Seething, I pull out my phone and send Autumn a text.

MIA: My worst nightmare has been realized. (Oh, and I landed in Portland like eight hours ago...I was knocked out when I first got here. Sorry.)

AUTUMN: What are you talking about? (And gee, thanks for the late notification. I was honestly beginning to think something happened to you.)

MIA: Dean is here...

AUTUMN: Dean? As in Dean Collins? He’s still alive?

MIA: WTH? Yes, he’s still alive. And not only is that unfortunate enough, but get this: He and Eric are friends – and not just friends, but best friends.

AUTUMN: That’s not a nightmare, Mia. So, what? They’re best friends.  It won’t affect you, I’m sure. (It could be worse.)

MIA: I wasn’t finished typing. (It is worse. He’s my other roommate...)

AUTUMN: WHAT?! OMG... You’re totally fucked.  Sorry.

MIA:  O_o Thanks. Any advice?

AUTUMN: Yeah...Send me a picture. :-)

MIA: Ugh!

I look out the window and see Dean talking to Eric now, acting as if he didn’t just give me the asshole treatment a couple minutes ago. As he leans against the hood, I snap a quick shot and send it to Autumn.

AUTUMN: HOLY SHIT. He’s hotter now than he was in high school!! And is that a tattoo sleeve on his arm? (You don’t think looks like that are worth making up for, do you? :-) )

MIA: I noticed. No, those aren’t tattoos. I pretty sure it’s just dirt. (NEVER. Fuck him.)

AUTUMN: Can I save this picture?

MIA: Seriously?

AUTUMN: LOL Okay, okay...In all seriousness, just try to avoid him and not talk. Just because you live with someone doesn’t mean you have to talk. Remember my roommate from college? We hardly ever said a word to each other and we shared an actual ROOM not a condo. It’ll be fine, and I was kidding about making up with him. What he did to you is unforgivable. Never forget that.

MIA:  I won’t.

Dean and Eric get back into the car as I put my phone away, and Dean’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“I think you’re really going to like it here, Mia,” Eric says. “If there’s anything I can do to make your time here any better, just say the word.”

“Thank you.” I narrow my eyes at Dean and glare at him. “I definitely will be doing that. Soon.”

When we arrive back at the condo, I stay back as the two of them get onto the elevator. I tell them I’m going to explore the common areas and neither of them objects.

As soon as I see the floor numbers lighting up above the doors, I hit the button for another elevator so I can ride in it alone.

Eric told me that the best part of the condo is the roof since none of the residents ever use it (and he’s placed some of my blank canvases and old paint up there). I hit the “R” button when the elevator comes back down.

I haven’t painted in weeks, so I’m not sure what I’m going to paint, but I know doing a new piece will help me relax and clear my mind.

At least, I hope.

The elevator doors glide open and I see all of my things neatly tucked into a massive glass case that’s near the edge of the roof. There’s a label on the handle, a black cursive “Aim’s Extra Shit.”

Smiling, I open the box and take out an easel, a medium sized canvas, and my water-based paints. I set up everything on the opposite side of the roof and paint what’s right in front of me: The city’s waterfront.

With sweeping strokes, I paint the edges of the shore and the contours of the boats as they cruise the frothy waters. I paint the waves of the water as they crash into the shoreline and I add the night lights that are dancing atop the water. Then I paint the tall and elegant street lamps that surround the pier.

The piece feels light and tranquil, my mood right now, and I suddenly remember how during the months before I came here, every picture I painted was dark and grey.

I begin to add a park bench to the corner of the painting, but then I turn and notice something tucked away in another of the roof’s corners. My smile dies on my lips.

Walking over to the object, I bend down and slowly run my fingers along the edge of a black guitar case and all the familiar indents and engravings.

I pop the latch and my heart hammers hard in my chest as I lift the lid and stare at the beautiful mahogany wood of Dean’s guitar, the same guitar he played countless songs for me years ago.

I quickly close the case and return to my painting, covering the waterfront with fresh streaks of black and grey.

Chapter 13

MIA

The next day...

I’m standing outside the ‘Sea of Ink’ and wondering if Eric somehow gave me the wrong address for his shop. Not that it’s ugly or rundown, but because it’s the most unique and beautiful building I’ve ever seen.

The building’s bricks are painted white, but they’re coated in crystallized shards of light blue glass. The words ‘Sea of Ink’ are imprinted within several “floating” ships that are hand-pressed into the building, and the handles on the front entrance are reminiscent of a nautical ship’s wheel.

I’m almost scared to touch the place.

Opening the door, I step inside and see a blond receptionist wearing a form fitting black dress. Her eyes are bright blue, and her right arm features a full sleeve of red and black tattoos.

“Hey,” she says, setting down a clipboard. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Oh, no. I’m not here for an appointment. I’m here to see my brother, Eric.”

“Eric who?”

“Eric Gray.”

She looks at me like I’m speaking a different language. “There is no Eric Gray here...”

I pull out my phone and double check to make sure I’m at the right ‘Sea of Ink’. Then I remember he changed his last name.

“I meant Eric Slate.”

“Oh!” She smiles. “I didn’t know he had a little sister. Come on, I’ll show you to his studio.” She moves from behind her desk and leads me up a set of black steps and into a room that’s painted in hues of yellows and reds.

Sitting in a plush white chair with a doctor’s mask over his face, Eric is tattooing a guy who’s laying on his stomach.

“He’s all yours.” She pats me on the back and leaves.

“Can I help you with something, Aim?” he asks, not looking up.

“Aim? You called me Mia yesterday.”

“Slip of the tongue,” he says. “You’ll always be ‘Aim’ to me, you know that. What do you need?”

“Nothing, I was just stopping by.” I step closer and notice how intricate the designs on the wall are, how one school of goldfish is actually made up by twenty smaller ones. “How long did it take them to paint all the walls here?”

“Them?” He lifts the tattoo gun. “You mean me?”

“You couldn’t have painted all the walls by yourself, Eric.”

“I did,” he says. “Took me six months. I did the glass outside the building, too. Dean even helped with the permit for that.”

Good. He brought up Dean first...

I clear my throat. “Speaking of Dean—”

“Can you hand me that grey metal stencil?” He cuts me off. “It’s on the table behind you.”

I grab it and hand it to him.

“You’ve got to be still, man.” He warns the muscular guy on the chair. “We only have four hours left to go.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The guy mumbles, cursing under his breath.

“Now, what were you saying, Aim?”

“I was saying Dean.” I lean against a chair. “How exactly did you two meet?”

“At a bar, I think.”

“Oh, and from that moment it was long lost roommate at first sight?”

He laughs. “He was actually about to fight me.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he says, pressing the gun against the guy’s skin again. “Said the girl I’d just broke up with minutes ago, an old college mate of his, ironically, had walked up to him outside, crying and told him I punched her.”