CHAPTER EIGHT
INDIGO
Art Theory is by far by favorite class I'm taking this semester. It's fascinating, and most of all, I love how, technically, is students can never be wrong on our assignments, after all, we're all working with theories over here. This is our second class of the year so far — though I had met the professor through a seminar I had attended in October about the Language of Art.
Today, we're giving our theories on the evolution of historic art, aka, the more famous pieces — think Mona Lisa, the Starry Night — versus more modernized art types. It's a simple little task, and the fourteen off of hurriedly go about beginning, the sound of laptops opening and starting up paired with the rustle of paper and quiet chatter of a few people behind me discussing their thoughts and ideas.
I begin working too. I think modern art is cool, I'm especially a big fan of the sculptures made by trash, giving a new light to otherwise useless, wasted things. Maybe something undesirable into something beautiful.
"Ms Brown."
I look up from my laptop to see Professor Hampton. He's dressed in his usual peculiar way — flowing pants that almost look like a skirt, with a paisley pattern, and a matching turquoise tee. He has half moon glasses perched on top of his head, disrupting his jet black hair.
"Professor," I say, nodding to him with a smile.
"May I?" He asks, gesturing to a seat beside me. I don't know many of the students in this class, and even the ones I do know, know someone better, and typically sit with them, so I nod.
He sinks down into the seat, and then turns to me, his face growing serious, "Have you given anymore thought to the internship? I truly think you would love it."
Before I can really think, images flood my mind in choppy bits and pieces. A bathroom. Me in my red dress. Kolby, pinning my hands above my head. Him, asking me about my internship. Me, coming so fast and so hard I had nearly bit off his poor finger.
I shift in my seat, a familiar flutter erupting in my core. Just thinking about our encounter makes me all hot and bothered. I hope I'm not flushed.
I swallow down any and all inappropriate thoughts and flash a grin to Professor Hampton, "I have, actually. When's the first day, again?"
"February 4th," He answers, looking elated at my interest, "So I should close the spot, then?"
"Yes," I answer.
• • •
When I get home, Sadie is making lunch. She has her hair up in her signature bun, headband and all, dressed in a sports bra and a pair of Nike shorts I'm sure belong to one of her brothers, and a blue apron with her name embroidered on it in pink. Sadie always cooks. Lucky for me, considering I can't cook. At all. Last I tried I had burnt a perfectly good piece of garlic bread.
"Babe! Is that you?" She calls out, looking around the corner to the hallway.
"Am I babe?" I yell back, hanging my coat on the hanger.
"Of course you are!" She says as I enter the kitchen. She's a mess, food splattered all over the front of her apron, a greasy spatula in one hand, and a carrot in her other.
"Smells good," I tell her, kicking off my boots.
She say something else to me, but I get a pang in my chest as I look at her. Smiling broadly at me, her dimples showing through her pretty freckles. And here I am, fucking her brother behind her back. What kind of best friend am I?
"Hello? Earth to Indigo?" She says, waving her spatula at me.
I blink, clearing my throat, "Sorry, what?"
Sadie huffs, "Where the fuck are you?"
"I'm right here, Sadie," I say back to her, pulling one of the kitchen seats out, lowering g myself down, "I'm stressed about my internship is all."
"Oh." She wrinkles her nose a little, and then sits down her spatula and comes to perch on the table by me. "That's not for like a week, still, right?"
I nod back. God, I'm awful. I'm not stressed about my internship at all. In fact, I'm beyond excited about it. Literally, I'm counting down the days until I get to start.
She shrugs, patting me on the cheek, "Babe, you'll do fine. You're artsy as fuck. You'll like fit right in. With all the other artsy fuckers."
"You have such a filthy mouth," I say, forcing a laugh.
Sadie waggles her eyebrows, "Funny. That's what some boy down in 'bama said to me, too."
My mouth falls open. Between the two of us, Sadie is easily the more crude of us— she actually prefers hook up culture to the white picket lifestyle I prefer. I can't ever recall a time where she had a boyfriend.
"Sadie Heather!"
She waggles her eyebrows, licking her lips, "Mm hmm."
"You are so foul," I tell her, though I know I'm not any better. I may prefer to be in a relationship. I may feel sick to my stomach for hours after Kolby and I hook up, but I'm still getting it on with someone I'm not in a relationship with.
"You mean to tell me you never sucked Greer's dick? Shit, babe, no wonder he dumped you."
I frown. Sadie doesn't know that Greer cheated on me. Hell, no one knows. I had been to wound up and focused on saying fuck his to really spread the wonder.
"I did," I say quietly.
Sadie's blue eyes soften, "I'm sorry. I took that too far."
I shrug. And then I swallow, gulping down my salvia. If I can't be honest with her about my current predicament, at least I can be honest with her about Greer and his shit ways.
My tongue jutts out to moisten my lips, which all of a sudden feel dry and flaky. I take a deep breath and look up at my best friend. I can already feel tears welling in my eyes, recounting the conversation in Greer and Lionel's apartment.
"Shit, Indigo," Sadie says, hastily looping her toned arms around me, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Fuck, I don't even know why I did. I'm so so so sorry babe."
I pull back from her, using the back of my hand to wipe at my tears, shaking my head vigorously, "No, it's not that." I'm a blubbering mess, my lips quivering. "Greer cheated on me."
Sadie springs to her feet, "Oh that spoiled piece of shit! I'm going to find him, and I'm going to castrate his useless ass motherfucking stupid prick dick."
"No you're not," I tell her calmly, grabbing her hands in mine.
"Like hell I am!" Sadie tries to pull free, but my grip on her hands only tighten, "Indigo Marie Brown if you do not let go of me so I can go slice open your ex boyfriends balls I will —."
"Sadie," I say firmly, "He's not worth an assault charge."
She stops moving, but her blue eyes haven't lost their angry flame as she looks at me, her face set in anger, "No, he's not." I sag in relief. "But you are."
My face softens at her words. She's the best friend I could have ever asked for. A new round of fresh tears roll down my face as I drag her into a hug, burying my face into her neck.
"Oh, Indigo," she murmurs quietly, all of her rage bleeding out of her as she strokes my hair.
I smile against her shoulder, and then pull back, blinking away my tears. Greer Evans is not worth my misery. "What we're you trying to tell me earlier?"
Sadie's face breaks into a broad smile, "The twins birthday party is Saturday. Mumsie Alexis demands your presence."
"I wouldn't dream of missing it," I tell her, laughing at her awful posh accent.
Sadie smiled cheekily, "Also, Jess wants a lap dance as his present."
I roll my eyes. Jess is so crude. "I'm sure Raya would love that."
Sadie sniffs, "She's a stuck up bitch. Personally, I want you to do it just I can see the smoke that comes out of her ears."
I begin to say something, but I get an awful whiff of smoke. I look last Sadie to the kitchen, where grey smoke it curling out of the pan on the stove.
"Sadie, your food is burning," I tell her, stifling a laugh as she scrambled towards the kitchen, cussing up a pretty colorful storm.
"Aw, fuck," she grumbles. She looks at me, "Triple Threat?"
I nod my head, "Triple Threat."
• • •
Triple Threat is the best restaurant to ever exist. I will die singing it's praises, and if I was to ever end up on death-row, my last meal request would be a triple cheese burger and cheese fries from Triple Threat. And, of course, as my mama was born in the south and thought it only right I drink tea like it's water, one of their thirty-two ounce sweet tea.
Triple Threat's all the way in Ullin, about a forty minute drive from our apartment, but the food makes it so worth it.
Sadie sits across from me, a salad with a side of fries before her. She didn't used to be such a health freak, but after Timothy Bradford ended up diagnosed with diabetes, she had become a lot stricter about what went into her body.
"— and then, he shoved my head down," she was saying through bites of lettuce, gesturing wildly with her ranch-coated fork.
"The horror," I mock gasp, rolling my eyes at her sexual endeavors.
She scowls at me, "Just because you like being degraded and treated like shit in the bedroom doesn't mean I do. I like being the boss."
"No surprise there," I mutter under my breath.
"Fuck you," she says, pelting my arm with a fry. But then she frowns, rolling her lip between her teeth, "Hey, have you noticed Braden's been acting . . . weird?"
I hum. He has been acting weird as of late. He's always been quiet, and has always preferred a night in to a party, but recently he hasn't talked to anyone, and the last time I saw him he even remotely normal was the night of the showcase at Richie's, and even then he had barely glanced up from his phone.
"Like," Sadie huffs,putting her fork down, "He hasn't flirted with me in forever. And I sent him the funniest TikTok the other day, and he only sent back lol. Braden has never just said lol."
"He was acting really odd at that banquet I went too," I tell her, remembering Braden's stand-offish behavior towards Sasha.
Sadie's frown deepens. "I wish he would talk to me — or, at least Kolby."
I shrug. "He's probably just struggling in a class."
"Yeah," Sadie says, clearly unconvinced.
a/n: sooooo how are we liking it so far? what do you want to see moving forward? what do you think is wrong with Braden??
be sure to vote, comment, and follow me!! <3