me.

“Hey, Short Stuff,” I say as she hops into the passenger side. “What number?” I ask her every day after school. It’s a rating system from one to ten that I came up with to so she’d talk about her day.

She tosses her backpack into the backseat and scowls at me.

“If you’re expecting me to read your mind, this could take a while.”

She huffs at me. “It was an eight…” Which means her day was going quite well. “Until Cooper Turner spit on me.”
So much for that.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Oh, for fucks sake.

I turn and angle my body toward her. “What happened?”

She hands me a piece of paper that was concealed in her palm. “Here.”

I take it and pull it open. My eyes move quickly over the note, and I gasp.

“Natalia Hampton!” I’m biting my lip to avoid bursting out in laughter. “You said
what
?”

“I said he had an itty, bitty penis and that must be why he’s such an obnoxious airhead.”

“
Why
?”

“Because he’s compensating for having a small—”

“
Not that!
Why did you say that?”

“Well, it’s not a lie.”

“I don’t think talking about those body parts in school is appropriate.”

“Whatever.”

“So now what? You have another week of detention?”

“I guess. I don’t know why Mrs. Fields got so upset. He’s the one who spit on me!”

“Before or after?”

She frowns and it’s all the answer I need.

Tonight she has her therapy appointment, so I wait outside the room for forty-five minutes while Dr. Kingston tries to teach her ways of dealing with her feelings by using a healthier outlet. Six months of therapy later, and we’re still trying to help her manage the way she acts out.

Not that I can really blame her, though.

Once her session is over, we drive home, and I start browsing in the kitchen for something to make for dinner.

“Shit, I forgot to go grocery shopping,” I mumble as I stare at the half-empty orange juice container and Chinese takeout boxes in the fridge.

“You shouldn’t swear.”

I slam the door shut, not realizing she was behind me. “You shouldn’t creep up on people,” I tease, spinning around to her sitting by the breakfast bar.

“Grandma says swearing is the devil’s voice.”

“Well, you should ask Grandma what whiskey is then.”

“I already did,” she responds matter-of-factly. “She says it’s the Lord’s blood.”

I snort. “Grandma’s a liar.” I begin opening cupboards and digging through boxes of food.

“I know.” She grins. “So what are you making? Or should I say…
burning
?”

“You know…for an eleven-year-old—”

“I’m almost twelve,” she interrupts.

“Whatever. For an
almost
twelve-year-old, you have quite the smart-mouth.”

“I prefer gifted.”

“I prefer it shut.”

She narrows her eyes at me and sticks her tongue out.

I opt for pizza delivery instead of cooking until I get to the grocery store again. And even then, I’ll probably grab frozen pizzas and boxes of mac ’n cheese.

Back in Ohio, there was this small family-owned deli and sushi bar that I always stopped at on my way home from work. But now that I have Natalia with me, I actually have to remind myself to hit the store.

Either that or I’m going to go broke from ordering in seven days a week.

CHAPTER THREE

ASPEN

I arrive at my night class early Thursday, knowing the room will be empty beforehand. I can paint in my apartment, but there’s just something about the atmosphere and being in a room filled with other paintings. I grab an easel and settle in with my ear buds while I paint.

Most recently,
See You Again
by Wiz Khalifa has hit home for me. I’ve had it on repeat for several days and every time I draw or paint, I’m able to tune everything out when I listen to it and think happy thoughts about her.

The lyrics inspire me to paint an abstract of her face. I use the entire canvas to lightly outline her features—her heart-shaped face, almond-sized eyes, and the strong bridge of her nose.

Once I finish, I lightly draw a line down the middle of her face to emphasize her different layers—happy on the outside, depressed on the inside.

I grab a tube of red paint and squeeze it out onto the palette. I swirl a round brush into the paint before outlining the lines and angles of the face.

I focus on one side at a time. Warm colors with light shading reflect her outside personality the best, so I add in some yellow with a blending brush over her cheeks and jawline. I add in some white to create the lighter shading around her eye and slant of her nose. Once I’m finished with that, I add some teal paint and use my fan brush to accent the cheekbones with the yellow underneath it to create a lighter allusion.

I finish up the left side with my pointed round brush and paint in the eye blue. Once that’s complete, I smooth everything together with a flat brush and wait for it to dry. I stand back and study it for a moment before deciding I’m satisfied with it for now. It feels like her—happy and energetic—the teals and yellows of my past life.

I begin the other side with a base coat of purple and then layer a light shade of blue on top. This side of the face is meant to be dark and oppressed—her inner personality—so I add in the shading to exaggerate the features more.

I wait until it dries a bit before adding another layer of blue, this time a couple shades darker than before to accent the cheekbones. I run the angular flat bristles alongside the jawline and up near the ear, making the blue stand out more than the purple. Once I’m done with the blue, I blend in the white to outline the other side of the nose and eye.

The song continues repeating in my earbuds as I sing some of the lyrics aloud. I take a step back and look at the two sides as a whole.

I tilt my head left and right, checking out the different angles before deciding to add another layer of blue to the right side.

I quickly glance up at the clock and see I still have a good twenty-five minutes before I need to clean up and pretend I was never here. Just as I’m dipping a clean flat brush in the paint, I feel someone behind me.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and jerk around so quickly the paintbrush between my fingers follows. A streak of blue paint wipes across Professor Hampton’s face before I even realize it’s happened.

“Oh my God!” My eyes go wide as I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I quickly yank my earbuds out. “I’m so sorry!” I lower my hand and examine the damage.

He smiles and a small laugh escapes his throat as he blinks. “Guess I deserved that.”

I frown. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

“Never sneak up on a painter,” he confirms. “Sorry about that. I was trying
not
to startle you, but apparently, my plan failed.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in yet.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d come early and prepare.” He smiles that crooked, drop-your-panties and beg-for-it smile, sending a rush of excitement through me. I’ve had some amazing professors in the past, but they’ve never made me feel as nervous to be around them as he does.

I can feel his breath against my bare arm, alerting me to take a step back. I put the brush down and look away. I start cleaning up my supplies, but I feel him grip my wrist and squeeze.

“Wait.”

I turn to look at him staring at the painting. I swallow at the intensity of his voice and eyes. His hand stays wrapped around my wrist as he stares intently at it, almost as if he’s examining every detail.

“You started this just today?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.” I look back at the painting. “It’s a rough start. Something I did on a whim.”

He releases my wrist and smiles at me. “
It’s stunning. The contrast between the warm and cool colors really catches your attention, drawing you into the tones. It's almost like they are forcing you to feel the agony and heartache she's feeling from her struggles.”

“Thank you.” I lower my head to hide the blush creeping over my cheeks. When I need to get out of my own head, I just start painting. Getting lost in whatever piece I’m working on helps me cope. It’s the only non-medical thing that keeps my anxiety under control. “I was trying to show her two contradicting personalities by putting them side by side,” I explain.

“So she’s struggling with inner demons but doesn’t reveal it on the outside?” he asks, intrigued, and I nod.

“There’s a struggle with who she wants to be on the outside and what she feels on the inside.”

“Sounds intense.” His lips tilt down slightly into a frown. “I love it, Aspen. Would you mind if I kept it in the classroom to exhibit for a bit?”

I look down and bite my lip. I slowly bring my head back up, his eyes trying to read me. “Um…” I hesitate. “Actually, it’s kind of personal.”

“I won’t tell anyone it’s yours.” He grins slyly, and I find myself having a hard time resisting those damn dimples.

“Okay, so if anyone asks…” I prompt.

“I’ll claim it’s a student from the old college I used to teach at. Someone named…” He pauses briefly. “Regina Hopintale.”

I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing but fail. “Thanks.”

His lips curl up even higher, showing off his dimples again. Lord, those dimples are like fresh strawberries covered in melted chocolate. They look so delicious and perfect that you can’t deny the explosive flavor once it hits your tongue.

Oh my God
…did I just compare my professor’s dimples to chocolate covered strawberries?

I seriously need to get some fresh air. Or perhaps a second pair of panties.

He walks to the front of the classroom, setting his briefcase down on the desk. I clean up my area and put my supplies away before the first few students walk in.

“How’s it goin’?” Ellie asks in that southern twang of hers as soon as she sits down in the chair next to mine.

“You’re surprisingly early…” I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously.

“Not that early…” she denies, her cheeks turning a soft red.

“Does this have anything to do with that guy over there eye-fucking you?” I noticed it during our first class. He stares at her every chance he gets.

“Who? Kyle Simmons?” She pretends to not notice him as she digs through her supplies bag.

I playfully scowl at her. “I don’t know his name! But it’s apparent you do.”

“We might’ve had a couple classes together last semester.”

“And?” I prompt, knowing there’s
so
much more to the story.

“And…” She lingers. “We might’ve hooked up at a party.”

“So you came to class early to what? Have a staring contest?”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “No…I don’t know. It’s just once class starts, the easel will block my view.”

“So…go sit next to him. Wouldn’t that solve your problem?”

“Oh, bless your heart, Aspen.” I furrow my brows, confused. “He should come sit next to me. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.” She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap.

“Ah…” I say, it finally clicking. “So what you really want is to eye-fuck him and play hard to get until he makes the initiative to come talk to you?”

“Is that too much to ask?”

I laugh at her sharp-witted southern accent. “Oh, so you were ready to jump on the professor in a heartbeat, but Kyle needs to be a southern gentleman and come to you?”

“That’s exactly right,” she answers sharply. I shake my head and smile at her.

Soon, class begins, and I watch Professor Hampton walk around the front of the room and discuss our assignment. I should be listening, but my mind wanders to the abstract I painted earlier. The one that portrays her inner demons…

It’d been raining all night long, and eventually, the storm woke me up. A flash of lighting temporarily blinded me as I squinted, trying to see if Ari was awake. Her bed was empty and the light in the hallway peeked under our bedroom door.

I threw the covers off and opened the door, deciding to tiptoe down the hallway to see where she had gone. “Ariel?” I whispered. I stood in front of the bathroom door that was closed, but I knew she had to be in there. “Ariel, you in here?” I knocked lightly.

Silence.

I slowly opened the door, hoping I wasn’t interrupting her, but when I stepped in, my entire world stopped.  “Oh my God, Ariel!” I ran to her where she lay on the cold bathroom floor, blood running down her hand and fingers. “Ariel, wake up!” I screamed, pulling her into my lap.

I grabbed a towel from the hook and wrapped it around her wrist. A razor blade lay next to her, covered in dried blood. Tears fell down my cheeks faster than I could wipe them off. I couldn’t understand what was happening…why had she done it?

Why hadn’t I known she was hurting?

The sound of chairs sliding on the floor knocks me out of my past nightmare. Everyone’s hustling to grab their easels and spread out their supplies. I grab my project that we started last class after our memory exercise and drown in my thoughts as I keep my eyes down and to the canvas in front of me. Professor Hampton continues walking around, but I don’t need to glance up to know he’s studying me from the front of the room.

Before we’re dismissed, he reminds us to keep an eye out for his email about our first blog assignment.

I have a feeling Professor Hampton is going to take up much more of my time than I suspected.