Truly Yours by Mia Miller

Author:Mia Miller [Miller, Mia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mia Miller
Published: 2018-06-29T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Delia

Now

Something was wrong, and I was so afraid to find out what it was, I felt out of breath. I needed to be out of that stuffy dorm room.

I didn’t really know where else to go, so I called a cab service and went to Anton’s studio to work. Since he’d given us full access to the space while we worked on the project, I didn’t feel at all bad about crashing the studio in the middle of the night.

Unlocking the heavy wooden door, I pushed it open and looked into the dark depths of the place. I dreaded someone would be there. Conversation was the last thing on my mind.

It was late enough that the space was silent, so I got to work setting up a station. The only problem was that I had no idea what I wanted to create. I stood in front of a white canvas placed on a high easel and wondered what colors I could mix. I stood for what felt like ages and nothing came to me. I squeezed a bit of yellow color from a tube and threw it in an undetermined pattern onto the white surface.

Nothing.

I grabbed the yellow paint can and splashed it on half the canvas.

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I had. The mark of yellow paint had stretched and dried across the page into a perfectly zigzagged shape. I checked myself quickly into a mirror and got out from there.

I didn’t remember taking the particular turn that I did. I was halfway down the block before I stopped abruptly at seeing Oscar being shoved against a wall by a guy while another large man watched with a bored look on his face. Athletic or not, Oscar was half the guy’s size, and he was going to take a beating if he didn’t stop whatever it was he was trying to do. My lips parted, and my breath hitched as I started feeling my bag for my phone. When I looked up, Thug-Like Guy was tapping Goon-Guy on the shoulder, getting his attention before nodding in my direction.

Oscar’s face turned to me for a glimpse and then he did a double take as if he didn’t believe I was standing there. He exchanged what sounded like hushed threats with Goon-guy, and they parted with one final push-shove. I stood there, waiting for an explanation, and Oscar approached me, saying, “What do we have here?”

What the hell?

If I hadn’t been looking right at him and known it was Oscar then I wouldn’t have recognized his voice. He scratched his throat as he came to a stop in front of me. I looked down trying to decide whether to flee or stay. I snorted, seeing that in my frustration from the night before, I hadn’t realized I’d splattered some yellow paint onto my sneakers. I moved from the splash of color to his boots.

Wait, his boots? I lifted my eyes slowly, perusing his long legs, his narrow hips, his hands clasped on them in a questioning stance, his leather jacket.

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