IZABELLA
I sighed with relief when my tampon came out clear and disposed of it, more than pleased to be done with my godawful cycle.
After washing my hands, I dried them and returned to my room, humming to myself as I flopped onto the bed right next to all the sketches scattered over it.
Ever since I’d accidentally painted Xavier that day, I’d been trying my hand at actually perfecting real-life art.
Xavier’s was my first, and though it resembled him, it came out shitty—undefined and runny. Kind of like the inspiration behind it.
But now that I’d gotten over the mess of breaking down, I’d taken note of the portrait I now couldn’t find, as well as the flaws in my form, and I was working on them. Before painting Xavier, I had never attempted drawing a real person. But now I was learnin
