Page 45 of Safety Net
"My music?" Right. Of course, he'd been talking about music. Not sex. Why would he be talking about sex at a time like this? And why was I thinking about it when I wanted to avoid people like the plague?
Maybe that was never entirely true.
I swallowed the revelation. Everything's tangled, the knots getting tighter with every second that passes.
"Of course, your music…unless you have another calling you've been working on. I wouldn't say I'm not surprised. You're an incredible musician, composer, and writer." Lincoln held uphis fingers as he listed everything off. "You can probably sing and dance. You probably passed all your courses with straight As. You volunteer on the weekends, create art on your skin, and charm your way into the minds of everyone you meet."
I'm overwhelmed, taking apart everything he's said, I could do. Everything he said I am.
"I don't make straight As. I'm behind in my courses," I blurted. "Because I've been dropping any of them with a presentation requirement. I'm so off track, I'm set to graduate three or four semesters late."
I shared my shortcomings because I needed to break his illusion of me. The idea someone who writes good music, earns good grades, and is charming was a myth. A version of myself I would never live up to. A part of me was on the defense, too. I wanted to darken his idea of me so he might pull away. Because if he did, there was a decent possibility I wouldn't have to address his growing pull on me.
"I don't think I'll ever leave my parents' house if I don't get this mentorship. This musical is… It's my best shot at changing my trajectory."
The words settled between us, threatening to become a wall or a bridge.
"I'm not on track to graduate," Lincoln said gently after a short lull. "My trajectory is kind of shot, too."
I raised a brow, surprised by the confession. Honored he'd trust me with it. "Really?"
"I've failed more classes than I thought possible in a college career," he said. "And with the way last hockey season went, I'm not getting any more chances soon. So, I get it. I know how it feels like you're on your last chance. If you don't get this right, you're shoved into a lane of life you don't want to be in. One you don't have control over."
I nodded and dipped my gaze down to my lap because I couldn't stand meeting his gaze for longer than a few seconds now. The way he spoke to me, gentle and understanding, relieved the tension in my shoulders. I wasn't alone in my shortcomings. Lincoln didn't look at me as someone to pity. I don't think he ever had.
"We're in the same boat," he promised. "And I swear to you, Celeste, we're going to make this work. You'll get the mentorship."
Lincoln leaned on the armrest nearest to me. My breath caught at the sudden closeness. It didn’t last for more than a few seconds, and yet, I'm left in a daze.
This is not good. I wanted to give him things: time or attention. I wanted to give him my space. My hands, cheeks, and lips. I wanted him to lean into me with purpose and linger.
But he's only leaning over to pull something out of his pocket. It was a red Moleskine that’d seen better days.
"Was it run over by a bus?" It was a joke. My smile faded when he nodded.
"Twice," Lincoln said, nonchalantly as he slipped off the elastic band and started flipping through the pages.
I laughed, waiting for him to elaborate, but he was already focused on the sketches on the pages. I got distracted too, impressed by the detail in the drawings.
"Did you draw these?" I asked.
"Only the shitty ones like this."
Lincoln pointed to a lopsided drawing of something I couldn't quite make out. Next to it was an intricate design for a column laced with flowers.
"I'm an ideas person," Lincoln said. "Not an artist. Which is why I like to hang out with people like you or Henrik."
"Henrik drew these?"
Lincoln nodded. "I told him what I needed, and he came up with the rest. When he didn't have the time, I did what I could. It's horrible, but enough to get my ideas out of my head."
"You're not so bad…" I paused when he turned the page to reveal a set of stick figures on a boat. It was comical in its lack of artistic merit. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to smile too widely. He was trying. And it was the sweetest thing. Although his drawing skills were severely lacking, I can see the immense effort put into the work, as evidenced by the numerous lines erased and redrawn.
"I have thick skin, Celeste." Lincoln chuckled. "You don't have to be so nice."
"I'm not being so nice…" I pointed to one of his drawings. "See, that's really cool. It's a great idea for…you know...what it obviously is…"
"I do know what it obviously is." He smiled at me, amused. "But do you?"
