Envy tears at the edges of my mind, replacing the want.
Ben didn’t kiss me like that at all.
He kissed me with passion and fire and lust. This was not that at all. I knew he liked Landon. I knew he did, and yet somehow, seeing the juxtaposition of this kiss versus the ones he shared with me has something dark and awful gnawing at my insides.
“Wow,” I say out loud.
“Yeah,” Ben breathes, voice wrecked and rough.
Landon hasn’t said a word. He’s just staring up at Ben in a daze, blinking slowly, like his entire world just tilted on its axis, and he’s not sure which way is up.
“I need to paint,” I say quietly. If I don’t get these feelings out, they’re going to explode, and I can’t have that. I can’t.
Leaving them alone in my bed, I jump to my feet, stumbling out of the bedroom and into the hall.
I lean against the wall, placing a hand over my frantically beating heart as I try to calm it down.
I thought maybe Ben saw me as something more than a hole to fuck, but I guess I was wrong. I’m not sure why I expected anything different from the man who literally took me home from class with the express purpose of hooking up.
But then again, when he saw me struggling, he didn’t try to keep going. Nor did he leave me alone, and he didn’t make me feel bad or like he was only using me to get off. He slowed us down. He got us cookies. He introduced me to true crime and basically made himself a permanent member of my apartment.
I need to paint.
Peeling myself off the wall, I stomp down to my little storage closet, pulling out a blank canvas, my brushes, and some paints.
I’d like to say I choose the colors at random, but I don’t. Forest green, lilac, pale pink. I leave the gold. It doesn’t belong in this painting.
Like the hounds of hell are nipping at my feet, I rush into the living room, tossing the canvas onto my easel.
I take a deep breath, then, not even bothering with a paintbrush, squeeze some green paint into the palm of my hand. Placing my hand on the centerof the canvas, I drag it outward, leaving a ragged path of green across the white.
Then I do it again. And again.
I add green until it feels like the jealousy has been purged from my body.
Then I pick up the pink. The painting is ugly. I can already tell. It’s going in the trash. There’s no other way around it, but it’s worth it. Worth it to get these feelings out.
The pink goes on next, mixing with the green and creating a dull, muted gray. Fuck. That’s awful. My chest heaves as I toss the pink to the side, wiping a strand of my hair out of my face.
The paint cools my overheated skin, calming me down some.
I don’t even want to bother with the purple. I’ve already fucked up the painting, but I have to get it out too, so I fill my palm again, this time dabbing my hand over the green instead of rubbing it across.
It’s still not great, but it’s better than before. Better than the pink was. I drop the paint to the floor at my feet, staring at the canvas.
I feel better. Lighter. At least a little.
When I glance up, Ben and Landon are standing in the doorway. Landon is watching me in awe, but Ben seems concerned. I’m sure I look half-mad right now, but I can’t help it.
“Are you okay?” Ben asks softly, breaking the silence.
I almost laugh at that. “Of course I’m okay.”
Landon bites his lower lip, not looking convinced in the slightest.
But I am. I’ve purged the bad feelings. Now they live in this ugly fucking painting where they belong.
Ben takes a step toward me, and then another. I stand strong, resisting the urge to back away. Landon thankfully stays in the doorway. Part of mewants to cover the painting so Ben won’t see it, but he doesn’t even glance at it as he closes in on my space.
