Perfectly Imperfect

The lecture in class was non-existent to me. As soon as Spencer and I had finished shopping, I had to go straight home and take a shower. Despite what my mother had told the older male, my morning wasn't free; for some reason, my professor had changed the time of our class to eleven. Today though, I couldn't focus; all I could think about was the way that Spencer's posture had suddenly became stiff when I had asked what he had studied when he went away.

I yawned as I continued my mindless sketch on the lined notebook paper, thinking about how I was forced out of bed early this morning just to shop for something more formal to wear to the outings my parents forced me to attend. Mother had asked Spencer to help me and he was doing exactly that, but it seemed like whenever he got near me, he was trying to hide something. After we left the store, he adverted my gaze the entire time and rushed his goodbyes before dropping me off at the apartment complex, bags in hand.

I looked up at whatever the professor had on the projector for only a moment before scratching my pen over my notes once again, adding the finishing touches to my drawing. Class wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but I had paid enough attention throughout my high school career to get a basic idea of what was going on; besides, in the end, I wouldn't need to know all these equations and functions to paint.

Placing the pen on the desk, I looked down at the person I drew – the clean-cut hairstyle, the mysterious gaze, and the professional style that I lacked – the epitome of perfection that was Spencer Brennan. I clenched my fist, chewing at my lip before grabbing my notes and textbook and sliding them in my bag. I couldn't focus; my mind wouldn't let me think as long as the older male sat in the back of my mind.

I made my way to the bathroom as soon as I walked out of class, hoping that if I splashed water on my face, it would help me drag my attention back where it was supposed to be. I shivered as the cold liquid slid down my skin and my eyes met my reflection, droplets of water falling down into the sink. My silver eyes observed my face before I sat up, running an index finger down the three-inch, rigid scar on my neck.

Something about the slight imperfection always irked me; I couldn't remember how I received the mark, but I've always felt that it had something to do with my accident all those years ago. I could never be sure; I didn't want to ask my parents about it in fear of upsetting them. The one thing I've always found strange though was the fact that no one ever questioned how I ended up with the scar; they acted as if it didn't exist in the first place.

I covered my neck with my hand, staring at my reflection's silvery eyes. I was frozen in place before I shook my head; there wasn't time to think about things such as these, especially when I already had Spencer sitting in the back of my mind.

Jerking my bag up from off the floor, I threw it over my shoulder and quickly wiped off my face with my sleeve before heading out of the bathroom. I needed to go home and paint these thoughts away; the thoughts about the attractive and ever-perfect, Spencer Brennan.

---

Whenever my father is dealing with business late in the evening, my mother invites me over for dinner. Even though I say that she invites me, she more or less demands it so she won't have to eat alone. When I arrived at my large childhood home this evening though, I saw my aunt Caroline's car in the driveway.

My aunt has always been a slightly strange character, but then again, she was my mother's sister and the two of them grew up in the lower-class society; after my mother married, she became a part of the upper-class while Aunt Caroline remained in the same place. I've always agreed with her though; she's supported my art ever since she saw my sketchbook one evening when I was in the hospital. I haven't seen her since Christmas so when I walked through the entrance, there was a smile on my face; I knew that tonight's dinner would probably go by more smoothly with her around.

I picked at the food on my plate as my mother and my talked. Even though I had spent most of my afternoon drawing, I found myself sketching Spencer on more than one occasion. I shook my head, taking a small bite of the steak in front of me when Mother asked, “Frost, are you feeling okay? Your face is red, darling.”

My eyes found her's as I wiped my mouth with a napkin and said, “I'm fine, Mother.” I began picking at my food once again, debating whether or not I should finish eating. Trapped in my thoughts, I almost didn't hear my aunt say, “So, Frost, how have your studies been? Have they allowed you to show off your talent yet?”

Mother's blue-green eyes bore into me as her rule repeated itself in my head. “Act as if your hobby doesn't exist. We don't want people to find out about it.” I bit my lip, questioning if I should listen to the scolding voice in my head.

Quickly, I disagreed with it and said with a small smile, “Right now, I have mainly been dealing with math, English, and the other basic courses. I still paint everyday; I'm actually running out of room in my studio because there are so many completed pieces.” Aunt Caroline smiled softly and said, “Well, maybe I'll stop by one day and take a few home with me.”

Mother looked uncomfortable as she put down her silverware, patting her mouth with a napkin and not saying anything. I glanced up at her before clearing my throat and said softly, “Excuse me.” I stood up from the dinner table, walking out of the room and stood in the hallway before leaning against the wall. I hated to put my mother in that sort of situation, but my art was my life; I couldn't help but talk about it in front of other people.

As I let off a soft sigh, I heard my mother hiss, “You know that we hate that he won't listen to us about that talent. He's not supposed to talk about it in front of other people and he knows that for a fact.” My eyes were wide as she took such a tone with her sister and I stepped closer to the doorway, making sure that they didn't see me.

“I've never understood why you two have hated what he loves. You should support him and his art; he was blessed with a gift, Genni. He may be famous one day and you'll regret setting a stupid rule such as the one you've pounded into that boy's head,” my aunt said as I tried to piece together what exactly they were talking about. I felt as if they have had this conversation before, but I wasn't too sure.

Mother hesitated for a moment before saying in a quiet, hushed voice, “You know that the Hillary family is of high society. They're watching him, Thomas and I; this has been going on for years and I'm sure I've told you about it before. If there is one slip-up then something could happen; I have the slightlist idea what they would do to him. He's my son and I have to protect him, Caroline.” Her voice cracked in the middle her last sentence and I leaned against the wall, my stomach suddenly doing somersaults. Her tone was fearful and I've never heard it before; it scared me.

I stepped back into the doorway, looking at my mother and aunt before saying, “I-I'm not feeling well and I think I'm just going to go home. It was nice seeing you, Aunt Caroline.” I turned to walk away only to hear my mother shout, “Frost! Frost, come back!” I didn't listen though; I had to get out of that house before I found out who exactly they were and why exactly my mother was terrified of them.

---

I laid on my couch, staring up at the white, plaster ceiling. It was a little past ten o'clock and I was debating whether or not I should go to bed. Class wasn't until late in the afternoon tomorrow and I had no idea if Spencer was just going to randomly show up on my doorstep once again like he did this morning. I felt like even if I tried to sleep though, it'd be a failed attempt. There were so many things floating around in my mind; Spencer's actions at the store, my mother's fearful words, whether or not I should follow my parents' rules or live the life that I've always dreamed of as an artist.

My mind couldn't simply focus on one thing and I sat up, shaking my head before running a hand through my snowy, white hair. I shut my eyes tight for a moment before opening them and glancing over at my phone. Grabbing my cup of coffee and taking a sip of it, I picked up the small device before unlocking it and stared at the screen for a couple of minutes.

My thumb tapped on the text messaging app, staring at the empty inbox before opening a new text. Mindlessly, I typed out a message before clicking the name of the man that had been on my mind all day, watching as the message was sent.

I dropped the phone back on the coffee table, laying back down on the couch and shut my eyes, feeling sleep take over my body and for the time being, forgetting every single thing that plagued my mind during the day.