Текст книги "Resentment"
Автор книги: Nicole London
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
“So, now you’re a gentleman?”
“Only for some girls.” I wink at her, but she rolls her eyes.
“5632...Down a few more houses and on your left.”
I speed up and pull right in front of her mailbox.
“Thanks for the ride.” With her cheeks an even deeper shade of red, she practically jumps out of the car and hastily grabs her bag.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “I need your phone number...For tutoring purposes of course.”
I give her my phone and she stares at it before returning it to me, then she rushes away as if she can’t get away from me fast enough. I scroll down my contacts, looking for her name in my list of M’s but I don’t find it.
I slowly scroll through my entire list, looking for what she might’ve saved it under, and then I see it under the F’s: For Tutoring Purposes of Course.
Smiling, I send her a quick text that I know will set the tone for the start of our relationship:
This is Dean. Here’s my number, you can save it under “For ANY Purposes Of Course...”
Chapter 34
DEAN
Ten years ago...
Small Town, USA
2004
Within weeks of having tutoring sessions with Mia, I’m convinced that pursuing her may be the worst thing I’ve ever done. Not because I don’t think it won’t work out, but because me and this girl have way more in common than I initially thought.
We both have a deep desire to get the hell out of Small Town (She wants to go to Western Peak and I want to go to Harvard), we both have a high affinity for literature (She actually loves Macbeth as much as me) and we both have fucked up parents. Although she’s told me that she and her mom don’t get along, I haven’t offered much about my dad yet. Even if I do eventually tell her that we don’t get along, that he’s a liar and a manipulator, I doubt I’ll ever tell her about the drunken abuse that comes from his fists way too often.
I’ll play them off like typical injuries of the field if she ever asks, but I’ve hidden that fact for so long from everyone, that I’ll do my best not to give her the opportunity to; I just want to be around someone who sees past the fake “Dean Collins” façade, someone who makes me feel normal for the rest of the year, and Mia completes my normal.
I’m not sure if she’s figured out that my need for her tutoring is a ruse, but if she’s onto me, she hasn’t let it show. She’s actually become less difficult and if I’m not mistaken, she looks forward to our time together as much as I do...
***
Within months of having tutoring sessions with Mia, we no longer call them “tutoring sessions”. She’s finally let her guard down completely and we’re dating and it’s beyond serious. At least, to me.
She attends all of my games without me having to ask, she talks to me at all hours of the night—about the things I don’t share with anyone else, and she becomes the one and only person I can actually trust.
Through late night kisses, early morning rides to school, and secret swims at the country club, I fall in love with this girl. I become the first guy she’s ever made love to, and she becomes my first love in life.
When we’re together, I don’t see anyone else. I don’t think about anything else. She’s it for me.
I fall, hard. Harder with each day that passes, and I contemplate rethinking my future plans in regard with my recent acceptance into Harvard. I want to join her at Western Peak.
Well, until she starts to show me that she’s just like everyone else...
Chapter 35
DEAN
Sixteen weeks before prom.
At the start of the second semester, the playoff season for football is in full-swing, and I’m halfway hoping that we get eliminated in the first round so I don’t have to deal with half of my dad’s shit for the rest of the year.
Unfortunately, Mia can’t come to the first playoff game; she’s busy with last minute portfolio work for Western Peak which I more than understand. She’s texted me good luck before the game several times, and she’s promised that I can come over later to tell her about it.
Before the team takes the field, I step back into the restroom and wrap another layer of meshed bandage around my ribs. Last night, my dad pushed me into the garage door after coming home late from hanging out with Mia.
I was too tired to fight back, and he was too drunk to stop hitting me.
Wincing, I count to ten and vow to ignore it for the rest of the game. To smile at his side whenever the recruiters come to the locker room and ask for the two of us to stand side by side as they ask me their usual questions.
As the coaches begin to make their last minute motivational speeches, I notice my phone blinking through my bag. Unzipping the bag, I stare at the phone and try to rationalize the text message.
MIA: Just wishing you good luck one last time for tonight’s game! :-) I just finished my second piece for Western Peak and will finish the other two next week. I’m going to get some ice and heating pads and I’ll have them ready for you when you get here later. I love you... :-)
I don’t doubt that her wishing me luck is genuine, and her endless offers of taking care of me are always heartfelt, but I’m wondering why she wouldn’t just come to the game if she was free.
Why she uses the same excuse for the rest of them, and is an entire hour late for the championship game.
Despite the fact that she kisses me at the fifty-yard line when our team wins, the kiss feels bittersweet.
Ten weeks before prom.
I’m going to miss school today, and I’m going to miss her birthday.
I can’t show up looking like this.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I trace my fingers along the gash on the side of my face. The result of my father finding out that I’m not playing football in college. That I’ll be attending school for academics and have plenty of real scholarship offers on the table that come with no risks of broken bones or heightened expectations.
All of a sudden the door to my bedroom opens, and the asshole himself appears.
As soon as his eyes meet mine, he staggers backward, as if he doesn’t remember doing this shit hours ago.
“Son, I’m—”
“You’re not. You never are. Just stop.”
He nods slowly and steps back. “I called this doctor I know from the country club...Told him you got into a brawl and um...” He turns away from me, unable to face his own damage. “He’ll be over in an hour to patch you up. He says he’ll even write you a pass for another week off from school.”
“Yay,” I say dryly. “Another missed week for child abuse.”
“If it’s fucking child abuse,” he says, quickly snapping. “Why haven’t you turned me in? Huh? Why haven’t you fucking turned me in? It’s because you hurt me back sometimes, too. It’s because you’ve broken some of my bones here or there, too.”
“I haven’t turned you in because I pity you,” I say honestly. “And because you have no one else who’d bail you out.”
His face goes white and he looks as if someone just slapped him across the face. The beer bottle in his hand drops into my trashcan, but as he leaves my room, I know he’s heading downstairs to grab another.
Looking at my mangled reflection once more, I shake my head in disbelief but I immediately text Mia.
DEAN: Happy Birthday, Mia. Did you get my flowers this morning?
MIA: I did :-) Thank you. Are we still going out tonight?
DEAN: No, I’m sorry. I can’t come.
MIA: Why not?
DEAN: I just can’t come. I want you to call and tell me all about it later though.
MIA: Dean...You’re the only person (outside of Autumn) that I actually want to see tonight...why can’t you come?
DEAN: It’s hard to explain.
MIA: Okay...Well, can you explain why you haven’t been to school in a week? Why you’re not letting me come over to see you?
DEAN: No. That’s hard to explain too.
MIA: Okay.
DEAN: Okay.
DEAN: Enjoy your birthday, Mia. I really do mean that.
MIA: Totally shows.
I wait for her to text me something else, to act like the girl I fell in love with just months ago and say that she’s coming over regardless so I can finally tell someone about what really goes on in the shadows, but she never does.
I miss another week of school, we sporadically text here or there, and when I return to classes, we see each other and everything seems to be okay again. Everything seems cool, except the thin layer of resentment that’s beginning to build up in my chest.
I try to prevent it from spreading, but as the weeks pass, it only gets worse.
Four weeks before prom.
The final draft of Central high’s yearbook is revealed on a Friday and to my surprise (not really) I’m deemed “Mr. Popular” again. What’s a complete surprise though is the newly crowned “Miss Popular”: Mia Gray.
I had no idea she’d actually taken me up on my bet to run until I see the spread, but as she rushes over to me during lunch and hugs me, I tell her congratulations.
I tell her I want to go somewhere private to celebrate—just us, but I really need to talk to her about my dad. I need to ask for her advice about whether I should finally turn him in, or whether I should just request to do summer session at Harvard so I can move out early.
She doesn’t even give my private invitation much thought at all. She wants to hang out with the rest of the superlatives, and even though I’m happy that she’s finally enjoying her time in high school, it only makes me want to withdraw more. It only makes me feel like she’s putting me on the backburner for something I told her was superficial, something she never seemed to want before.
Two weeks before prom.
Today is the last day I’ll talk to Mia.
Today is the last day I’ll let her make me feel this way.
She hasn’t called to tell me happy birthday, hasn’t texted to ask why I’ve missed the fourth day of school in a row, and as the country club doctor attends to another set of wounds, I realize that I resent her. That I’m going to make her feel exactly how she’s made me feel...
Chapter 36
MIA
Present day.
“Where do you want these?” Autumn asks holding up a box labeled “art supplies.”
“Next to my easels over there,” I say, pointing towards the dining room. I bring in the last box from the hall and take a moment to look around my new home. It’s nowhere near as extravagant as Eric’s place but since he’s paying for it, I can’t complained. Right after that argument with Dean in the rain that night, I immediately called Autumn. I told her I was pulling a Bff trump card and I needed her to come to Portland ASAP. No questions asked. Still reeling, the second I arrived home, I started packing my things and I called a twenty four hour mover service. I also called Eric, voice trembling, and told him I was moving out.
“Moving out?” He said. “Where the hell are you going?”
“To a hotel for a couple of days but I’m having all of my stuff put into storage, because I just can’t live here anymore.”
“Mia, you’re not making any sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense. I just wanted to let you know.”
“You don’t have enough money to live anywhere in this city alone.” He’d sounded irritated. “You don’t have a car of your own, your job pays you in shit, and you—“ He paused. “How much do you need?”
I told him that I had no interest in taking his money, but he insisted and made it clear that he could more than afford it. In the middle of the movers coming to get my stuff, he managed to contact one of his non-disclosure clients and she’d agreed to meet me at a small condo on the other side of the waterfront. Keys and all. No questions asked.
I’ve’ managed to hold back my tears for two days, but I’m probably going to make it through today without crying. I can only hold so much more inside, especially with everything around me reminding me of what situation brought me here.
“Mia? Hello?” Autumn waves a glass in front of my face.
“Sorry.” I grab the glass and add it with the others in the cabinet.
“Are you okay? I was calling your name for a long time,” She says looking worried.
“I’m fine.” I offer a half-smile.
“Mia, you’re not fine, I don’t expect you to be fine right now.”
“Good, because I finally admit that I’m not.”
“You’re not going to talk about it today are you?”
“No.”
“Okay, well we won’t talk about it today then.” She uses the hem of her t-shirt to wipe my face.
“How about Friday?”
“Friday I can probably do.”
Just like that, an emotional conversation that would undoubtedly lead to a mental breakdown, has been avoided. That’s what I love about Autumn, she knows me so well, she’s well aware that talking about it isn’t going to make it any better right now. I still need time to process everything, and unfortunately that ‘everything’ includes what happened ten years ago all over again as well.
She helps me unpack the first set of boxes in my living room and she doesn’t ask me any questions or turn on any music. We work around each other in utter silence, and every now and then, she walks up to me and pulls me into her arms for a hug.
Later that night, she buys a vintage bottle of white wine, and sets two sleeping bags against my bare bedroom floor. As I lay down for a nap, she decides to takes on the task of going through all my personal items, and removing all traces of Dean before phase two unpacking tomorrow.
Once she’s done, I’m not yet ready to turn in for the night, so we go to the store and buy paint for an accent wall where my bed will eventually go. We paint the wall an emerald green, but then I remember that particular color reminds me of Dean’s eyes, so we repaint the wall beige. Beige ends up being fucking boring so we go back over it with the green again. It doesn’t looks as green this time, or at least that’s what I plan on telling myself.
Chapter 37
MIA
The next morning Autumn wakes me up with hot coffee and a bag of toasted bagels from the café across the street.
“So,” she says, handing me a packet of cream cheese. “What do you want to do today since the rest of your furniture won’t be here until later?”
“I want to convince you to stay for another week. No, wait, you’ve only been here two days so far. Can you make it three weeks?”
“I would if I could.” She smiles. “But I don’t have a lenient boss and I’m pretty sure my fiancé won’t appreciate that.”
“I can’t believe you and Jacob lasted all this time. That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, we’re so not going there today. Answer my question, what do you want to do today?”
“I was thinking about going up to the roof and standing at the edge. Then jumping.”
“Okay. Dramatic much?”
“Sorry.”
“You know what, I have the perfect pick me up,” she says, walking over to the corner and retrieving her laptop. She gets back into her sleeping bag and motions for me to do the same.
“Online shopping?”
“Better, online dating.”
“You’re not serious right now?”
“I’m completely serious, you know what they say: The best way to get over a guy is to get under another.”
“Yeah...I’m pretty sure that only applies after some significant time has passed.”
“Some significant time has passed, this is day three.”
“Could you please be serious for five seconds?”
“I am being serious. Everyone does it, Mia. It’s time for you to join the rest of the world.”
“I’ll pass. Thank you.”
“Like hell you will.” She places the laptop down in front of me. “Let’s create your profile.”
I shake my head at her and take a big gulp of my coffee.
“Okay, what are you looking for?”
“Peace of mind, freedom from assholes.”
“No,” she says, typing. “You’re looking for guys between the age of 26 to 34, friendship, short-term dating, and casual sex.”
“Wait, what?” I nearly choke “Autumn! I’m not looking for casual sex.”
“Yes, you are. Some great sex might be just the thing you need.”
“I’m not screwing a guy I meet online.”
“No, you talk to him online, you meet in person. and then you screw. See, it’s not the same thing.”
Jesus... I sigh.
“Let’s start with your name. You need a flirty and fake one just to be safe. How about Candy?”
I give her a blank stare.
“Okay, okay. Let’s do Audrey.”
“Let’s go all out. How about Audrey Hepburn?”
“Good choice on that last name, it’s unique,” she says. “How would you describe yourself?”
“Depressed.”
“Twenty-eight.” She keeps typing. “Single, sexy, curvy. Oh, and it asks for your bra size. What’s your bra size?”
“I’m not giving you my bra size.”
“You’re so difficult.” She leans over and literally grabs the tag of my bra from under my shirt, reading the size. “34C.” She returns to typing. “Long, brown hair. Brown eyes. Porn star lips. I think that’s good enough for now. Let’s upload a profile picture.”
She opens my photo gallery and shakes her head at all of my demure and “boring” photos.
“Finally!” She stops on a picture of me from last year. “Here. This one is perfect.”
“Autumn, you’re not using a picture of me in a bikini for my profile picture.”
“Okay, I’m using this one then, your boobs look huge, trust me.” She uploads the picture of me in a tight tank top and hits the button to make my profile public.
“So what now?” I ask.
“Now we check out your options.”
For hours we browse through the available single guys, but I’m only halfway paying attention. I know damn well I’m not open to even thinking about dating someone else.
She knows this too, but I love the hell out of her for trying to pretend otherwise.
***
Sometime around midnight, I feel my phone buzzing against my sleeping bag. I figure that it’s Eric, checking on me for the umpteenth time since I moved out. I’m still in awe that he paid the rent on my apartment for the next two years.
I pull out my phone, ready to tell him that I’m still okay, but then I see that it’s not his name on my screen at all. Its Dean’s. I let the call go all the way through to voicemail.
He calls again.
Same thing.
He calls one more time and my heart begs me to answer it, but my mind overrules.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice, that’s not happening asshole.
Chapter 38
MIA
“So, let me get this straight,” Eric says, putting his fork down over lunch the next day. “You and Dean fucked in my kitchen?”
“After everything I just told you, that’s what you choose to harp on first?”
“Mia, that’s my goddamn kitchen. I eat in there!”
“Could you please act like my older brother right now? My older should-be-concerned-with-my-emotional-well-being type of brother?”
“I am acting like your brother. When you drop a bombshell like that, how do you expect me to react? Where exactly in my kitchen did the two of you have sex?”
“Eric!”
“Don’t even worry about it. I’m going to get it cleaned from top to bottom within the next twenty four hours.” He shakes his head. “How did I not know about you and Dean in high school after all this time?”
“I mean, how would you have known? You weren’t there. It happened long after you ran away.”
“But we kept in touch.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t talk about each other’s love lives. Besides, would you really have wanted to hear about a teenage romance?”
“Mia, every older brother looks forward to beating the ass of the guy that hurts his little sister.”
“Well, do you mind beating him up for me now? How can we make that happen?”
“We can’t.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s too late. He’s my best friend now—although I’m starting to wonder why he never told me about you before.”
“Probably because it didn’t matter.”
“Or because I would have beat his ass and never let him move in with me.” He laughs, but then he gets serious. “Then again, Dean never talks about his family. And actually, when I think back, the two of us never went in depth about any family members. I know he hates his dad. You know I hate our mom, so that doesn’t really leave much conversation about anything further. He really might not have had any idea about you, that we were related.”
“Possibly...”
“I just wish I would have known the two of you had such a past. I would have never suggested that you come and live with me. I would’ve gotten you your own apartment much sooner. You know?”
“I don’t regret coming here at all,” I say, completely honest. “Living here with you these last few months has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
He gives me a blank stare.
“I’m being serious!” I toss a napkin at him. “Are you mad about any of what I’ve just told you?”
“Why would I be?”
“Your best friend and your little sister? That we kept it from you?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not thrilled with any of the revelations I’ve heard today, but I can get why you hid it.”
So, is there any other furniture that the two of you fucked on? Anything else I need to disinfect or just get rid of? I’m definitely getting new countertops, but do I need to search for a replacement couch? A flimsier coffee table maybe?”
“You’re being serious?”
“Yes, I’ve being very fucking serious.”
***
Later that day, I stare at my sketch pad, wondering how I’ve managed to sit at my favorite café for almost two hours without completing any work. I only have another few weeks to complete a new requested piece for the gallery, but all I can think about are break-ups.
“You know what, today is going to be a good day.” I tell myself. I take a sip from my latte and turn to a new page in my sketch pad.
Skimming through some of the images in my phone’s photo gallery, I select the cathedral building as my next source of inspiration and start drawing. The piece I’m supposed to submit is supposed to be something bright, bold and rich with color. It’s supposed to incorporate the scenery in Portland’s neighborhoods, the one aspect of architecture for one of their buildings. Once I finally get a good momentum going, I get lost in my work, not stopping for hours.
When I do eventually pause to take a break, my fingers are smudged in black charcoal and I’ve completely filled the pages of my current sketchpad.
I walk over to the register and order another latte. When I return to my table, I look out the window and see the last two people I need to see right now, Dean and the same woman he was with that night at the bar.
I sit and watch as they slowly approach the line of white food trucks at the corner.
I can literally feel my heart starting to ache all over again. When I imagined how Dean was feeling since our breakup, I never pictured him smiling, laughing, or looking completely happy.
I’ve barely had a moment when I’m not sad or not thinking about him. But I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised, I’ve always been the one left feeling like a fool in the end.
After Dean and the woman get their food, they turn around and walk across the street, heading straight toward the café. He suddenly glances in my direction, and his eyes lock on mine.
It takes every ounce of will power in my body to break our gaze and look away, to pick up my pen and pretend to be engrossed in my sketches.
After about ten minutes, I reluctantly glance up, relieved to find him gone.
