Hello, again. As you may or may not notice, I have changed my penname from x Viva la Vida x to Norah Pearly-Gates. I felt I was outgrowing the first name and I did realize it was quite a handful to write. I've had this story on the go since.... November, I'd gather. Dear Lord, this took me forever! A special thanks to my best friend and beta, ashley055 (I actually had to ask her to double check I got it right... I always spell it 005, no matter what. Yeesh...)
Disclaimer: I do not own Bones. Or anything belonging to Bones. Except for Miss Carmel. And the skull. It's in the story, you'll find out. They're my creations, and I rather enjoyed them.
NOTE OF IMPORTANCE! I'd like to inform you that ashley055 (writer of When You're Gone) and myself are collaborating and putting our genius thoughts together to bring the Bones Fandom an original full feature length story. We plan to start the posting a week after the Bones Finale - or the beginning of June - and we are very, very excited. We are still debating if we should each post in on our own accounts or create a joint account (meaning I'm not fully convinced I want a joint account. I'm being stubborn about that one) so we'll inform the readers when the story is posted. The plot and timeline of the story has been fully planned out - so no worries of any writer's block - but we are still working on a fitting title. Just thought I'd let that out that there so keep your eyes peeled for a great story that will somewhat abate the Bones withdrawals this upcoming summer. How we hate those.
Warning: I didn't intend it, but this one-shot is somewhat of a slash. It's a story about the beginning of Angela's and Roxie's relationship. There is NO physical descriptions in here, just hints that they are actually together. I really do not know how to say that. You'll see what I mean. This was why I rated this T. For comfort levels.
Enjoy!
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"Draw the darkness. Follow the contours with your eyes and allow your hands to depict the hidden meaning of the gloom."
With a precise slowness, Miss Carmel took deliberate steps around the length of Room 105 Art Studio, her heels making long clacks on the tiled floor. Motioning with her hands she described the task to her students, talking to them as individuals and as a whole.
"Don't paint what you just see. Open your mind and let a message come out."
With that, Miss Carmel crossed the room and placed her hand on the object of everyone's riveted attention. The worn, yellowed skull sat in the middle of the center stage table, slightly on an angle from the bone being worn down.
"This is death."
This is life.
"Let is seep into you. Draw what you see it to be. This is real. For example," and as she spoke, Miss Carmel smoothed her hand over the surface of the skull, as if she was rubbing its head affectionately, "The eye sockets. Not only do you see them as hollow, empty, black holes but from there you can almost imagine the look of the body. Replay; relive the death of this individual. Create mangled corpses, twisted, broken angles. Let your inner dark side hold the reigns for this one."
Making her way around the room again, resuming her old marching path, Miss Carmel studied her students. Looks and variety of emotions were displayed across their faces, ranging from discomfort to enthusiasm. Catching sight of one of her top students, Miss Carmel stopped directly across from Angela, across the room and raised her eyebrows. Angela had her lips curled back in disgust, her facial expressions and body language conveying that she was definitely uncomfortable sitting in a room with a dead head.
"Something the matter, Miss Montenegro?" Angela glanced at her art teacher, and slowly nodded her head.
"You want us to draw death?" Angela asked, her eyebrows rising in disbelief.
"Yes." Miss Carmel answered, surveying her class as the students turned to listen to the conversation. "I believe it will broaden your horizon, your expansion of what art is capable of."
"Uh-huh." Angela mentally scoffed at the idea. "It's just so… dreary." Miss Carmel's tinkling laugh filled the room, making the students closest to her jump in surprise.
"That's the point my dear!" Reaching up, the art teacher wiped false tears away from her eyes. "See what you can do, Angela. Envision, capture and create." Clapping her hands together, Miss Carmel walked over to her desk, selected a record, placed it on her record box and set the needle on the black disc. "You have a week for this studio lesson, you'll be given the next three classes to work on it and then it is to be finished on your own time." The record player coughed to life, the unofficial sign that the studio lesson had started.
Rustling of notebooks, scraping of stools and the clinking of pencils filled the room but Angela remained still. Dropping her hands onto her table she continued to gaze at the disembodied head.
The skull was from an architectural dig in Turkey. It had been Miss Carmel's ex-husband – then Mrs. Scott – who had unearthed the skull and after the divorce, Miss Carmel had snuck the skull out with her, having grown rather attached to it. Later, she'd claim to her ex-husband that she had no idea where his damn skull was and that its disappearance was due to his own ignorance and lack of responsibility, he'd most likely lost it. This of course, would lead to false accusations of him having loved the skull more than he did his own wife thus leading to a heated argument. All of this –the cursed dig in Turkey, the love for a dead person's head – lead to the basis of the divorce. Throughout the filing of divorce papers, multitudes of steaming and cold cups of coffee, the packing of boxes and streams of duck tape and passionate, heated, this-is-the-last-time romps twisted in the bed sheets with her husband, Miss Carmel had managed to miss the past history the skull provided. Thus, she had no clue as to what gender or even true nationality and age the skull was.
And it was this severe lack of information that left Angela with an opening. Raising her fingers, as if in a trance, Angela slowly and softly traced the lines and shape of the skull. While the other art students around here were bustling into action, their hands waving across their paper in a smooth frenzy, smudging, sharpening, highlighting, Angela sat back and did just what Miss Carmel told her to do. She envisioned.
Dark eyes, Angela thought. She had dark eyes. Dropping her hands to her sketchbook, Angela flipped to a blank space and grasped her pencil in an automatic stance, never once breaking eye contact with the empty eyed socket of the skull. As her eyes traced the lines and contours her handsfollowed suit, weaving a song of lines and scratches. She captured.
Bone turned to flesh in her minds eye. A smooth forehead, high cheekbones and angular jaw were revealed to her. Dark eyes and flushed apples of the cheek grew and emboldened themselves, imperfect but beautiful lips grew full and smiled. She created.
(*)
Walking out of Room 105 an hour later, Angela felt… different. Her mind felt connected to her body in a way she hadn't felt since she'd snuck a hash brownie from Paul Bardo back in sixth grade just before an English test. That hadn't been one of her proudest moments.
Sketchbook firmly tucked in her shoulder bag, Angela made her way to the courtyard, knowing that a certain dark redhead would be waiting in their spot – on the picnic table by the stone tablet marking the time capsule that would be unearthed in eleven years to come – and yet Angela strained to see above those taller than her and a large smile graced her features as she saw the short dark red hair atop the body of a lean young woman arching back on the picnic bench.
Walking up, Angela reached out and touched Roxie by her shoulder, alerting her to her presence.
"Hey, you." Glancing up, Roxie smiled and folded her notes up from her previous class, and Angela let her hand trail down from Roxie's shoulder to rest beside her hand, their pinkies unknowingly touching.
"English?" Asked Angela.
"Albert Camus." Responded Roxie and she sighed as she slipped of the bench to join Angela in their walk towards their dorm.
"That bad, huh?" Roxie nodded her head, reaching out to fix the shoulder strap of Angela's bag.
"At least his books are – well some of his books – are short. I don't have time to sit down and read a five hundred paged novel written by some old fool with opinioned views."
"It'll go quickly. Trust me." Angela smoothly comforted, and she nudged Roxie's shoulder with her own, causing the two college girls to giggle.
Stopping at Angela's dorm room, Angela pushed her key into the lock but waited to unlock it, turning to Roxie.
"Supper tonight? At Moretti's?"
"Of course." Replied Roxie. "Always. You don't have to ask."
"I know. It's basically tradition now, I just thought you'd be busy with your mid-term art exam." Roxie shrugged her shoulders at that.
"I can work on it tomorrow night. Besides, I know you'll keep me company."
Angela shifted the strap of her bag higher up on her shoulder and smiled at Roxie. Reaching out, Angela brushed off imaginary dirt from the collar of Roxie's jacket.
"Always."
(*)
Moretti's was a small, exclusive restaurant hidden in a corner of the campus. The door seemed non-existent and it wasn't until you looked closer that you could make out its wooden frame from the vine covered stonewall. Dark, green vines seemed to grow over the windows, creating an illusion of secrecy and appearing like adark club, and yet the inside of Moretti's was the exact opposite. The walls were light and airy, the booths well cushioned and the music was always light classical playing through the hidden speakers placed throughout the room.
The restaurant was a well-kept secret from first years, and the only way to gain entrance was with prestige and age. This of course, meant the college men were the more experienced ones who knew how to play their cards right. Just grabbing a drink from the bar could prove perilous, or a perfect opportunity – depending on who wanted to get laid that night – and the two girls soon found themselves wound up in abooth, collapsing into giggles from the blunt, unwanted advances from the opposite sex.
"God!" Laughed Angela, as she waved her hand in front of her mouth, as if to stem the laughter. "They're so conceited! It's as if they expect us to drop to our knees and offer our undivided lip service."
"I know." Roxie giggled. "I could just see their eyes trailing from my mouth to my breasts to my ass and then to their own disgusting package. As if that mute conversation was suppose to indicate I was a service toy."
"Men are pigs. That's all I can say." Angela shook her head with her statement, causing her hair to loosen out of its clip, pieces falling down around her face. Automatically, as a friend helping a friend, Roxie reached over and brushed the loose pieces from Angela's face. Lingering for a moment, Roxie let her fingers brush lightly from Angela's temple to the side of her lips. In response, with no thought to what the consequences could be, Angela moved her crossed over leg and gently touched the side of Roxie's jean clothed calf with her foot.
"Men are pigs." Agreed Roxie.
(*)
"I like this colour."
"Hmm." Roxie nodded her head in agreement, and even though she hadn't glanced up to see what hue Angela had been mentioning, she had a feeling it was the blood red. Casting a glance, Roxie's speculations were confirmed. "Yes. It's very… sensual." Angela smiled as she put the small container back on the shelf she was organizing. Taking a step back and looking farther down the wall she was facing, Angela tried to capture the time.
Accomplishing this wasn't too hard. The clock in the Studio room was about a meter in height and diameter. The original school clock had long ago been replaced by an estranged mechanical teacher twenty years previous. A large iron cast clock now sat in its spot, the metal hands intricately woven by smaller strands of thin iron. The long hands pointed to just after eleven, accompanied by a severe clicking from the smaller second hand.
Roxie sat in the center of the room, having pushed aside the stage stable. Sitting cross-legged she dipped her brush into on the several opened cans of paint surrounding her and would proceed by brushing and stroking and dabbing her horsetail brush along the wide, flat canvas. Angela, off to the side, stood by the tall wardrobes lining the one side of the wall of the Studio. Opening and closing doors, Angela shifted through the supplies, grabbing what Roxie needed and storing away what she was finished with. Currently, Angela was sorting through a panel of many sized canvases that were all of Roxie's creations. Dark colours followed by splashes of dazzling complementary hues, Angela's eyes took in the strong, flowing lines and variety of emotions splayed across the boards.
"This is really good." Angela murmured.
"Thank you."
Hearing the soft notes of piano waft throughout the room, Angela started, leaning back, and twisting her head around.
"Where is that coming from?"
"Hmm?" Without even looking up, Roxie motioned with her head. "The record player. It's always on. I'm not sure why…"
"Sounds like Debussy." Mused Angela.
"You know Debussy?" Casting a smug smirk at the sitting woman behind her, Angela lifted an eyebrow.
"What? Am I not allowed to know classics? Just because my father - " Angela cringed, stopping that train of words. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Sweetie."
Stopping her brushing, Roxie looked up and caught Angela's eye.
"I'd like to get to know you." The words were so softly spoken that Angela could have said that she hadn't heard Roxie at all. But she did, and with no response, she turned back to viewing the canvases.
The occupants in the room fell silent; the only sound was their even breathing and a quiet piano wafting through the room. Angela found herself nervously picking at the hem of her shirt, biting her lip at what Roxie had said. Angela knew what she could tell Roxie, that nobody else knew, but Angela also knew she wasn't ready to delve into any deep heart to hearts at the moment. Deciding it was time for a change of discussion Angela made a different opening of sorts.
"I had an epiphany today."
Roxie paused in her work.
"What was it?" Grasping her hands behind her back, Angela turned to face Roxie, leaning against the panel.
"Miss Carmel assigned us to draw death. There was even a skull in the room." Both girls paused and shared a knowing smile.
"She still has that thing?" Angela nodded, and took a deep breath. Twisting, Angela resumed her original position of facing the wall.
"I couldn't draw it." She started softly. "It was so dark and hopeless. I don't want to paint that. I'm not sure how… or when… but I do know that when I do draw, I want to be giving something to whoever my subject is, or whoever is viewing my work."
Getting off the floor, Roxie made her way to Angela's book bag and upon finding her notebook she flipped through until she knew she was looking at what Angela had been referring too. The half of a face was shaded, and despite being drawn in grays and blacks, the flush of cheeks, crease of the eyes and softness of the lips spilled off the page. The young girl was smiling a half smile, half her mouth drawn and her eyes possessed some form of secret that the viewer was looking in upon.
"She's smiling." Roxie stated.
"Yeah," Angela felt her lips draw into a small frown. "She deserved to be smiling."
The room fell silent expect for the steady beating of the iron clock.
A soft whisper of a motion and sudden pressure on her shoulders, Angela glanced over her shoulder to see Roxie behind her. Trails of small fires licked down Angela's side as fingers ghosted down her ribs, into the dip of her waist and rested on her hips. A warm breath caressed her neck as lips created soft whispers against her skin.
"Stay with me tonight?" Roxie murmured. Angela froze for but a moment, and casting her thoughts back to previous nights of enduring long aches low in her abdomen in a lonely bed, Angela knew her answer before she had time to fully think out her actions.
"Yes."
(*)
"So I'll see you tonight?"
"I don't think so." Angela paused mid-step, turning to look at Roxie. Almost as an afterthought Roxie continued on, "I'm just busy, that's all. Sorry."
"That's what you said last night." Roxie didn't reply. "Hey. Roxie, are you alright?" Reaching out, Angela laid her hand on Roxie's shoulder, giving her a slight shake.
Roxie gave Angela a tight smile.
"Yeah," she breathed out. "I'm just fine."
"Well good. I thought you were trying to bail out on me. Either that, or you're really bad at break-ups." Resuming their walking, Angela slipped her hand into Roxie's. They immediately stopped as Roxie withdrew.
"Don't." Was all she managed, accented with a shake of her head. Angela studied Roxie for but a moment.
"Oh God, you are breaking up with me! Didn't you know, that's always been my job?" Angela's light attempt on humor fell flat as Roxie shook her head.
"That's the problem."
"Excuse me?"
"You've always been the one to end things Angie. More power to you. Did you ever think I would want us to be equals?"
Angela couldn't stop the laugh from leaving her lips, even if she had tried.
"Oh, Roxie. You think I think that I'm better than you?"
"No. That's not what I said." If Angela heard the rising frustration in Roxie's voice, she didn't let it show.
"Yes. Yes it is. Listen, Roxie. You know I'm here for you, right?"
"That's the problem. You're never here."
"I'm here right now!"
"Physically. Angie, when have you ever shared anything with me? Other than your body and your likes and dislikes." For once, Angela was quiet. "See? I don't know you. Sure, I know who your father is; sure I know you're an exhibitionist. But I don't know you."
"You're not giving me anything here to work on Angela!" Roxie added as an afterthought, raising her arms in exasperation.
"What do you want me to do?" Angela asked, dropping her shoulders. Roxie stared at her
for a second, before closing her eyes with a sigh.
"Just… just find me when you're ready to share yourself." And then she was gone.
Angela watched her go, her eyes wide with disbelief. The hallway was empty save for Angela's slow, harsh breaths. Heaving her bag higher onto her shoulder, Angela slowly made her way to her dorm.
Find me when you're ready to share yourself.
What the hell did that mean? Before Angela could fully ponder it, before she could determine what Roxie meant, she felt her body collide with a moving force, knocking the wind out of her. Bag falling to the floor, the hallway was filled with the noise of scattering papers, pens and books.
"I'm so sorry!" The student before her knelt down, scrambling to pick up Angela's fallen items, all of which seemed to have slipped out of her bag.
"That's…" Angela heaved a sigh of relief, putting a hand over her racing heart. "It's quite alright. You just… caught me off guard."
"I do that sometimes." Hazel eyes met hers and Angela smiled at the handsome young man before her.
"Here, let me help." Shaking herself out of her stupor, Angela knelt down to retrieve the young man's papers. Shuffling them together Angela noticed they had fallen out of order. With a grimace she passed them over. "I'm sorry. They're all jumbled together. It's quite a mess."
"Quite alright." The student passed over Angela's bag as he grabbed his files. "I didn't mean to bowl you over like that. I'm in a rush and I just didn't see you - "
Angela waved off his words with her free arm. "No problem." Nodding at her the student gave a slight nod of his head as he started to slowly make his way past her.
"I'm Angela, by the way."
"Timothy. Again, I'm sorry. But I have to leave. No hard feelings? You're not hurt are you?" Angela laughed.
"No. I'm just fine. Thanks." With a tight smile Timothy made his way down the hall.
"Timothy!" Stopping and whirling around, Timothy looked at Angela with wide eyes. "While I appreciate the help, I'd prefer you wouldn't take my belongings with you." Seeing Timothy's confused, somewhat horror expression, Angela pointed to his left fist, which was clutching a pack of paintbrushes. "My brushes? I'm going to be needing those."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't even notice I had them." Jogging the empty spaces between them, Timothy held his hand out to Angela. "A painter? You must be good."
"I have talent." Angela answered.
"Do you like it? Painting, I mean." Not really sure why, but Angela hesitated with her answer at first.
"Yes. I like painting."
"Well, that's good, I guess. Sorry again." And then just like Roxie, Timothy was gone, jogging down the hall.
I like painting.
The phrase sounded odd to Angela at first. And as she made her way down the hall, for a second time, she understood why. It was fuzzy in the beginning. The vision of the hallway she was walking through remained but it was the voices that cleared first.
"You won't let me paint you."
It was a statement, not a question.
"No."
Angela watched as Roxie mulled over her answer, inwardly preparing herself for the next question.
"Why?"
Angela sighed, heaving her shoulders as she did so.
"It's complicated."
"Let me get this straight. You'll let others photograph you – you'll even pose for them – "
"I do not." Angela cut off Roxie. Turning to Angela, Roxie wagged her finger in her face.
"Yes. You do. Remember Jeffrey? You were his personal muse when it came to photography. He loved you. And you loved the picture taking."
"You're over exaggerating."
"No." Roxie went silent for a moment, running her fingers through her hair. "Why is this different?"
"Because…" Angela began but upon seeing Roxie's face she restarted. Swinging her arms out from her side she turned to Roxie, motioning with her hands. "Photography and painting are very different from each other. Look, photography is just taking a picture of someone; you're capturing a moment. But with painting… you're capturing the soul. That very essence of someone or something and immortalizing it forever. I just don't think I'm ready to have that done. Ever."
Roxie mulled this over, silent until she straightened her shoulders.
"You won't let me paint you?"
It was a question now, not a statement.
Angela hesitated with her answer. Roxie was asking her with a direct question, and the wrong answer would mean so much more. Casting her eyes down Angela answered Roxie, drawing out the "o" in her reply.
"No."
Was this what Roxie meant?
(*)
"Interesting view on death, Miss Montenegro."
Jumping in her seat, Angela looked up to see Miss Carmel at her side, steadily staring at the papers spread before her. Eyes flickering from the desk to the subject skull several times, Miss Carmel finally pursed her lips.
"It doesn't look very… dead to me."
Angela looked out over her sketches, some completed to full detail while others lay with scarce lines covering them. Handfuls of drawings had been done, and all of them were of the girl Angela had envisioned. Sitting on her knees, profile of different angles of her face, hair swinging forward as she looked down, lashes covering her eyes as she smiled. This young girl was full of life.
"Well…" began Angela. "That's because she isn't. Dead, I mean."
"Care to explain?" Miss Carmel asked.
Angela hesitated. Looking out over her seas of scattered papers and frowning with disdain, she felt the urge to cover them. Scanning each of her sketches, the half drawn face of the girl caught Angela's eyes.
"She's smiling."
"Yeah. She deserved to be smiling."
A knowing smile graced Angela's face as she felt determination fill her. Squaring her shoulders, Angela turned to her art teacher, looking her straight in the eye.
"I didn't want draw death."
Miss Carmel was quiet for a count, tapping her heel-clad foot on the floor. Shifting her weight, Miss Carmel sucked her breath in through her teeth.
"I didn't ask you to draw life, Miss Montenegro."
Angela smiled as she felt her answer roll of her tongue with grace.
"No. You asked us to draw what we see. And I see life."
The tapping of the heel resumed.
Turning so that she was leaning on the side of the desk, Miss Carmel closed the space between Angela and herself, blocking off their conversation with the rest of the class.
"You know, Miss Montenegro, I will have to grade this according to what was assigned."
Angela gave a small grin at the threat.
"I don't think that will hurt my overall mark." She answered smoothly.
"Angela," sighed Miss Carmel. "You're a truly gifted student. But your performance is hurt by your lack of regard for others. I assigned you to draw death. Instead, you do the complete opposite."
"It's not a lack of regard - " Started Angela.
"It is." Cut in Miss Carmel. "You're not willing to give up what others need. And I need you to draw death." Miss Carmel straightened out, bringing the discussion to an end. "You have a choice Miss Montenegro. You can either follow my directions or receive the resulting consequences."
Quickly walking away, Angela was left sitting in her chair, feeling, for the second time that day, stumped.
(*)
Three days later
Students bustling and slipping past each other down the crowded hallways was the least of Angela's concerns. In fact, it was as if her mind had left her body, floating a few feet above, barely noticing her body being battered by the hundreds of students below. Everything had been so perfect, as of late. She and Roxie had been steadily growing their relationship – until now. Now, Roxie did her best to avoid Angela, saying she needed time. Except, when she said that, she wasn't referring to herself, but to Angela. Angela didn't want time. Time was constantly slipping by, she could literally hold it in her hands and watch is seep through her fingers like water.
Then there was Miss Carmel. Angela didn't really care about losing marks on assigned work; she had enough good grades to carry her through. Rather, it was what Miss Carmel was saying. At the time, Angela knew had she only been referring to the art class but now… Angela could see those words being applied to a very different part of her life.
Your performance is hurt by your lack of regard for others.
A lack of regard. Angela knew she held Roxie in the highest ofregards yet here was Roxie avoiding Angela due to those exact words. She didn't phrase it the same way, but Angela knew the context held the same meaning.
You're not willing to give up what others need.
Angela had given to those she cared about when they were in need. At least, that's what she felt she had been doing. She had given Roxie her time and love and herself… physically. Angela paused. Physically. But not emotionally or mentally. There had been many times where Angela thought that Roxie had been trying to open her up, patiently waiting for Angela to reveal something about herself thatothers didn't know. And she hadn't. Always thinking to herself, next time, Angela had moved on the conversation.
Roxie wanted more than just a physical relationship. And the more Angela dwelled on it, the more she realized… that was what she wanted as well. What she had wanted from the beginning with Roxie.
Stopping in the middle of the hallway, causing the students behind her to suddenly stop and move around her, cursing aloud, Angela smiled. A laugh escaped her throat and she sighed, shaking her head at her own stupidity.
"God." She laughed again, now moving with purpose towards the one person that mattered to her.
It was dark by the time Angela found her. She was sitting in the art studio, an easel before her. But she wasn't doing anything. She only leaned her back against the table, arms crossed, her one hand up in front of her face, as if she was in deep thought. A paintbrush stuck out of her pocket.
"I thought I'd find you here." Roxie made no movement at Angela's voice, just raising her eyes to meet her.
Clearing her throat, Angela made her way into the room. Silence hung between the two of them.
"You know, I don't want it to be like this." Roxie said.
"Yeah," breathed Angela. "I know."
Moving up from her spot, Roxie made her way to the easel, removing the canvas already propped on it.
"So why are you here?"
For once, Angela was unsure. She wasn't confident in the actions she had planned out in this moment. She wasn't confident in the reply she would receive from Roxie. Taking a deep breath, Angela tilted her chin up and looked directly at Roxie.
"For this."
Reaching behind her, Angela unzipped her dress, shrugging her shoulders to loosen the material clinging to her. Slipping her arms out of it, Angela kept her eyes locked on Roxie's,
The dress fell to floor.
Roxie stood still for a moment, head cocked to the side, keeping her gaze neutral. Then, ever so subtly, she tilted her head towards the stool in front of the easel.
"I already have a canvas set out."
Sitting down, Angela had her back face Roxie.
"Don't make me look fat."
"That's impossible." Chuckled Roxie.
The room fell silent again, but despite the earlier feeling of a wall that had temporally laid its foundations, the only feeling now was comfort. The foundations had shifted, morphed from a wall into a bridge. In only a few exchange of words, the ice had been broken. But Angela knew she could break it some more.
"It's cold in here," she shivered.
"I'll soon warm you up." Roxie promised. Laughing, Angela turned her head to look over her shoulder at Roxie. "Hold that pose," ordered Roxie. "It's perfect."
"Hmm." Angela couldn't keep the smile out of her teasing voice. "I like it when you're demanding and bossy."
Roxie rolled her eyes. Angela shook her hair a bit, loosening the waves, allowing the long length to flow down her back. Feeling the inner urge to hesitate, to hold her tongue and say something else, Angela swallowed her fear and glanced over towards the wide windows along the classroom wall. She felt it would be easier to say this without holding Roxie's gaze.
"Angela's not my real name." It didn't feel like much, but it was enough. The last remains of shards set out between the two fell away without a second glance.
Roxie only nodded, smiling softly as she drew her brush along the canvas. Casting her eyes from Angela's nude form to the canvas, Roxie compared the dark cascade of hair and timber eyes with that of her own interpretation. Discarding her brush, wiping her hands on the towel beside her, Roxie slipped around her easel and made her way silently through the room.
Walking up to Angela, Roxie trailed her fingers down her loves arms, stroking the soft skin. Leaning in, inhaling the soft scent, Roxie touched her lips to Angela's ear.
"Stay with me tonight?"
Tilting her head back, Angela smiled. She knew her answer before it even rolled off her lips. She knew this answer would be the right one, meaning so much more than a simple yes.
"Always."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
*Whistles* That took me way too long to write. Seriously. It wasn't that I was writing it every day, I just wrote most of it sometime in January and then just finished it the other day. I'm so happy this one is over with.
I had given the skull a name. But I forgot it. I think it was Ed. But I'm not too sure... more like a vibe.
Thank you for reading!