Page 16 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)

eva

“We’ll work on different mediums this semester, but you’ll have to pick one type for your final piece,” Professor Arbour explains.

This will be a solo assignment and should be a project you work on throughout the course, not during the final week of class.

I’ll know the difference. So, if you want to chance your grade point average, go for it. ”

I note the course requirements and already decide to use oil pastels and graphite to draw. I love the way it feels to fill a blank canvas.

“We will examine the works of some of the greatest artists throughout history and some rising stars who are changing the scope of art as we know it,” Dr. Arbour professes.

My ears perk up, hoping we’ll discuss people like Njideka Akunyili Crosby, who uses mixed mediums to showcase cultural hybridity, or political artists such as Frida Kahlo and Ai Weiwei.

Art was my chosen major before?—

I halt my mind from finishing that thought. It doesn’t matter what I yearn to do… history is the path I’ve chosen… for Farrah.

The professor’s words cut into my spiraling thoughts, forcing me to refocus on the syllabus as he details what to expect in his class.

“Look at the person across from you,” Dr. Arbour instructs. “This will be the first person you partner with. So, take this time to introduce yourselves.”

Peering across the table, I smile and wave at the curly-haired blond guy with green eyes. “Hi, I’m Eva.”

“Markus,” he replies, returning my grin with his own. “Looks like we’ll be working together, at least for this first assignment.”

Yes, we will.

I bite my lip, imagining the ways we can make art together.

His gaze travels to my mouth before he meets my eyes. “I guess we are,” I say.

Then Markus moves his chair around the table, plants it next to me, and sits down. “What do you have in mind?” he asks.

The banter feels so natural, and for a split second, I’m just a college student in class working with this fine ass man. I breathe in the moment, appreciating it for what it is— a moment.

Clearing my throat, I work to get my mind out of the gutter. “That depends. We’re doing photorealism, so we need to decide how we want to incorporate that.”

He nods, pulling out his phone. “Great point,” he agrees as he turns his phone screen.

My mouth falls open, “Holy shit, these are amazing,” I gasp, admiring the beautiful black and white images that look so much like photographs. “Did you draw these?”

Markus places his cell on the tabletop. “Each and every one of them.”

“Then this should be a smoother process than I initially thought.”

Quirking his blond brow, he quips, “Did you expect it to be difficult?”

My cheeks heat. “Just a bit. You never know what type of partner you’ll end up with when you’re assigned like this,” I confess.

Clutching his hands against his chest, Markus tilts his head to the side as he throws it back. “You mortally wound me, milady,” he remarks, making me giggle.

“Well, my apologies then, kind sir. I will refrain, henceforth, from committing such an egregious offense.”

He shakes his head, trying to hold back his laughter.

“Remember, you should have some initial plan in place by the end of this period,” the professor exclaims, reminding me to focus.

“Shall we?” Markus inquires.

Bobbing my head, I reply, “We shall.” Then, we spend the remainder of class discussing some ideas for our group project.

We’re murmuring about possible projects when someone announces, “Class is over.” Both of our gazes lift to see students exiting the class.

“Thanks,” I state, beginning to gather my things.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” Markus requests.

I quickly agreed, pausing to take out my phone, enter his number, and text him.

“Got it. Let’s talk tonight and pick a time outside of class to meet,” he suggests as I grab my bag and head for the door. Markus follows me out of the classroom.

“Sounds like a plan.”

We’re walking down the hall when he nudges my shoulder. “So, I never asked. Is this your first year at Groveton? I’ve never seen you around before.”

“It’s my first year.”

“I figured,” he retorts, making me arch an eyebrow. Noticing my reaction, he swiftly adds, “I just mean you—I’d remember seeing someone as beautiful as you.”

Chuckling, I say, “Nice save.”

Markus smiles. “I try. So, are you an art major? Not too many students take Professor Arbour’s class.”

I flinch at his inquiry. The reminder that my life is not my own is like a bucket of ice water over my head.

That’s what you get for pretending you’re a normal college student.

“Everything okay, Eva?” Markus probes.

Seeing his worry, I tuck my hair behind my ear, trying to buy myself time and control my emotions. I take a deep breath and attempt to smile before I answer. “Everything’s fine. I caught a chill,” I lie. “I’m actually a history major. I also just really love art.”

“Ah. I can understand that.” Markus thinks for a moment before he continues, “Why not art history? That way, you can have the best of both worlds.”

If only I deserved that option.

“Maybe,” I mumble before shifting the attention back to him. “What’s your major?”

“Art therapy.”

The tense set of my shoulders eases once I realize he won’t push, and I register his response.

My lips part, ready to ask questions when we’re interrupted.

“Eva.”

I stop, stepping out of the way to turn and see who’s calling me.

Liam is standing in the hall, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I speak to you for a minute?” he requests.

My hands clench at my side, annoyed he has the audacity to ask anything of me after our last interaction.

“I just need a chance to apologize,” Liam blurts.

Sighing, I peer over at Markus. “I’ll shoot you a message later.”

Markus’s neck oscillates, observing the tension crackling between Liam and me before he smiles. “Can’t wait.”

Then he departs, and I face Liam. He remains quiet as a few people pass by. “Well?”

“I’m sorry,” Liam begins, escorting us out of the way. “My behavior was uncalled for. I overreacted, and for that, I apologize.

Adjusting my backpack, I hiss, “Is that all?”

Liam’s brown eyes widen in surprise. All my earlier sadness melts in the anger still lingering underneath my skin.

“What? Did you think you’d say sorry, and I would smile prettily and forgive you?” I scoff. “Your reprehensible behavior was beyond repugnant. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?”

His mouth opens and closes like his brain can’t compute. “I—” he begins, and I cut him off.

“Save it,” I exclaim, and he grits his teeth. “I don’t want to hear your woe is me, somebody stole my homework and spit in my coffee, so I’m having a bad day bullshit excuse.”

Refusing to give him another moment to lament, I storm past him, stepping outside. I barely make it five steps before I slam into an immovable force.

“Fuck,” I blurt.

“Shit,” someone mutters.

I stare up and then further up, angling my head to gaze into similar coffee eyes. The guy from the advisor’s office stands before me in black jogging shorts, a Groveton soccer t-shirt, and sneakers.

“My bad,” his baritone voice offers, holding onto my wrist to prevent me from falling. “I should’ve been paying better attention.”

Offering him a small smile, I state, “No. It was me who crashed into you. I’m sorry.”

He huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his head, almost identical to the way Liam had. I’d swear they were twins if he weren’t taller and had tawny skin.

We both stand, surveying each other for another moment before he finally breaks the silence. “Mason.” He holds out his hand, and I take it.

“Eva.”

A toothy grin appears on his face. “You look familiar. Have we met before?” Mason inquires.

“Um,” I bite my lip. “We crashed into each other last week.”

He laughs, mirth filling his features. “Ah, that’s right. I’m not sure how I didn’t remember that without any prompting. You’re not a face one forgets.”

Not used to this much attention, a blush creeps up onto my cheeks.

“Mase.”

“Liam?”

Fuck, they know each other . I internally groan when I hear Liam approaching.

“What are you doing here?” Liam questions.

“Heading to the food court,” Mason explains.

Refusing to engage with Liam any further, I announce, “I’ll see you later, Mason.” Then I excuse myself, increasing my pace before either guy can ask me to wait.

I don’t stop walking until I’m in front of my dorm. My hand wraps around the door handle as I work to process the events of the past few days.

The party…

Being drenched in pig’s blood as someone accuses me of murdering my best friend…

The kiss of a blade against my skin, offering sweet bliss…

Farrah’s cries for help…

My throat tightens as the hairs on my arm rise. The warning signs of a looming panic attack threaten to hold me where I stand—a bead of sweat rolls down the spine of my heated skin.

Not now, Eva .

Paralyzed, I’m helpless against the fear crawling over my skin like bugs.

No, Eva. Breathe.

I try to get my brain to connect to my lungs.

Breathe…

Breathe…

Fuck-ing breathe.

Nothing’s working. I can feel the sweat trickle down my back, the cool air alerting me to how damp my shirt must be. But, I’m stuck. My limbs will not follow my command.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice requests, jolting me from my thoughts just when I think I’ll pass out. My body finally obeys, and I move, twisting to see a petite girl with fire-red hair and emerald eyes holding up a keycard. “I just need to get by unless you’re also going in.”

“Shit. I’m sorry,” I mutter, swiping my card and opening the door. I let her walk through first. She expresses her thanks and then disappears down the hall.

Incapable of moving, I lean against the wall, praying it will hold me until I can regain control of my limbs.

“You can do this,” I croak.

Can you? It’s barely been a whole week, and you’re already crumbling. Go home with your tail tucked between your legs before it’s too late.

The reality that the semester has just begun smacks me in the face, and I can only hope my need to live for Farrah supersedes my need to escape it all.