E D E N

I walked into Art class ten minutes early. All the seats were empty except one. The podium my professor usually stood at was empty too. It was covered in splatters of paint, with wood chipping off at the corners.

Smiling, I took my preferred seat in the corner, near the window overlooking the Quad with just enough natural light streaming in. It was the best spot in the class, and I sat down triumphantly.

As the room began to fill, I placed my canvas on the easel, and prepared my brushes. Once I looked up, students had slowly trickled in, setting up their supplies as our instructor told us in this morning's email. It was vague, at that. All she said was that we were having a surprise exercise, and to come to class ready to paint.

I couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed of my artwork. I wasn't even an Art student, my major was undeclared and I was taking a bit of everything —History, English, Sociology— to see which I liked best.

So far, the answer was none.

Anyways, my art was shit. Another reason why I chose this spot in the corner: there was no one behind or beside me to watch or to ridicule. I could paint trash and no one would know.

Well, no one but my professor.

As soon as I thought her name, she walked into class, the gold bangles on her wrist making music with every footstep. Her blonde hair flowed to her hips, moving behind her like a cape as she took her usual spot at the podium.

She clapped her hands. "Hello, artists. I see you all received my email and came prepared." Her eyes scanned the class, face lighting up into a smile. "I have a special guest for us today."

I eyed the door, waiting to see who would walk through as she took a seat on an empty desk lingering in the first row. She clapped her hands once more.

"Lately," she began, voice carrying like wind, "we've been studying the human form. The curve of shoulders, the dip of a bottom, the bow of the lips. And today, we're going to be taking it a step further."

The class let out a collective breath as we realized what we'd be doing today: painting a person.

I grinned, excited.

"The human form is beautiful," she continued. "It should be celebrated, marvelled at. Hung in museums around the world for people to appreciate. All sizes, shapes and colours. Now," she stood up, returning to behind the podium. "You are all first year students, and I suspect you are mature enough to participate in today's activity. However, if you feel unable to, then feel free to leave and I will assign you a make up project instead."

I crossed my legs, frowning, wondering what part of this exercise could be deemed inappropriate. I eyed my classmates to see collective confusion on their faces, aside from one girl in the front row who was grinning, cheeks a startling pink.

When my professor spoke again, she said, "Today, we have a guest, and you all will be painting him in the nude."

Everyone began to whisper, some excited, some anxious. I, however, was thrilled. Undoubtedly my painting would be awful, but at least I could stare at an attractive man for the next three hours instead of a bowl of fruit.

She clapped her hands again, bracelets chiming, and gestured to the door. I stared at it, practically bouncing with excitement to see who it would be.

"Let's all welcome today's model," she said, beginning a round of applause that the class joined in on.

I was clapping, until the model walked through the door and I nearly fell off my chair.

Truman was standing in front of my class, my professor's arm draped around his shoulder as she introduced him to the students.

I waited for his eyes to meet mine and, when they did, I paled. They held mine for a second, and I could see the surprise written across Truman's face before he grinned, slowly, winking at me before turning back to my professor.

There was no way in hell I was going to sit there as he took his clothing off, listening to every person in my class gawk at him. The thought alone was appalling.

I did not want to see all that.

Okay, I may have been curious, and my high school self was definitely screaming at me to sit my ass down and witness this, but that was before everything changed.

Lost in thought, I glanced up to see my professor sitting behind her desk, book in hand, and Truman still standing in the front, lifting his shirt over his head.

A sigh fell over the class. I rolled my eyes.

His eyes met mine. He was still grinning, wider now.

I hid behind my easel when he began to unbutton his pants. When a girl literally shrieked, I knew he was naked.

I felt my entire body heat up and I wasn't even looking at him.

Quickly, I gathered my supplies and shoved them into my backpack, keeping my eyes locked on the ground. When everything was packed, I slung it over my shoulder and bolted out of class, using my hand to cover my eyes and block out Truman.

"Eden!" he called out when I was nearly out the door. I didn't look back, I kept running and ignored the whispers.

I wanted to peek. I really fucking wanted to peek and see what left everyone speechless, but I wasn't sure I could handle that. That was a line I would not cross. With or without the promise I made.

I walked through the door and stood outside, breathing quickly. I sat on the concrete steps, backpack between my knees. Out of every person in this city, and Truman was picked to model for this class? Okay, he was attractive, but so were thousands of guys in this damn city that I didn't have a weird history with.

I already had my phone out, typing an apology email to my professor when a shadow fell over me. I could smell his stupid cologne before I even saw him.

"Eden?" Truman sat beside me, his legs grazing mine. I was happy to see he was dressed again, hair falling over his brow.

"I didn't know you were a model," I grumbled.

He chuckled, nudging his shoulder against mine. "I'm not. But I'm slightly offended by your surprise," he added.

I wanted to slap him.

"Why'd you run out?" Truman asked when I hadn't spoken.

I stared ahead of me at the grass where students were laying on their backs in the sun. Some laughing, some reading. I wanted to be like that: carefree. Happy with my friends.

I turned back to Truman and met his eyes that were gold in the sunshine. "I'd rather not spend three hours staring at your. . . body."

His lips curled. "Just staring, huh? Not even painting?"

"This isn't funny!" I huffed. "Why are you here? Why are you always turning up wherever I am? The bar first, and now my school."

"You really think I knew that was your class, Eden? Your professor caught me walking down the street yesterday and asked me if I minded modelling for her class. That's it. I need some extra cash for a project I'm working on anyways."

"And if you knew it was my class, you would have said no?"

Truman chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "I would have been more eager, actually."

"You're awful," I shot back, standing up and swinging my backpack over my shoulder.

"Come on, Ed, just come back in. Please?" He stood up beside me. I froze when he placed his hand on my arm. It was like electricity coursing through my veins. "You can just paint my face," he said, voice soft. "You don't have a problem staring at that. You do it all the time."

"I do not."

Truman took a step closer, squinting against the sunlight. "Come on, Eden. You're being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" I scoffed. "Look what one kiss did to us, Truman. All the guilt, the regret. You really think this will make things easier? Me going back in there and painting you naked?"

He shrugged, hand still on my arm. "It's just a painting. It doesn't need to be that complicated."

"It's always complicated with us." And that's not something I ever saw changing.

"Fine." I flinched at his voice as he ripped his arm away. "Then leave, Eden, run away. Whatever's easier for you."

He barely had time to turn around before I started yelling. "You're such a hypocrite! You ran away after Katie's accident! You spent everyday hiding in another city, Truman, while I stood at her bedside every day, holding your mother while she cried!" People were staring. I could feel tears burn my eyes. I wiped them away, fingers shaking.

"I never ran away," I finished. "That's your thing."

I expected him to be angry when he turned around. To see his eyes burning, lit from a fire within. Instead his face had fallen, hands shoved into his pockets.

"That's what you think of me?" he asked. His voice was so low I took a step closer, just to hear him. To be near him. "That I hid from Katie? From my problems? From my family?"

I nodded, hand fidgeting uncomfortably with my bag strap. "What else should I think, Tru? Your actions don't leave much room for any other conclusion."

He walked towards me, closing the distance in two easy steps. "Give me your phone," he demanded, holding his hand out. His eyes were burning now, and I felt myself swallow as I placed my cell in his palm.

He typed something quickly and handed it back to me.

"Meet me there tomorrow. Five o'clock."

"What?" I yelled as he walked away. "Why?"

Truman paused, hand on the door as he called over his shoulder, "So I can show you that you're wrong."

_______________________

a/n: please tap the star and vote :-)

hello hello hello. what do you
think Truman's going to show her?