Текст книги "Resentment"

Автор книги: Nicole London

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Chapter 27

MIA

MIA: Help me...I think something’s terribly wrong.

AUTUMN: What is it?

MIA: I think I’m falling for Dean...again.

AUTUMN: NO! STOP IT! STOP IT NOW! (Was that dramatic enough?)

MIA: I can’t help it...He’s taken me out on a date every night for two weeks straight. And I lie to you not, the sex gets better each and every time. (Not even close...You left out “WTF”. That would’ve sealed the deal :-) )

AUTUMN: Does your brother know about these “dates”? And where the hell has he taken you? (I’ll make sure it’s more believable next time.)

MIA: No, he’s been busy with Sea of Ink. He’s been working 10-12 hour days for a while, so I doubt he would notice anyway. He’s taken me sailing, swimming, and to a bunch of different bars and restaurants downtown. He even showed up to my gallery and booked a private tour just to spend time with me on an overtime day. Am I screwed? Be honest.

AUTUMN: Depends. Have the two of you discussed the end of senior year yet? Has he at least said sorry?

MIA:  No.

AUTUMN: Have the two of you even discussed it?

MIA: :-(

AUTUMN:  Just wait until you’re both secure in your current state of la-la-land and ask him about it. You can’t build something together for the future without addressing the past. (Promise to call me later with details about the sex.)

MIA:  I will...I’m definitely going to wait like you said, until we’re both in a good place with each other. (Totes :-) )

I put my phone back into my pocket and look out at Dean as he pumps gas into his car. He surprised me today after work and insisted on taking me somewhere for a few hours.

Like a teenage girl all over again, I happily agreed, but now, after texting Autumn, I’m wondering if I made the right decision. I’m wondering just how long our pseudo relationship can last, if this is simply a house of cards that’ll blow away with our next wind of arguments.

This time, I ignore the slight sinking feeling in my chest, and I tell my inner logic to go to hell. At least for now.

Just let me have right now...

“You okay?” Dean asks, as he slips into the car.

“I’m fine.” I shut my eyes as he leans over to kiss me. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere close. It’s not that far.” That’s all he offers, a mischievous grin on his lips.

I lean back in my seat as he pulls onto the street. As he turns on the music and a band from our past begins to play, I wonder if now would be a good time to talk.

“Just tell me what happened to you that made you act that way toward me all of sudden?” “Do you know how badly you hurt me?” “Do you even care?” “Do you know that I still love you, as much as I don’t want to?”

I go over each of the conversation options in my head, but neither seems fitting enough. And by the time I settle on, “Can we please just have ten minutes to get whatever we want off our chest at some point tonight?” Dean is pulling into the parking lot of ‘Portland Police Training Facility.’

“Did you leave something at work?” I ask.

“Not at all.” He parks the car and gets out, walking over to my door. “Just trust me.”

He walks me inside and leads me down a few sets of steps into a basement. When he hits the lights, I can see what appears to be a colossal stock room. There are never-ending aisles stocked with bullet proof vests, radios, and flashlights.

Leading me past two double doors, he hits the lights once more and I realize we’re in a gun range.

“You want to teach me how to shoot you?” I ask.

“I highly doubt you’ll ever want to do that.” He pulls me into one of the small glass firing rooms and points at the target that’s far away from me. “Even if you were capable, I’m pretty sure you’d miss.”

“Want to bet?”

He ignores my question, not looking threatened at all. “Lift your hands up.”

I oblige and he takes a vest from the shelf next to me and places it onto me. He secures the straps tightly, and then he places a pair of tinted wraparound glasses over my face.

Grabbing a pair of sound blocking earbuds and a pair of pink earbuds, he looks at me, “You’ll be able to hear me through these, but do not take them off until we’re a hundred percent done here. Clear?”

I nod and he hands them over to me. When I put them on, I notice him grabbing a vest for himself. I watch him get into everything extremely quickly and I briefly wonder if he’s brought any of his dates here.

“I haven’t,” he says, shaking his head. “Just you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact that you clearly still have a problem talking out loud to yourself.” He smiles. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever brought here.”

I blush and he pulls out a rack of small guns. He looks as if he’s determining which one I’d be best suited to handle, and then he picks up a small silver firearm.

“This is a Beretta, a semi-automatic,” he says. He shows me how to hold it, how to check the clip, and the correct way to pull the trigger.

“We’ll start with this one and move up to different ones as you get more comfortable.” He gives me the gun and gestures for me to turn around and face the target.

Standing behind me, he places his hands on my hips and whispers, “Let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point.”

My hands shake as I reposition the gun. I stand still for a while, forgetting all the instructions he gave me just minutes ago. All I can concentrate on now is the slight impression of his cock against my body, as he leans into me and the faint and intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“Spread your feet apart slightly, square your shoulders and squeeze the trigger when you’re ready,” he whispers. “That’s it.”

It takes me a minute to feel comfortable in the firing stance, but when he gives me the directions again, I pull my finger against the metal and the shot rings out loud and clear against the empty space.

I shoot the gun again and again, feeling an exhilarating rush every time, and before I know it, the gun is only making a weak clicking noise. It’s out of bullets.

I turn around and notice him on the verge of laughter.

“What?” I ask. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Would you like to shoot some more?”

“I would. How long do we have here?”

“All night.” He picks up another gun and kisses me. “This time, try not to shoot all of the bullets into the floor...”

Chapter 28

MIA

I’m staring at the balance in my savings account and calculating how much more I’ll need to save to get a place of my own. When I enter the digits into the calculator, I shake my head at the number that appears onscreen.

I need to hold off doing this math for at least another six months...

Putting the calculator away, I check the time and notice it’s way past closing time at the gallery. I quickly walk over to the windows and pull down the shades, remembering that I’ll be the only one here for the rest of the month.

Michelle has been so impressed with my work lately, that she’s decided to finally make use of her vacation time. She’s allowed me to interview new artists, add my own critiques of our evergreen pieces to our website, and last week, she made me cry by hanging one of my works upstairs.

Granted, it’s just a small quarter-sized canvas, but it means the world to have my name and work next to the established artists. What’s more, is that every guest I’ve given a tour to over the past few days has shown interest in my piece; I’ve had to pretend to treat it just like the others, to not get too excited when they ask if we’ll be adding more of “that artist’s” work to our collection.

Smiling at the memories, I re-stack our pamphlets and feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. Dean.

DEAN: I have to work a few hours of overtime today. Rain-check on dinner? Can we do it tomorrow?

MIA: Of course. :-)

I’m somewhat relieved that he’s cancelling, because I’m pretty sure that he has my heart again and I don’t want him to think that what we have will continue, if we don’t at least talk. I figure if I cancel on him tomorrow, that’ll give me two full days to think about us, to figure out a good way to start that conversation.

As much as I’ve enjoyed our endless dates and the way our bodies seamlessly mold together after all these years, it’s time to be adults. It’s time to face whatever it was that tore us apart.

I quickly lock up the keys to the gallery and decide to take my time getting home. I aimlessly drift down the freshly-wet streets, veering down alleys for no reason at all. I slip onto the highway, driving past ten exits, in deep thought before realizing that if I go any further, I’ll be in Seattle.

I make an illegal U-turn behind an underpass and finally head home, speeding all the way, silently laughing at the thought of him pulling me over again.

When I step onto the elevator at the condo, I promise myself that I will not go to sleep without writing my feelings down, that I will let out every feeling, without fear of holding back. And if it comes down to it, if both of us continue to tiptoe around our past’s shadows, I’ll force them all into the light with my letter. I will at least make him read the letter.

Unlocking the door, I step inside and immediately drop my bag to the floor.

Dean is not at work.

He’s here.

Standing in front of me and looking as if he’s been waiting for me to get home.

“Where have you been?” He grabs my hand and pulls me close.

“I went for a drive...” I look behind him and notice that there’s some odd light coming from the balcony. “I thought you said you were working over-time tonight.”

“On your birthday?” He raises his eyebrow. “You really believed that?”

“Yes.” I swallow. I told him last week that I didn’t want to celebrate it, and I was sure I didn’t need to explain why. In ten years, the memory of how he dismissed me on my birthday at the end of senior year, still cuts deep, and foolish heart or not, I still remembered that day like it was yesterday.

“You shouldn’t have.” He walks past me and shuts the door, locking it. “Come here.” He clasps my hand and leads me out onto the balcony and I see exactly what that strange aura is.

Birthday candles.

They’re the tall, takes-more-than-one-blow-to-get-them kind, and they’re sitting in the center of a beautiful blue and white cake. The words “Happy Birthday” are written in a pretty cursive on the cake’s center, and below that, in very small print are the words, “Let me make that night up to you...—Love, Dean”

“Dean...” There are tears welling in my eyes as I shake my head. “Dean, I can’t. I said that—”

“That you didn’t want to celebrate it because I fucked it up that day, and I know that.” He wipes away my tears with his fingertips. “Let me at least make that day up to you. Please.”

I consider demanding that we talk right now, that he can make it up to me by explaining why the hell he did what he did, but I decide to enjoy the moment. I give him a look that says, “okay” and he pulls out a chair for me.

Sitting down, I notice that there’s a stark white envelope with my name on it, but there’s a note in all-bold: DON’T OPEN UNTIL...

“Until what?” I ask him, holding up the envelope.

“Until we get on each other’s nerves again.” He smiles. “It’s just a list of reminders as to why you should get over yourself.”

I laugh and tuck it into my purse. “I’ll be sure to never open it then.”

I notice that there are other cards on the table, another three from him, one from Eric with an “I’ll take you out tomorrow to celebrate, Aim :-)” note, and a penis-shaped one from Autumn. I reach over my plate to grab them, but Dean grabs my wrist.

“I think you should blow out the candles, first,” he says. “I don’t think I can re-light them anymore.”

“Right.” I lean forward and blow them out repeatedly, until the last candle is done playing the “can’t put me out” trick.

As Dean uncorks a bottle of wine, I count the candles.

“Do you know how old I am?” I ask.

“Twenty-eight.” He sets a full glass in front of me. “Why?”

“There are only eleven candles.”

His eyes meet mine and he’s silent for a while. “One for every year I’ve missed, plus the one I didn’t get a chance to celebrate with you in high school.”

I can’t prevent the tears from falling down my face if I tried, and he’s at my side wiping them away, before I get the chance to.

“Happy Birthday, Mia.” He kisses my lips through more of my tears, and I immediately decide that nothing else matters tonight but this. Us.

The talk about the past can wait until later.

Much later...

Chapter 29

MIA

A few weeks later...

The soft sound of waves crashing against the coast is the only thing that can be heard this late at night at Portland’s waterfront. There are no straggling tourists on this side of the pier, no lovers sneaking away to make love behind the numerous rocks. It’s just me and Dean walking underneath a dark night sky that seems to be cluttered with one too many stars.

We’ve been walking in silence for the past hour, and most of our recent dates have been more on the quiet, reflective side than our usual upbeat and sarcasm-filled type. As a matter of fact, this is our third trip to the waterfront in a row this week, and just like the two times before, we haven’t said much to each other.

As we cross the path that leads us back toward his car, I decide to break the ice.

“We need to talk about something,” I say. “Something very important.”

He stops walking and looks at me. “What is it?”

“It’s about you and me, us...”

“I’m listening.”

“What happened between us in high school, Dean?” I leave the ‘slowly ease into the conversation’ approach lodged in my throat. “I mean, you clearly feel bad about how you treated me on my birthday, but what about the other stuff? What about prom? The rumors? Why did you go so cold on me all of a sudden? Why did you willingly let us go and make me hate you like that?”

“Do you still need an actual explanation?” His face is stoic. “You know what happened, Mia. You know exactly what happened.”

“I really don’t. I need you to explain it to me.”

“Can we talk about this some other time? Outside of how I treated you on your birthday, which I admit was completely fucked up on my part, the rest of it is still painful to think about.”

“For you or me?”

“Are you being serious right now?” His expression goes cold.

“Yes. It’s important that I understand what changed. The last thing I remember before everything going south is you and me making plans for the summer and figuring out how we were going to visit each other in college.” My voice cracks because, right now, it feels like that moment was just yesterday; the memories still fresh in my mind, the pain still raw.

“Mia, please drop it.” He’s nearly glaring at me. “Let’s not do this right now.”

“Let’s not do anything right now.” I storm off, rushing away from him, but he catches me by the waist.

“I just don’t want to ruin our fucking night.” He spins me around. “Is that okay with you? We haven’t argued in a very long time, and we’ve been getting along for the most part, so can we just pretend that things are perfectly alright for a little while longer?”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s the thing. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of feeling like we have another chance at being together, but not knowing how much damage needs to be repaired first. I’m tired of feeling like I love you all over again, but not knowing if you’re going to fuck me over all over again, just because. And I’m tired of...” I stop. If I keep going, we will argue, and we probably won’t talk for a long time. “Let’s just go.”

“Mia...”

“Let’s just fucking go. I’ll let it go.” My heart hangs heavy in my chest as I say those words, and as he slips his arm around me, it takes everything in me not to push him away from me.

We walk to the car without looking at each other, and we drive the whole way home in silence. Although he doesn’t say it, I know he’s just as angry as I am. His jaw is clenched and when he glances over at me at stoplights, it’s not admiration in his eyes. It’s anger. And hurt.

When we arrive back at the condo, we keep our distance in the elevator, and when we walk inside the apartment, we quickly slip into our rehearsed lie to Eric.

“How was dinner?” Eric looks up from his sketch. “Did you finally find a place that serves weak enough alcohol? Or did you two get put out for arguing again?”

“No luck on the weak alcohol,” Dean says, taking a seat next to him on the couch. “But we shockingly didn’t argue, so that’s a plus, right?”

“It is.” He looks impressed. “See, Mia? Told you he’d grow on you and feel like a second brother in no time.”

“No, him being my brother would be kind of like incest...” I mutter under my breath.

“What’s that about insects, Mia?” Eric asks, not really wanting an answer. He’s focused on whatever drawing is in front of him.

I slip inside the kitchen and open the fridge, needing something, anything to mindlessly snack on, so I won’t think too much.

“What are you working on?” Deans asks Eric.

“A new design idea for a back tat. I have a big job tomorrow.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Can’t say. It’s one of my non-disclosure agreement people.”

“Do I fall under that category?” Dean grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns on the TV.

“You fall under the people-who-think-they-never-have-to-pay category.” Eric rolls his eyes, laughing and the two of them start talking about the non-disclosure clients anyway, just not revealing the names.

Watching them interact and listening to how they joke with each other, I can easily imagine how it was before I moved in.

Sighing, I grab a beer, chips, and a full jar of salsa, and head to my room.

“Whoa, Mia, wait up.” Eric’s voice makes me turn around. “What the hell is up with you? Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like someone killed your dog.”

“Maybe someone did.”

He rolls his eyes. “It was a metaphor. You hate dogs.”

“I was joking,” I say, purposely avoiding looking over at Dean. “Nothing’s wrong, just tired, I guess.”

“You sure?”

NO. “Yep, perfectly sure.”

“Okay,” he shrugs. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” I say, and force myself to say it to Dean, too, but I still don’t make eye contact. I go straight to my room and turn on the TV, turning the volume up as high as it can go. And then, just as extra precaution, I cry into my pillow.

I can’t help it.

***

When I’m all out of tears and salsa, hours later, I lie in bed, still unable to fall asleep. My mind is racing a mile a minute, incapable of thinking about anything else besides my issues with Dean.

I grab my Kindle, hoping that reading will help me pass the time, but when I pick it up from my night stand, the battery’s dead. With my charger at the gallery, I try to think of something else I could do to lull me to sleep, but I come up with nothing.

Instead, I get up and go to the kitchen, grabbing leftovers from yesterday’s breakfast. I warm them in the microwave and sit in front of the living room TV, keeping the volume very low, so it won’t wake Dean and Eric.

I stop at a marathon of Court TV and make a mental note to ask Eric to add the deluxe cable package to my bedroom, too.

When I finish eating the warmed biscuits, I curl up onto the couch and cover myself with a blanket. I was expecting the court cases to be boring, but they’re actually quite entertaining and they’re having the counter-effect of what I was hoping for.

Did this guy really get away with murder?

“What are you doing up?” Dean’s voice startles me an hour later.

I don’t answer.

“Mia?”

“I can’t sleep.” I relent, but I don’t look up at him.

“Are you still upset with me about earlier?”

“Nope, I just have a lot on my mind,” I lie.  I’m certain he knows there’s really only one thing on my mind.

He picks up the remote and turns the TV off. Then he walks around in front of the couch and extends his hand to me.

I take it and he pulls me up, leading me to his room. He pushes the door shut and moves me over to his bed.

“Lay down,” he says.

I do, and he climbs in behind me, hugging me closely. I know this is a terrible idea with Eric down the hall, but as soon as his arm wraps around me, I feel better.

“Mia...” he whispers. “We can talk about whatever you want to talk about tomorrow, okay?”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes.” He kisses me. “It’s a promise.”

“Can I ask you one thing tonight, though?”

“Only if I don’t guess what it is.”

“Okay, try.”

He rolls me over so I’m facing him, and through the dark, I can faintly make out his eyes.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I still love you and I always have, regardless of all these years...” He rubs his hand along my back. “Was that your question?”

I nod, feeling somewhat better about tomorrow. “Yes. Thank you.” I smile and as he flips me back over, I whisper, “I still love you, too...”