Call Me Vi | ONC 2024 Entry | Novel Expansion Pending

Chapter 12

The bell above the studio door tinked as we walked inside. Dread rushed over me like a blast of air conditioning. I hated what Baxter was about to make me do. I hated that I was going to do this.

I pushed the thoughts away. Maybe I could convince her about Baxter. Maybe we could just run away together and never look back.

Violetta went to find our pieces while I wandered over to the cabinets marked "glaze". Inside, there was an array of colors. Different shades, different brands. So many to choose from.

I took down the lavender and a medium shade of yellow and walked over to where Violetta had us set up. She smiled when she saw the colors.

"Nice choices," she said. "I'll get us some brushes."

I waited until she returned to start painting. Or, glazing, I guess was the correct term. I dipped one of my brushes into the purple and smeared it over the pot. The bristles flattened as they dispersed the color in thick splotches that I quickly tried to even out.

Next to me, Violetta used her brush to create small gentle strokes over her vase. The precision she had, along with attention to detail, was mesmerizing.

Why had she ever given up her artistic dreams? Maybe she thought the acting world would be different. It definitely took a certain skill set that I know I lacked. But creativity came in so many shapes and sizes.

Just like the clay she sculpted, creativity molded to the individual.

Violetta looked up from her masterpiece, smiling. "Looks good, Rea. And for a first-timer, too."

I frowned down at my creation. I bet a child could do better. But there was part of me that squealed just knowing I made something that even that famous Violetta Dawson liked.

A smile crept onto my lips. "Thanks, Vi."

For the next little while, we glazed in silence. Violetta hummed along to the background music. She had such a beautiful voice; I could almost imagine what it would be like for us to—

My paintbrush clattered to the ground. No, I had to stop thinking about what 'could be' with Violetta when I knew very well that it couldn't be. I had to stop the madness before it was too late.

Violetta frowned, her paintbrush perched between two fingers. "Rea, are you ok?"

"Don't call me that," I snapped at her, jumping up from the table. My heart pounded in my ears so loud I could barely hear myself think. My feet thudded against the floor as I abandoned my pottery and Violetta and fled to the door.

Outside, the sunlight was blinding, the air too suffocating. There was nowhere to turn, nowhere to go.

"Reagan, what the fuck?" The foul language spilled from Violetta's lips as she appeared outside beside me. Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "What is going on with you? Ever since you came back to the hotel room with breakfast, you've been off. And don't give me that crap about us only knowing each other for a few days. Believe me, I damn well know that."

"I can't do this with you, Violetta." I couldn't even bear to look her in the eye. If I did, I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up my composure.

Tears shone in Violetta's eyes. "I don't understand. Rea, I'm willing to make this work. We take it slow, we get to know each other over more than a weekend. Why are you so willing to end this before it starts?"

Because my heart can't take the ache. "Because you were right. This was all a ruse." I fought against the words that didn't even feel like mine as they tumbled out of my mouth. "I only befriended you so that I could write an article and advance in my career. You were right about me all along, Violetta. All of us journalists, we're the same. We're only after one thing. None of this was real, Violetta."