Page 25 of Electric Touch

And tonight, I am going to be a life model at a local art class.

God help them.

I sit on a chaise lounge, stark naked, like Rose from the Titanic. Except it isn’t me and a guy I am in a flirty relationship with, it’s fifteen strangers, staring at me. Fortunately, I don’t feel ogled, they are all artists who don’t see me as a person, just a body.

I’d been so self-conscious, stepping up onto a podium in a robe. Then it got worse when the teacher asked me to remove it and get comfortable. I have a couple of bruises blooming on my thighs and lower back. Fortunately, I am positioned facing forward, although that means my boobs are hanging all over the place.

The longer I lie here, the more I think it’s nowhere near as bad as I’d imagined. Like the tattoo. In fact, it gives me a lot of time to think. There isn’t much else I can do. I focused on keeping still for the first twenty minutes. Then Cody, the teacher, told me I could move. I can even change my position slightly. The artists are all well versed in still life, and no one expects me to be a statue.

For a while, I fantasize about Nash. I’d lost count of the number of times I replayed our conversation at the bar. The facts I spewed at him are embarrassing. He didn’t recoil though, like some men do when I go on a tangent. He took it in stride and even enlightened me. I chuckled, but no one seemed to care I am laughing to myself. I have to stop thinking about Nash.

Being naked and imagining kissing him might make matters… Obvious. I clench my thighs and do algebraic equations in my head to distract my thoughts.

They ask me to come back next week so people can finish their work, but I politely decline. The two hundred dollars they pay me is a bonus, but I’m giving it to charity. I also don’t want to risk my job by regularly getting naked in a room full of strangers. Even if it is classed as art, I’m not sure the University will be happy about it.

When I get home, I take a long shower then sit on my bed in my pyjamas. Reviewing the list, I cross out two more and wonder what I can do next.

The guitar, zip line and dance classes seem the easiest ones to move on to. I pull my computer onto my lap to find somewhere I can do a zip wire ride. If I’d been thinking straight, I could have crowd surfed at the Vista Kicks gig. Although it wasn’t that wild. Plus, I’d been occupied elsewhere.

After a lot of research, I choose a place in New Jersey. It has excellent reviews, and their safety practices appear to be top-notch. I book for their next available weekend, then put everything away. After brushing my teeth, I get into bed. I toss and turn a little, telling myself it’s late. I don’t need to do this right now. My treacherous hands reach for my phone and open up the Instagram app.

Posting on here isn’t my thing, but I enjoy looking at what others are doing. I toy with my bottom lip, scrolling through my feed. There is nothing from any of the Red Alert members. There is always something. Particularly from Riley Edgeley. I’d been pissed at her over the last few days. Her pictures and comments are passive aggressively digging at Nash. If he saw those posts, it will be painful. I figure that was why he looked in the throes of a panic attack at the bar. That was when she was posting about her new boyfriend.

I go to her page to see when she last posted, but it’s gone. No matter how I search, nothing comes up. I check on Dylan and Alessa’s pages. Nothing. Jack’s is gone too. Nash already closed his last week.

What is going on?

I find a brand new ‘band’ page. It already has seven thousand likes, and there are a dozen generic posts about the band. One is advertising an exclusive and intimate gig on Friday night. I check the website, but am disappointed to see it has sold out.

“What are you doing?” I mumble to myself. It’s really none of my business what this band does.

I shut off my phone and set it on the bedside table, faced away from me for good measure. I can’t help wondering if Riley’s loved up posts made this happen. I’d read the comments, seeing some negativity towards her for how she treated Nash. I suppose it could have been divisive and create a deeper rift.

“Oh my God, Adrestia, go to sleep.”

I bang my pillow a few times and readjust onto my stomach. Images of Nash pushing me up against a wall and grabbing my ass are what I finally drift off to.

I don’t have to work tomorrow. But I want to get started on my lesson plan for the first semester of the year. I sequester myself away in my home office for the entire morning to get everything ready. For the first time since starting my teaching role, I am getting a TA. It will be difficult for me to let go of my duties and rely on someone else. It’s necessary, not just for me, but the TA needs to gain experience. I helped with the interviews, so I’m happy with the choice, but still a little guarded. Perhaps if we meet up and discuss things before school starts.

Firing off a quick email, asking for Charlotte’s availability, I take a break. My stomach is protesting, because I’ve not eaten. My phone lets out a loud chirp, making me jump out of my skin. Damn, Apollo must have got into my phone and changed the tone for his contact again. I need to stop letting him see my passcode.

Apollo: Lunch?

Adrestia: You read my mind. Bracco’s?

Apollo: I have a deadline for a client. Could we do it at the office?

Adrestia: Of course, should I pick something up?

Apollo: Nope, I got it all sorted, I’ll order in

Adrestia: Okay, I’m ravenous, so it better be good. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Apollo: Excellent, you can tell me all about last night

Adrestia: Don’t get too excited. I sat for two hours and tried not to fidget, use the bathroom, or fall asleep. All while doing complex mathematical equations in my head.

Apollo: Sounds like your idea of a good time Tia. See you soon x

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