Page 14 of Forbidden Desires

The first thing I do is unpack my sketches and the few plans I have for pieces to work on. These are the only things that feel solid right now. The only things I can rely on.

I stack them up on the kitchen counter, reassuring myself with their familiar presence. Glass, at least, has never let me down.

When I've unpacked just enough to feel semi-functional, I grab my phone and check the time. I need to head over to the museum and hot shop to get a lay of the land before I start work in the morning. The residency comes with full access to the furnaces and workspaces, and if I'm lucky, the work will keep my mind too busy to wander where it shouldn't.

I opt to walk the short distance to my new place of employment. It's a pleasant stroll, and I can see the stunning Mount Rainier, which feeds my artist soul. I finally step into the doors of the museum and it smells like molten silica and ambition. The hot shop is a cavernous space, alive with the hum of furnaces and the rhythmic tap of tools. It's a strange comfort—chaotic, loud, and familiar all at once.

I'm greeted by Bobby, the studio manager, who gives me a warm smile and a quick tour. He has an easy, calming presence—mid-thirties, with tattoos winding up both arms and short auburn hair tucked behind one ear.

"You must be Suzie. Glad you made it. You're a bit earlier than we thought," he says to me, an affable grin on his face.

"Oh! I know, sorry. I came in a bit earlier than planned, and thought I'd come check things out before I start tomorrow."

He grins at me. "I like it. Someone that needs to be prepared. We'll get along just fine." He gestures toward the gleaming equipment. "This will be your playground for the next few months. We'll get you set up with a workbench and locker. Do you need anything specific?"

I glance around the space with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "No. This is perfect. So very perfect. I can't even begin to express my gratitude to you and the museum for giving me this chance."

"Great! You're welcome to poke around today if you want. We keep things pretty relaxed, so as long as you clean up after yourself and do the few tasks required of you, we shouldn't have any problems."

Bobby hands me a set of keys and points toward the lockers in the corner. I thank him and take a moment to soak it all in.

This is my dream. What I've worked for.

But instead of pure excitement, there's a knot of nerves twisting in my gut.

What if I can't do this? What if the ghosts I thought I left behind follow me here?

Pushingmy doubts away and brushing them off as a lack of good sleep, I spend the rest of the afternoon prepping my station and mapping out ideas for the gallery showing. The hum of the studio and the glow of the furnace soothe me more than I expected. It's been too long since I lost myself in the rhythm of glassblowing, and I can already feel the itch in my hands, eager to create something new.

My dads built me a workshop at home, and I could have been doing this there, but it wouldn't have gotten me the exposure this residency will.

By the time I get back to my apartment, it's dark outside, and exhaustion pulls at me like an undertow. I should have probably used my time to find a shop and get some provisions, so I settle on some leftover road snacks for my dinner.

As I sit cross-legged on the floor, chewing mechanically, the weight of everything starts to settle on me. I've spent so long running—from memories, from heartache, from the two people I don't want to be thinking of. And now, in the quiet of my new home, the emotions I've kept at bay start creeping in.

I pull out my phone and swipe through a few texts from Monte, Lo, and Annie. Each taking the time to check in, and make sure I arrived safely.

Annie:

I miss you already, babe. Hope you're settling in okay. Call me if you need to vent... or talk about you-know-who.

Monte:

So proud of you. Let us know if you need anything.

Lorcan:

We love you, sweetheart. Knock them dead.

Their words warm me, but they also remind me of what I've left behind. I hesitate, my thumb hovering over Pete's blocked contact. The urge to unblock him is overwhelming, but I know it's a trap.

I force myself to lock the phone and toss it onto the couch as if the distance between us could sever the temptation. Tomorrow will be a new day. I just need to sleep—let the exhaustion win fornow. But as I drag myself off the floor and head to the bedroom, my mind refuses to quiet.

Even after a long shower, it's still racing around. I take the time to make the bed with some fresh linens and sigh at the comfort the cool sheets offer as I slide beneath them. The room is dark, the only light coming from the distant glow of lights from outside my window. I roll to my side, clutching a pillow to my chest, as if squeezing it tight enough might keep my mind from spiraling.

What if it all falls apart?

The thought slinks in, unbidden. What if this dream I worked so hard for, lost everything for, turns to ash?

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