𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐲.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐂é𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

                I felt like an utter fool. It's been around two days since I first went to NYCB to speak with Andreas Thompson. Two days since I saw that De Russo man. And two days since I left my phone in Andreas' office, like an idiot. I remember being too caught up being scared out of my mind due to De Russo's presence, that while I was in a hurry to leave my phone fell out of my pocket and I was too frightened to look back to see what had fallen. I was too caught up in leaving NYCB to notice that my phone was missing until I was back to my apartment. I had gone back the next day to turn in the contract in —which I gratefully signed as soon as I had gotten home— and asked Mary about my phone. She said she'd ask Andreas whenever he came back to NYCB, sense he was busy on a work trip currently. She doesn't know when he's going to be back. I'm bewildered.

I don't know what I was thinking coming to America. I was subtly regretting my decision. I don't know why I couldn't have gone to a ballet school in France, where I'd still be close to home if I ever got into trouble or if I got too lonely. That wouldn't matter, I was lonely there too. I have to keep reminding myself that I came here for a less stressful career, and that it would make my mom proud. Either way, mom would be proud of anything I did. She would love me no matter what, while my fathers love is very conditional.

I currently sat at my desk with a sketch book laid in front of me. I spun a pencil in between my dainty fingers, bored out of my mind. I've always enjoyed drawing, it's another one of my passions but I don't think my drawings are good enough to make a living out of, and I don't think I'd be happy being an artist. This was so,etching me and my brother use to share in common. He use to love drawing with me, and he was the person who had encouraged me to start drawing. He's also a great artist, though I'm not sure if he still draws. We just don't talk like we use to, though I really wish we did. I miss our old relationship.

I huffed out, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face. My free hand was used to prop my head up, cupping my cheek and using my forearm like a stand. I continued to spin the pencil between my fingers, trying to think of something to draw, or something to do in general. I scrunched my nose up in discontent as the pencil slipped from my fingers and flew off to the side. The pencil landed on the soft carpet, in front of the window ceil which held a picture from of my mom.

I leaned down to reach for the pencil, turning my chair to the side so that I'm not twisting my torso in an awkward position and slowly snatched up the pencil. I leaned back up, my eyes catching sight of the sky outside from the window which was slightly fogged. It was around 2:00 p.m, yet slightly dark and dim due to the very cloudy sky. The clouds were a dark shade of gray, looking as if they were on the verge of pouring rain. Stormy gray. I thought to myself, my mind flashing memories of De Russo's deep gray eyes. They really were a sight.

For the past two days, I've thought about him at least twice a day. I think that's just me trying to get over how scared of him I was though, because the more I think about him, the less scary he gets. The more wondrous he gets. He really was a mystery to me, like who was he? Andreas had seemed so frightened of him, like deathly scared of him. I noted that the next time I see Andreas I should ask, because it's not fun having a question pend for so long.

Before I knew it, I had turned back to my desk. I scotched closer, and leaned over my sketchbook, pressing my pencil to the paper. I began sketching out what had been a longing memory in my mind. It didn't come to me of me drawing a picture of De Russo as weird, more of just me wanting to put his beauty on paper. He'd been a lingering thought in my head the past few days, and I'm hoping this would help me forget somehow. It only took me around an hour to finish the base. It wasn't very hard to remember his features due to them being imprinted in my mind. His sharp cheekbones and chin, crooked nose, and those devious eyes had all been drawn out in front of me.