Page 30 of Wicked Dreams

“Excellent,” Mr. Bryan calls. “How did that feel?”

Someone else answers. He has a particular skill of knowing exactly how to tune in and listen, and he nods emphatically at everything the girl says.

“Good. Now, we’re going to start our semester-long project. I know a lot of you are intimidated by oil paints.” There are a few snickers and gasps around the room. “Well, don’t be. Oil paints are persnickety things, but once you’ve mastered it… Beauty. And endless possibilities.” His voice is too fucking dreamy to be talking about oil paints.

Although an image flashes in my mind. Margo, covered in paint. Naked, of course. Maybe even tied down…

Hmm. Now that’s not a bad idea.

“A lot like life,” Margo says.

I snap to attention.

“Fuck no.” It comes out automatically. Pretty sure I would’ve disagreed with her no matter what she said.

She bristles, and I smirk in her direction.

Mr. Bryan ignores us and continues. “We’ll be pairing up and doing portraits. I expect you to see past the person’s exterior and bring out their best qualities.”

“Portraits?” Tim or Tom groans. “Like…”

I think he joined this class to work on his comic drawings, but the little shit would never admit such a thing.

“Like da Vinci,” Mr. Bryan answers, “or Picasso.”

“Wildly different examples,” another student says.

“And I expect you to explore your options before settling on a technique,” Mr. Bryan responds. “You’ll turn in one painting on the last day of class. It’ll be your entire grade.”

Margo groans. “Is this based at all on skill?”

“Afraid you aren’t up to par?” I goad under my breath.

“Yes and no,” Mr. Bryan answers her. “Whether you start working on that final piece today or a week before it’s due is up to you. Take time to improve upon skills or learn about your partner…” He shrugs. “Turn to the person beside you and introduce yourself. You’re going to get quite familiar with their face. I’d suggest starting with getting to know them, and if you feel comfortable, start with a sketch.”

That same kid goes around with bigger canvases, setting them on our easels quickly before returning to his chair. There’s a flurry of movement and chatter rising, everyone pairing up, but I remain still.

Margo turns in the opposite direction, but her neighbor has already paired with someone.

I clear my throat, pulling my lips up in the best imitation of a true smile. “Buckle up, buttercup. We’re going to get quite familiar.”

She swallows, and my pants tighten again.Damn her.

This is pure revenge—I’d do well to remember that. Toying with her, baiting her along…

She stares at me, the fear flashing across her eyes. She acts strong one minute and cowers the next. I don’t know what’s going on in her head. There used to be a time when we could practically communicate without words, when I could read her slight expression changes and she could read mine.

I fear we’re well beyond that now.

“Please don’t make my life hell in this class,” she whispers.

I lean closer to her, not sure I heard her correctly. She should know better than to ask for favors. It makes me want to give her the opposite. To twist the knife just to watch the betrayal flicker across her innocent face.

We could do this all year. She’ll ask and I’ll deny.

Just like she denied me of my dreams seven years ago. I know that sounds dramatic, but the truth of it burns inside me. The old fury that I used to keep locked away stirs in my chest. It demands justice. Repentance.Vengeance.

I’ve held on to this anger since I was young enough to pinpoint blame. Over the years, I’ve fantasized about how to make her pay. Or at the very least, how to make thingsright. But it seems like the only path forward is through pain.

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