Resentment - (18+)

C12

MIA

There are no words to describe how awkward it is being in a car with Justin after all these years. Eric is driving and Justin is sitting in the passenger seat, while I sit in the back. Ever since we left dinner, the two of them have been chatting as if they've known each other their whole lives, and thankfully, neither has asked me to contribute to the conversation. Not that I would know what to say anyway.

I keep my head directed toward the side window and stare at Portland's skyline as we head back to the condo. Just as I think we're seconds away from ending this awkward-as-hell day, Eric pulls into a gas station.

"I need to fill up so I won't have to do this in the morning," he says, putting the car in park. "Be right back." He gets out, leaving me trapped with the past.

I unbuckle my seat belt and prepare to get out, so the two of us won't have to speak, but Justin turns around to look at me.

With no expression on his face what so ever, he speaks. "He told me your name was 'Aim'...He mentioned that I might've known you in high school, but he wasn't even sure what school you went to, since he left home when he was so young." He clenches his jaw.

"I swear, if I had known that you were his little sister, if he had ever shown me any pictures, a social media profile, or given me even a slight inkling that Aim was you, I would've moved the fuck out long before you got here." He gets out of the car before I can and slams the door.

I sit there with my heart in my throat and curses ready to fire off on my lips.

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: Justin is here...

AUTUMN: Justin? As in Justin Bieber? 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: Thanks. Any advice?

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

MIA: Ugh!

I look out the window and see Justin 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.

Justin and Eric get back into the car as I put my phone away, and Justin's eyes meet mine in the rear view 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 Justin 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 Justin'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.