That Was When He Knew

Nicky Aventado was sweating.

A little sweat was to be expected. It was the final week of college, where they would be presenting their culminating exhibits. These were to show just what they'd learned from their experimental arts curriculum, to their dean and his old friend, National Artist Rogelio Dakila.

But Nicky wasn't sweating for himself. His exhibit, an experimental film projected in a life-size camera obscura, was running smoothly in one of the cubicles in gallery A.

No, he was sweating for his best friend. Natalia Carmeli Aritz was a performance artist who also happened to be a gorgeous heiress with an insatiable appetite for Salt & Vinegar Crackling. Right now, she was also missing.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes until her performance was to start, and she was nowhere near Room F of Malang Hall.

Fordham Castro, one of their classmates, ambled up the stairs, a plastic bag of Mountain Dew clutched in his sweaty fist.

"You see Nat anywhere?"

Fordham shook his head and took a slow sip. "She's nervous?"

"She's been freaking out since learning that Dakila would be evaluating the final pieces."

He took another long sip of the violently yellow soda. "Have you tried the supply room?"

Nicky smacked a hand against his forehead. Of course! She liked to hide there when she was feeling overwhelmed. He yelled his thanks as he ran the opposite direction, back into Malang Hall, up the second floor and into the room where the art department kept their supplies. His eyes quickly scanned the empty tables, the stools, the easels, the rolls of canvas scattered against the wall, the closet—

The closet.

He walked up to it. Was he imagining it, or could he hear...hyperventilating?

Carefully, he pulled the door open.

A pair of wide brown eyes greeted him, set in a stark pale face and framed by wild golden-brown hair.

Nestled against the shelves full of old paints and turpentine, Natalia was breathing very fast, and from the looks of her normally olive and now pale cheeks, not getting enough oxygen.

"Nat," he murmured, carefully pulling her out. She was desperately sucking in air and just as quickly exhaling it.

"Shh," he said, leading her to sit on a table. He settled beside her and started to rub her back, but strips of fabric started coming off in his hand. They came from the weird, shaggy smock she was wearing. There was a clasp by the base of her nape which he undid, carefully spreading the smock/coat-thing apart. He rubbed his hands together to warm them, and then slowly and gently rubbed her back in circles.

It must've only taken a minute, but to him it seemed like an hour until her wheezing subsided into even breathing.

"Better?"

She sat up. The open smock slipped down her shoulder, exposing the top of her left breast. He quickly pulled it back up and closed the clasp.

He'd seen her naked before—she liked to pose for the figurative sketching classes, because it had tickled her to see how different people interpreted her body—but that was on her own terms. Being exposed, now, when she was vulnerable and out of sorts...it wasn't right.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know if I can go through with it," she answered, her voice still a little shaky. "What was I even thinking? Why didn't you talk me out of this, Nicky?"