Resentment(47)
“Is this your roommate?” Trevor asks me, but then he extends his hand to Dean. “I’m Trevor.”
“Dean.” Dean looks back and forth between the two of us, and then he steps back to let us inside. Instead of leaving, though, he takes off his jacket and puts it back on the coat rack.
“I thought you said you had somewhere to be,” I say.
“I thought I did, too...” He glares at me, but I turn away.
“Anyway.” I direct my attention to Trevor. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Beer? Juice?”
“I’ll have a beer, thank you.”
“I’ll get it.” Dean says, smiling. “And for you, Mia?” There’s a sick little gleam in his eye.
“I don’t need you to get anything for us.” I step past him and into the kitchen. I quickly grab two beers and show Trevor to the couch. I sit right next to him.
Dean takes a seat across from us in the recliner.
I ignore him and face Trevor. “What were you saying about the eighteenth century impressionists?”
“Just that I thought they were over-rated. Le Blanc wasn’t the best of that time, like the historians like to say.”
“Le Blanc was from the nineteenth century,” Dean says. “And he was the best of that era.”
Trevor crosses his legs and smiles, clearly not offended at all. “You’re into art, too?”
“Some,” he says, his eyes meet mine and I glare right back at him.
“Oh, well that’s great. Where did you study?”
“Western Peak,” he says, and I remember wanting to ask him about that. If I didn’t hate him so much, that is.
“Ah,” Trevor says. “Western Peak is where some of the best artists go.”
“Where they’re supposed to go...” His eyes are still on mine.
“Where did you go, Mia?” Trevor asks.
“Harvard.”
Dean’s eyes widen briefly, but the shock dissipates within seconds.
“Well,” Trevor says, opening his beer. “Good artists go there, too, I guess. You mentioned that you paint, Mia? Do you have any of your stuff here?”
“Yeah, I can show it to you, if you follow me.” I stand up and Dean stands up, too.
Trevor is still completely unfazed, so I decide to ignore Dean.
I walk over to the office-room Eric lets me use and open the door. I’m proud of myself for actually cleaning it up earlier this morning.
“All of my newest pieces are on the easels,” I say, hitting the lights. “The older pieces are on the walls and the window sills. I have more in storage and in my bedroom, since I don’t have enough space to fit them all here.”
“These are amazing.” Trevor steps in front of my earlier high school pieces. “How old were you when you painted this?”
“Fifteen.”
“Wow...” He slips an arm around my waist. “What about this blue and silver one? What’s the inspiration behind that?”
“A boyfriend she did wrong,” Dean says, walking over. “Isn’t that this one, Mia? Aren’t those your high school colors?”
Do not punch him...Do not punch him...
Trevor looks at me, smiling. “Is that true? Are you an expressionist after all?”
“She’s more than an expressionist,” Dean says. “You’re the tenth guy this week she’s brought here and showed this room to, so you may end up in one of her pieces as well. Here.” He takes a condom out of his pocket and gives it to Trevor. “Just in case you left yours at home. I always make sure her dates have one. I’m that type of guy.”
Trevor chokes on his beer.
“I’ll leave you two alone now.” Dean smiles at us and walks away.
WHAT THE FUCK...
“It’s um, getting pretty late,” Trevor says.
“It’s only six o’clock.”
“Is it?” He steps back. “Already?”
“Trevor, please don’t tell me you believe anything that idiot just said.”
“Not at all.” He tosses his beer can into the trash. “I’ll see you around.”
I don’t bother leading him to the front door. I wait until I hear it shut and then I count down from ten before rushing out and finding Dean in the kitchen.
“What the fuck was that, Dean?” I yell at him. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Because he’s not your type,” he says flatly. “I was doing you a favor.”
“All the women you’ve had over are your type? Do you see me interfering with them?”
“No, but you’ve wanted to.”
“I have not.”
“Keep lying to yourself, Mia.” He turns to face me. “I fucking know you.”