Shortly after our tryst in his car, a new routine develops.

During the day, we act cordial, but keep a distance between ourselves, especially whenever Eric is around. But at night, it’s an entirely different story. We’ll steal moments together to kiss and make out, sometimes in the hallway when passing, in the kitchen while Eric takes a late night shower and even going as far as me slipping into Dean’s bed when we are both sure that Eric is  sleeping.

It slowly becomes the highlight of my day, those stolen moments with Dean. I start looking forward to seeing him, reminiscing on the secret glances, on those heated kisses.

But I keep my heart safe.   I don’t let myself think about any possibilities for ‘us’ after sex.

It’s just sex.

Chapter 24

MIA

On a quiet Sunday morning, I drag a new easel and a clean canvas up to the roof, setting up near the edge, a foggy view of the waterfront directly ahead. The sky is cloudy and there’s a light wind that brushes my skin every few seconds. There’s no chance of rain for the next few days, but the air feels slightly misty and damp.

It’s perfection.

Inspired, I mix shades of green and blue in a paper cup to create a perfect hue. I’m determined to paint something that’s non-gloomy today, something simple like a sailboat setting off on the sea. I use the green paint on my fingers to outline the frame of the picture, and then I press my brush against the center of the frame, making small blue strokes.

I finish the ocean in record time, admiring how it almost looks too real, and as I’m preparing the white and grey paint for the sail boat, soft music floods my ears.

I stop painting, realizing that the source of the music is close by. I turn around and see that Dean is sitting on the ledge behind me, strumming his guitar.

Our eyes meet, but neither of us speaks.

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but his fingers never stop plucking the guitar, so I slowly turn back around.

It’s the first time the two of us have been in the same space without it immediately leading to sex, as of late. It’s actually really nice to have this moment. It reminds me of the good times from years ago, but I refuse to dwell on that.

When the sun starts to set and the last of the day’s light leaves us, I take my canvas off the easel and set it onto a table. Then I start to clean my brushes.

“Are you leaving?” Dean asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah, all of the natural light is gone, so...” I look over at him and try to read his expression. “Are you staying?”

“More than likely.” He’s staring at me. “Light isn’t really a requirement for music.”

Silence.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your time up here.” I dry my last brush and set it right side up in my bag. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you later.” I start to walk toward the door, but I feel him walking right behind me.

“Mia, stay.” He puts his hands on my shoulder.

I turn around. “For what? You want to have sex out here?”

“No, but if you’re interested in discussing any new positions, we could talk about that.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“I’m joking.” He grabs my arm. “Stay.”

“Ten minutes,” I say, but only because I feel my heart warming up to him and I don’t need that right now. I follow him over to the ledge and sit next to him.

He sets his guitar into its case and looks directly into my eyes.  “Why did you go to Harvard?”

“Because I was accepted there.”

“I’m aware of that, but from what I remember, you didn’t want to go there.”

I shrug. “I guess my dreams changed.”

“They clearly haven’t.” He gestures toward the paintings that line the other side of the roof. “Is your dream to still own an art gallery?”

“Yes.”

“Then did you at least major in art at Harvard?” He looks concerned.

“I got a minor. I majored in Finance.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “I looked you up on Facebook a few times freshman year.”

“Only freshman year?”

“A few times sophomore year as well, but you never popped up. Why is that?”

“I was never one for being social.” I smile. “I also didn’t like the idea of random people looking me up. No offense.”

He smiles back at me and I scoot a bit closer.

“I created a fake profile once, though,” I admit. “So I could look you up and see what you were doing, how you’d moved on, but you weren’t there either.”

“I deleted my account after sophomore year. Wasn’t really a fan of random people looking me up, either.”

I laugh. “Well, what about your school? Why did you go to Western Peak when you really wanted to go to Harvard?”

His eyes suddenly shift to the cold look they had when I first saw him here, but he shakes his head and hesitates before answering.

“I went there for you,” he says. “I thought you would be there.”

“After everything you did to me?”

“You mean to say that vice-versa, correct?”

“No, it came out right.” I scoot away from him a bit. “After everything you did to me, you wanted to go to college together?”

“I wanted us to make up.” He stands up as if he can’t bear being close to me anymore. “I thought a summer apart was enough time for us to forget everything that happened—”

“I will never forget what happened.” I cut him off. “But I must have been just as naïve as you back then, because you’re the only reason I went to Harvard. I honestly thought you’d be there.”

“You weren’t planning to apologize?”

“Me?” I notice that he’s glaring at me now and stepping closer and closer to the door. “Apologize to you? Is your memory that distorted? Is your mind that fucked up?”

“No,” he says, twisting the doorknob and opening the door. “Just my heart.”

Chapter 25

MIA

There’s a popular saying about the past, something about it being best to leave all of the hurt and pain there, to move on and grow from it, but I’ve never thought that was fair.

It’s actually very, very un-fucking fair.

How can you possibly move on from the one person who infiltrates your dreams, no matter how many times you try to place him into your nightmares? How can you expect to grow without knowing the exact reason you fell apart, and as far as leaving hurt and pain behind?

I’m certain that’s impossible. There’s no stop-clock for heart-ache, and time only numbs it, bit by bit. It never heals it completely.”

I write all of those words down onto a sheet of white paper and cut them out one by one. I glue them to a board in no particular order or fashion, until my board looks like word vomit.

I cannot believe that Dean had the audacity to blame me for anything that happened between us, that he really thought I was the one who needed to apologize.

I’ve been up typing for six hours straight since, running off pure anger and confusion.

When my last word is stuck to the board, I start typing up more thoughts, so I can add more scrambled words to whatever the hell this piece will turn out to be. Then I hear a knock at my door and it slowly opens.

Dean.

“What?” I ask.

He opens the door and looks at me. “Can we do another temporary truce?”

“Are you about to get drunk? Do you need me to help you this time?” I shake my head. “I won’t be able to carry you or help you into bed, so if that’s what you’re about to propose, you should ask someone else.”

“That’s not it...” He says, a slight smile on his lips. “I was going to propose trying to start over, with you.”

“What?” I raise my eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Bullshit aside, I know you still care about me, Mia.”

“My heart is an idiot.”

“I still have feelings for you, too.” He steps inside and shuts the door, leaning against the wall. “And I think we can try to be friends at least.”