I jolt as the buzzer goes off. “Time is up. Switch.”
I close my art book and face Conner. It’s a nerve-racking experience, and I’m afraid of any form of eye contact. However, fifteen minutes have passed, and I wonder if he is even drawing me. He never looks up, and he keeps his head buried in his art book.
Ten minutes pass, and a curious tickle itches at my scalp at what he’s doing. His focus never leaves the page as he sketches. Mr Rogers even notices and goes around the tables, but he says nothing when he sees what Conner is drawing.
He’s drawing me, then. Does he have a photographic memory and only needs a moment’s glance before he has the image of me burned into his mind?
My hands tighten against my jumper, and I arch my back before a hint of pain shudders across my stomach. Slumping once more, I look at the tiles on the ground and stay there until the bell for lunch rings. As I rise, Conner hands me his art book,grabs his belongings, and places them back into his drawer at the back.
I touch the paper, my fingers trailing across my upturned lips, smiling. My eyes crease, and I look…I lookhappy.
“Noya.”
I wipe away the tears. Conner reaches out to me when I step back, knocking the chair behind me, and the art book I hold drops. Conner picks it up and places it on the table.
“Why did you draw that?” I ask.
“Because I wanted to draw you when you were happy,” he says. “I didn’t want to draw you while you are like this. Broken and sad.”
My throat tightens.
Mr Rogers places the key on the table and says, “Lock up when you’re finished, Conner.”
“Sure.”
As Mr Rogers leaves, closing the door behind him, Conner steps towards me, and I step back. “I’m not going to hurt you, Noya.”
“Stop,” I say, my bottom lip trembling. “I don’t know what Samantha told you, but?—”
“She didn’t tell me anything, but she didn’t need to. How you’re acting says it all.”
He takes another step toward me. I flinch but don’t step away. Not this time. And with another step, Conner is in front of me, his hand nears my face. “Where did he touch you?”
“Conner,” I breathe, shaking my head. “It’s nothing.”
“I knew he had done something. I saw it on his face when you looked at him.”
I ball my hands into fists at his words.
“I wanted to fuck him up.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You don’t like violence.”
I close my eyes. My breaths are shaky, and my bottom lip trembles. Reaching up, I cringe as my hand touches Conner’s. Taking hold, I move it in front of my face. As I swallow the lump in my throat, I rest his fingertips against my cracked lips. “Here,” I whisper.
Then, before I can stop myself, I place his hand on my chest. My breath shortens at the memory of Andy groping me as if he thought touching me that way would turn me on. “Here, too.”
I step towards him as his hand moves back to his side. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t stop him.” My hands tighten on his shirt. “I just let him do whatever he wanted instead.”
His arms move around me, and he whispers into my hair, “None of what happened last night was your fault. None of it.”
“I tried to push you away because I was scared…”
“I know, but you can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“You’re stubborn.”