Beneath The Skin (A College Obsession Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

questionable.”
    “Now, now …”
    “It is,” I argue before she’s had a chance to say anything. “She has the emotional depth of a doorknob and wouldn’t know true artistry or innovation if her face were made out of it.”
    “Considering the amount of makeup she wears, it is made out of it.”
    “I’m going to have a piece in the showcase,” I go on. “There’s no doubt in my mind. The only question is, will they let me show the piece I want to show? Or will they censor and silence me?”
    “I wouldn’t recommend offering them Pussy .”
    “But Object , maybe …”
    “Nell. You’re pushing it.”
    “That’s what I’m made to do, Minnie,” I retort, pulling hair behind my ear to get it out of my face as the wind has its way with it. “Push. It’s an artist’s responsibility. If you’re not pushing, then you’re being pushed. And anyone in a crowded subway station will tell you, unless you’re making an effort to push through the bodies, you’re gonna miss the train.” I smirk knowingly. “And I’m not missing the train.”
    “Well,” grunts Minnie, unimpressed, “if you’re feeling all that fiery inspiration, I’m not going to stop you. I hope your new big-dong friend enjoys Object as much as you do. Maybe he’ll inspire your next piece, the one you submit for the End Of Year Showcase, provided he survives you long enough to inspire. He sounds like a tasty drumstick.”
    “Shut up. I haven’t had lunch yet.”
    She screams an obscenity, causing me to jerk my ear away from the phone for a second. “Sorry about that. Go have fun with big-dong, but remember to leave a little bit of him intact when you’re through.”
    “You think so little of me,” I murmur teasingly, thinking about his bright blue eyes, “like I’m some kind of monster.”
    “We’re all some kind of monster,” she retorts. “Just some of us have the sense to know it.”
    “Bye, Minnie.”
    “Don’t eat him alive!”
    I hang up, slipping the phone back in my pocket with a smile, then bring the slightly-wrinkled picture of a cat to my face, looking over it for a while. It’s so intricately done. No one noticed the dilated eyes. I can’t stand the people in my class, how they just look at the surface of everything. They see what’s in front of them—and by seeing just what’s in front of them, they see nothing .
    The skin is the lie. The truth of all art, lovers, and monsters lives beneath it.
    Right then as I’m thinking of monsters, I spot Brant strolling by on the main crosswalk with a dude at his side who looks like the singer of a punk band from the 90’s. His friend is decked out in a long-sleeved black button-down shirt (in this weather?) and grey acid-washed shorts that cut off just below the knee. Brant sports a t-shirt and jeans, his hair, a spunky brown mess. They both stop chatting to pay witness to a pretty girl walking by, after which they turn to each other and grin stupidly, punching each other’s shoulders encouragingly. Then, Brant lifts the camera hanging from his neck and snaps a shot of her ass from behind. Excited as a pair of prepubescent boys under bed sheets discovering their maturing dicks for the first time, the boys study the photo he took as they disappear, unseen, into the art school tunnel.
    My heart would sink right about now.
    Y’know, if I had one.
    It wouldn’t be foolish of me to consider that exchange just another moment of fun between two buddies. Surely I’ve done similar things with girlfriends, passing by a hot guy on campus and snatching a creeper shot of his ass with my phone. I’m not riding some moral high ground when I look down on Brant (literally, as I sit up here on this grassy hill) and judge him for his horny photographic antics; I’m riding my self-pitying low ground upon which I’m so much better acquainted.
    It’s easier living life on the bottom rung. There’s a certain security you find in the fact that you can’t sink any lower.
    Fuck