Page 3 of Lessons in Desire

“Then you should pursue it then!” Bree jumps up and points at the painting of a girl cradled by ghosts in my signature style. “These are creepy but fucking amazing.”

“It’s not as easy as that and you know it.” I clip, not wanting to have this conversation again. “Bree, I need you, more than anyone, to have my back. Okay?”

She mumbles something but falls silent. But it’s true, it’s hard to be an artist that isn’t starving and broke and it’s all the more difficult if she’s always on my back about it. If it was up to me, I would paint all day and get a degree in something artsy, but I don’t want to leave college as broke as I was going in.

So, I’m here, with a plan, attending a college I’ve only ever dreamed of attending on a scholarship that will leave me mostly debt free. And I will not be wasting the opportunity by majoring in anything other than finance.

All I need to do is get through the next few years distraction free. I can do that, right?

Chapter Two

Evelyn

“Dad, you need to eat.” I say into the phone as I walk, my tone clipped. I’m hoping that if I’m firm and ask him enough times, he’ll listen.

“I have eaten.” He snaps, his voice muffled by sleep.

“If cigarettes and beer counted, my job would be a whole lot easier.” I snip back, my nerves fraying at the edges. I sidestep another early riser who barrels past. It’s Monday morning, seven a.m. to be precise, and I have a meeting with Professor Callaway. A meeting I need to be caffeinated for and arrive early to make a good impression.

“I ate!” My father groans, reminding me he’s still on the call. I hear a rustle of sheets and then, “Evelyn, it’s seven in the fucking morning. I need sleep, not food.” He’s slurring his words, dragging out the syllables as if they’re too heavy to say in a single, well-paced sentence.

I shake my head and bite back a retort, swallowing it down before it has the chance to escape. “I have a lot to do today.” I remind him, not that he cares. “Now is the only time I have to remind you. Please,” I beg. “Just do this one thing for me and eat.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” He growls, his anger drowning out reason, the wave of it coming on as quick as the tides. The thing is, I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s a drunk who can’t handle his emotions.

“I know you don’t.” I lie, hoping it will settle the current of his anger.

After a breath, his slurred speech settles, softening into drunk induced love. “You’re such a good kid, Linny.” He pauses. “I’m so proud of you.” He mumbles after a second.

My stomach twists, uncomfortable with the praise. The thing is, with him, his hatred and violence shifts to love and praise in the blink of an eye. His emotions, his moods, everything is unstable with him, flickering between love and hate like a broken light. He may love me now, but he could just as easily switch and hate me in the blink of an eye.

It’s draining.

“Eat dad. You need something to soak up all that booze.” I say with a soft sigh. “I got to go but I’ll come visit soon, okay?”

“Okay.” He burps. “Love you.”

“Yea, you too.” I hang up a second later and immediately push away the worry that stirs. I need to focus. The town is only a twenty-minute walk away from CSU, but the campus has everything a student could want day to day, including a quirky little coffee shop called The Bean Queen. I smile as I spot the pink and purple building and quicken my steps, the promise of caffeinated energy spurring me on.

I walk through the doors, almost groaning at the smell of chocolate and toffee that blends with coffee beans and steamed milk. It smells so good. After spending all day and night yesterday chatting with Bree, having a dedicated catch-up day, and then having a fashion panic this morning when I couldn’t decide on the perfect outfit for my meeting, I’m in desperate need of coffee.

I wipe a hand down my shirt—in the end, Bree chose my outfit. A black tank, an open white gauzy shirt, and my nicest pair of washed blue jeans. It’s business casual with a college student flare – the perfect outfit for a meeting with my boss/professor.

Usually, CSU doesn’t allow sophomores to be assistants, but I called the Art History department months ago, practically begging them to give me a chance, dazzling them with my knowledge of the subject. Eventually, they accepted. It doesn’t pay, but it does give me a rather generous helping of extra credits that I can use to graduate early. Like I said, my plan is in action, steamrolling ahead.

After ordering my coffee, I walk to the side, pulling out my phone to message Bree.

Evelyn: Ordered coffee. Trying not to freak out. Help. SOS

Bree: Breathhh sexy professor incoming

Evelyn: Not helping!

Bree: You will be fineeeee have fun with professor smokeshow ; )

I smile down at my phone, shaking my head. For the first time, I wonder what he looks like. Surely, he can’t be that hot right? In my head, the only thing I can picture is an old, balding man with a stern look to him.

The barista shouts my name. I grab my iced latte, the condensation wetting my hand, and turn to walk out the door. As I walk, I type out another message to my dad, the word EAT in big, capital letters that I hope will get him to listen.

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