The sculptor; part 18

I'm in my room. In the other town. The big city with the pretentious academy.

After staying another night at Sas's her place I went back. Sas and Martin brought me to the station.

Hugged me warmly and waved till they couldn’t see me anymore.

I stare out of the window. The landscape a blur. A blur, a blur, a blur, like my memory of the day before.

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I must have fallen into a deep sleep after Eddie and I made love on Sas her bed, because when I woke up I was alone. Eddie had left. No trace of him except for a piece of paper with some scribbling on it and, right in the middle, my panties - stuck upon the wall with a pushpin.

It said.

Nymph of the heavenly orgasm,

Your boyfriend came to bring back your panties.
Guess he's not a trophy hunter.

I said you weren't around.

Ed.

I sank to my knees and crumpled up the note together with the piece of fabric.
After a while I got up and went into the shower. The warm water streaming over my body reminded me of Eddie's embrace. For a moment I welcomed that feeling, but I turned the hot tab off and endured the icy cold to harden myself against the knowledge that he is a male Atalanta - sworn to the god of fuckery.

Like she said she would be Sas came home just after 5 o'clock. I told her everything that had happened

"Yikes." She pulled a face.

"Don't worry. I changed the sheets."

"That's not the point, silly. It's just. I don't see how this will come to any good. That Rave though...what an ass. You think he knew the sculptor was with you?"

"I'm not sure. What if. He has no claims on me."

"And Eddie does?"

I must have looked like a pathetic lost puppy, because Sas jumped up to hug me.

"Ah, little Hálwen. The mess you're in."

Sas and I baked cupcakes. Ate them all while we drank tea and smoked pot and after that we went to a club.

Martin was there already. He enjoyed my story. Well, at least he made me see things in perspective. I'm young, talented and apparently hot enough to have two lovers, even though one of them is rather erratic and halfhearted.

And I have two great friends.

We were sitting in a quiet corner and eating a curry and drinking beer when Eddie came in.

As always he was accompanied by a smashing looking girl. Oh. I cringed inside. Martin saw it and he took my hand and stroked my face. He pulled me to him.

"Don't let him get to you. He's a slut. Forget him."

"You'll make new friends at the other academy. You'll see. There most be hot guys over there as well. In fact: I think I'll come with you." Sas said.

"Hot guys! Yes please!" Martin squeaked.

"No you can't. You're taken." Sas reprimanded him.

"Adrian won't mind." Martin sulked.

"Yes, he will. Look at the sorry state I'm in." I reminded him.

"Ah little one, you'll get over this bitch soon enough."

I sighed. Looked at Eddie, a few tables away, who was looking at me while he gulped his beer and had his arm around the girl's shoulder.

"Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom." I pushed my chair back.

I felt tears welling in my eyes. Clutching the banisters I went down the stairs to the restroom.

"Don't cry, don't cry." I told myself in front of a mirror, trying to push away the tears with my fists.

Then I felt his presence. He stroked a lock of hair behind my ear. Whispered my name against the delicate skin of my throat while his hand found its way under my shirt, caressing my naked tummy.

I said nothing. Just leaned back against his lean, warm body and let escape a shivering sigh.

I looked through my fingers at the reflection of him standing behind me. Touching me. Being pinned by his mesmerizing eyes. Oh god, that face, that beautiful face. His image created a vacuum in which time seemed to float and so did my feelings, my lust, my love.

His warmth behind me. His breathing. His hands working on my body, sculpting me, making me into that girl that arose each time when he was around.

And then a no emerged from deep inside the well of my being. Was it my brain that called?

"No."

He seemed to freeze.

I shook of his hands.

I shook of my arousal.

And I walked away.

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And since I walked away the image of me and him keeps following me. Expanding into fantasies. Fantasies of love making in that bathroom. Him pushing me against the sink. Me making his legs tremble. Words, sighs, moans.
Lovemaking.

Why did I say no...

I get up and walk to the wall I use as an easel. I take out the big dry brush that still has some pigment on it and start pushing, pulling, stroking the canvas with it. I squeeze a bit of paint from a tube of sepia, dip a small paintbrush in it and carefully add detail. Smear some paint on my fingertips and caress the image into likeliness.

Then I take a few steps back.

It's him. The sculptor.

I take a cloth and wipe my hands clean, staring at the portrait I made.

"I love you." I tell it.

Then the doorbell rings.