I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the day replaying in my mind with maddening clarity. My sketch of Wayne lay on the desk across the room, his figure shaded in strokes that looked as conflicted as I felt. Seeing him up on that platform, effortlessly holding the attention of every single person in that room, had been surreal. He was like some unattainable vision, a god on stage, and yet, I knew him. Really knew him, or at least, I thought I did.
Why would he agree to model? Was it just for the class, or was it more than that? The thought crept up, uninvited, bringing with it a pang of jealousy and frustration. Did he know how it’d affect me? Or worse… did he enjoy the effect he had on everyone there? The girls fawning over him, the attention he thrived on, his smile so da
