invasato [h.s]

42

Elaina Basset

Fifteen minutes ago, my laptop chimed with an email from the Milano Institution of Arts.

The subject of the email read, 'Re: Individual Artists Program Rodin Museum Application.'. Which means that this email will tell me if I was accepted or not.

Basically, my future is in the hands of this single email.

And I've just been staring at my laptop, unable to open the message up.

"You're overthinking."

Isaac speaks to me as he stands at the edge of the bed. I shut my eyes and shake my head. "I'm not overthinking, this is everything to me, you don't understand."

"Waiting won't change what's in that email, baby." he says.

I know he's right, but my heart is thrashing against my chest cavity right now.

"Do you want me to open it?" Isaac asks, and immediately I reject that.

"I'll be embarrassed if it's a letter of rejection and you read it before I do." I admit.

He laughs a little bit at this. "Why would you be embarrassed?"

Because I'm scared you'll think I'm not good enough.

"Because, being rejected is embarrassing in itself, and I don't want you to have to reveal it to me." I cover up my real reasoning.

Isaac tilts his head, furrowing his brows like he didn't fully buy what I was saying.

"Babe, you know the result of this won't change how I see you at all. You know that, right?" his voice speaks in a questioning tone of concern.

I try to backtrack right away, to savour his feelings before my own—like always.

"Of course I know that." I say, "It's just me getting in my head."

"As always." he responds.

I blow a breath out through my mouth, looking back to my laptop screen. I hover my cursor over the email, highlighting it and rereading the same header over and over again.

I'm going to puke.

"I'm just gonna do it." I murmur, to boost my own self confidence rather than actually speak to Isaac.

"There you go." Isaac encourages.

Breathing out again, I don't allow myself to give it another thought. My fingers press down on the cursor bar, making me click on the email.

When it opens, I immediately shut my eyes tight. Now, I'm holding my breath while only seeing the blackness behind my eyelids. My fingers shake. My heart pounds.

"You know you're only prolonging it, right?" I hear Isaac say.

"That's the point." I murmur.

"El, c'mon." he urges.

I sigh, slowly opening one eye at a time. The words on my screen start out blurry, before focusing into a paragraph that would determine my future as an artist.

'Dear Miss. Elaina Basset,'

There's a massive lump in my throat.

'Thank you for your submission to the Rodin Museum Contest via the Individual Artists Program. We appreciate all of your effort and hard work.'

I look up at Isaac one more time.

"I can't keep reading." I shake my head.

"Yes, you can." he tells me, standing at the edge of the bed with his arms crossed as he just looks at me and my reactions.