Dude... Are You Stalking Me?

Disclaimer: No, I still don’t own My Chemical Romance. Or the lint. But if you like, I’ve got some nice toe jam for you.

Chapter Two: Dude... Are you stalking me?

“Ah, mother fucker!” Rita threw down her automatic pencil in disgust and frustration. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to get the shading right. It was ridiculous. She’d been drawing since she was old enough to pick up a pencil, and yet, she couldn’t pay attention to something as simple as light source. It wasn’t hard. Goddammit, it wasn’t hard! So why was it giving her so much trouble?

The dejected girl slumped over her desk heavily, her forehead making a small ‘thunk’ as it connected with the wood.
“I fuckin suck at this,” she muttered into the thick paper of her sketchbook. It really didn’t make any sense. That night’s assignment, a still life, had been no problem. She had simply set up a vase, dried flower and some pot-pourri on her desk in the dying afternoon light and quickly sketched down what she saw. Sure, the vase was a little wobbly-looking, but she had done her best. But to draw something which came from her mind, her imagination.. To translate something she herself had created through the thin cylinder of graphite and onto the page seemed damn-near impossible.

Dark eyes narrowed in frustration, the girl stared down at the page for what seemed like forever. She could see her mistakes, easily. But what she couldn’t see was how to fix them. She grit her teeth and was in the process of reaching down to tear the page from the book when, inexplicably, a vision of silky midnight hair blown back from a clear brow assaulted her awareness.

“What the...” and suddenly she had it. Her mind’s eye carefully watched as each stray strand of hair fluttered in the wind, each casting a shadow thin as gossamer across a wind-flushed face. Her frown softened and slowly turned up at the corners, bit by bit, until an amazed smile lit her symmetrical face. She had it!
“I owe you one, you mysterious bastard,” she muttered as quickly but carefully, her eraser began to glide over the page. It touched down only slightly each time, to be quickly lifted away and reapplied elsewhere. As Rita worked, her smile grew.

She had a sudden feeling she wouldn’t be redoing many assignments in the near future.

***

Professor Ang frowned over the piece for a long while before he raised his slanted obsidian gaze to his student. Rita shifted her stance in apprehension at his close scrutiny, both of her and her work. A quick glance into those pools of black water halted her squirming abruptly. Could she be imagining it? No, no not him, not Professor Agony, dark Master of tortures both intense and unusual. She couldn’t possibly be seeing...

But she was. It was very faint, a bare flicker on the placid surface of his eyes, but there.Pride.

“Did anyone help you with this?” He asked at last. He peered at her over the tops of his bifocals, his trademark. He was well known for using this technique to root out plagiarists and posers, who had others do their home assignments for them. His deep eyes had a way of boring into you and making it seem as if he knew all of your secrets.

Rita had no need to fear. She smiled a bit nervously and shook her head. An arched eyebrow was her response, and she belatedly realized the Professor expected a verbal response. Embarrassed, she shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and her smile grew to a lopsided grin.

“No, sir. It may be hard to believe, but I did it myself.”

Mostly, she amended silently. Almost against her will, the scene from the previous afternoon slid across her vision. That guy, the one from the train, leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the ice cream parlor as the wind blew the hair from his eyes. It seemed he invaded her thoughts often, since she’d finally completed her assignment. And it fucking annoyed her. I don’t even know who the hell he is, she thought with a small frown that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It merely creased the skin between her brows; she didn’t realize she was still smiling.

Professor Ang watched this quick succession of emotion and smiled. He raised the sheet entitled “Orca’s Song” and looked to the still life he had assigned the day before. His eyes brushed the surface as they flowed over the piece like water in an ancient river. They only encountered a rough patch two or three times, mainly where the vase was concerned. Overall, he was pleased.

“This is very well done, Rita,” He spoke softly. The Professor couldn’t help the amused smirk as it rose to his thin lips at his student’s shock.

“Did you just call me... Rita?” She couldn’t seem to strain the incredulity from her voice, but somehow didn’t care.

Professor Ang arched a brow.
“Yes, as that is your name, is it not?”

Rita frowned.
“Yes, but you never call anyone by their first names.”

Rita’s almond shaped eyes widened in incredulous awe as she watched her teacher’s eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Actually, Rita, I simply reserve the privilege for those I like.”

Once again, a frown marred the girl’s smooth features in her misunderstanding.

“But you never...”

Ang smiled as Rita’s brows slowly rose in understanding. Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click; she hadn’t even been aware it was open. The usually-severe middle-aged Chinese man nodded at his student as he turned back to his desk and flicked his long black pony tail over his shoulder.

“Precisely.”

Awestruck, Rita silently collected her work and walked out.

***

November 2nd, Journal Entry 17

Well, today was.. interesting. It seems that Professor Agony is either trying to mess with my head (and succeeding rather admirably, at that) or he actually favors me over the rest of the class. If it’s actually true, I’ll never understand why.
But he didn’t make me redo anything today, so that’s something at least.

As far as my Abstracts are going.. I think I’m actually doing pretty good in that class. Miss Martel is pretty cool. I know she likes me too; she always saves my favorite brush and hands it to me personally when class begins. I still need to get my own set of brushes and whatnot, but the best ones are fuckin expensive! The fact that I blew off work today ain’t really putting much toward getting them any sooner.

That guy from yesterday won’t get out of my head. I don’t know what it is! Ever since I finished “Orca’s Song” I keep seeing him everywhere, but at second glance it’s never him. I’m pretty sure I’m losin’ it. But shit, that’s nothin’ new.

Well, I have no assignments today, so I’m gonna turn my brain off and just enjoy my coffee.
---------------

Rita signed the page and closed her journal. With a content she rarely felt so early in the day she sipped her coffee. She was sitting in the Starbucks just two doors down from the Baskin Robins across the street from the School of Visual Arts. Although it wasn’t a stop she usually made, she decided today’s events warranted a bit of luxury.

It was nice, not having to rush off to work as soon as her feet hit the pavement, and she relaxed into her chair. With an eye attuned to every stroke, every line, she studied the cover of her journal. It was a blue that seemed to shimmer from within, and was decorated with a picture of the sun and moon. Between them sat the stars of heaven, depicted in beautiful shades of silver, violet and gold. The calming scent of french vanilla tugged playfully at the young artist’s nostrils and she slipped the book into her satchel, her ringed fingers clasping the worn cover of her sketchbook when it emerged a moment later.

I hope I’ll be able to draw like that one day, she thought wistfully. Lethargically Rita flipped through the book until she reached a blank page and, without even a shape in her mind, began to sketch. Her eyes were far away and although they carefully watched the lines as they formed on the page, they were seeing something else entirely. Once again, hazel eyes dulled her senses as they sparkled in muted November sunlight. Her skilled right hand moved deftly over the page, filling it with a life unknown to it mere minutes before. As she drew, her coffee cooled, and slowly the page darkened. The image emerged from her clear memory, and flowed un-compromised from her hand and onto the formerly-pristine page. Finally she stopped and with a sigh of pure content, laid her pencil down.

Rita smiled. Looking up at her from the table was the one who had haunted her mind’s eye for the past twenty four hours. He leaned against the rough wall of a Baskin Robins only twenty feet down the block. His right foot rested against the wall, and some of his knee was visible through a small rip in the well-worn jeans. His right hand disappeared under his black Pea coat and from the pocket hung his large shades. The coat was open despite November’s cold and easily visible were the words “Iron Maiden” in white across his chest. His handsomely pale face was turned slightly to the left, and he was smiling. His eyes shone as he lifted a milkshake in a small salute, and his silken strands of midnight hair blew back in an unseen caress.

Perfect, she thought as she closed the book. She looked up as a shadow darkened the area directly in front of her... and gaped. He looked down upon her with a small smirk, his shades perched atop his head and held his hair back from his face. In his hand was a cup of coffee, Tall if Rita wasn’t mistaken. His attire was much as it had been when last she saw him; Pea coat open over a plain black t-shirt, and faded jeans.

“Hey, champ,” he drawled in a voice that, somehow, Rita had come to expect even as she’d never heard it. “Mind if I join you?”

Slowly she blinked. Her mouth opened and in a voice she barely recognized as her own, she gave voice to a sentence she never in her life would have thought to assemble.

“Dude,” she breathed with wide eyes. Her throat was suddenly dry. “... are you stalking me?”

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