Josie Guerrero is focused on one thing: getting accepted into the prestigious art studies program within the Art School at the University of Southern Washington. With thirteen weeks to create her sophomore portfolio, she knows she can't afford any d...
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Moonlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the campus art studio, washing my canvas in a gentle sapphire light. I smile at the hue, brushing my fingers against the untouched canvas as if to tint my fingers with the pigment, wistfully yearning to keep it with me forever like a patch of dried paint on my skin.
I didn't realize I could become so attached to a color, but as I watch the shadows from the passing clouds send the light across the room in patterns, I can't help but smile at the memories associated with it — the night at the creek, Micah and I lost within each other while surrounded by a field of forget-me-nots; the moonlight cast over us in that terrifying maze, shadowed only by the rain clouds that drenched us as he pressed me against the wall and set my body — and heart — on fire; and nearly every single night since that I've spent in his arms, mesmerized by his ink-coated skin under the sapphire hue as our bodies intertwine.
I always thought red was the color I'd associate with passion and fervor and love — flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the imprint of his hands against my skin when he grips my hips while our bodies are tangled together — but as I hold my hand up to watch the moonlight color my skin, I can't deny that moonlight seems a more fitting color.
Moonlit fields, messy bedrooms, and long expanses of highway — falling in love with Micah has been a collage of moments under star-spotted skies, moments that are etched into my soul with invisible ink that shines a little brighter under the cloudless midnight sky.
When the creak of the studio door pulls me from my daze, I drop my hand in my lap and smile at my boyfriend as he walks across the dimly lit studio. It's deserted tonight — mostly because Thanksgiving Break officially started yesterday and most of the students who live on campus already made their way back home. Halle and I usually go back to Winter Hill, but I opted to stay behind to spend the holiday with Micah this year. We probably could have stayed at my apartment for a little more alone time since Olivia is staying with her parents over break, but with Cooper and West both leaving tonight for break, my heart broke at the thought of Luke alone in that big house.
Glancing back at my easel, I study my canvas, following the lines of pencil I've already sketched as my outline. We were tasked with painting a self-portrait for our midterm project, and while portraits are my specialty, I've never actually done one of myself. My cheeks warm slightly when Micah's hands wrap around me, pulling me back against his chest as he rests his chin atop my head and considers the soft strokes of pencil on the canvas.
The sketch is nearly complete — a shadow of charcoal strokes showing what my painting will look like in a few weeks.
"Your nose wrinkles," he says softly, hovering his finger above the canvas as if he's scared to touch it as he sweeps his finger across the bridge of my sketched nose. "When you smile like that, your nose wrinkles."
I smile at the thought that he's memorized the details of my smile, and when he tilts his head down, I can feel the vibration of his chest as he chuckles and gently grazes his thumb against the bridge of my nose, "Yeah — just like that."
