Page 131 of Sharkbait
“You want to say something to this guy?” I lean closer to her.
“It’s not worth it,” she seethes.
“Sure it is,” I say. “Not for him, but for you.”
Her eyes narrow while she considers her next move.
“I can give you some space if you want, or I’ll stay right here with you. Whatever you need.”
“Stay,” she says. “I want you to stay.”
Music to my ears.
I nod and take just a single step back to let her do her thing.
She taps Trent on the shoulder.
He turns.
“You’re right, Trent. I did learn a lot while I was with you.”
“I learned everything I don’t want in a relationship. I learned what the opposite of a good man is. And I learned how I will never let a man treat me again.” She pauses and shakes her head. “You made me feel so small.”
Trent huffs. “Now Louise, no one can make you feel small. Your feelings about yourself are yours and yours alone. It’s not my fault that your artistic skills were lacking while we were together. But you’ve improved. You should be happy.”
“I am happy, you condescending prick.”
He actually stumbles back a step at her words. Clearly, she’s never spoken to him like this before.
She lowers her voice. “You found a way to criticize and belittle every piece of art I ever made. I lost years of my creativity because of you. But that’s over now. As you can see”—she gestures to her paintings—“I’ve taken my creativity back. No piece of me is yours anymore.”
He adjusts his ascot and grabs a glass of champagne from a nearby server with a passing tray. “Goodness, you’ve gotten dramatic, Louise. I simply wanted to come here and celebrate your night. If you can’t handle some good old-fashioned criticism, then you’ll never make it in the art world.”
“It’s time for you to leave.”
“Excuse me?” he says between sips.
“Like you said, this is my night. Not yours. And I’d like you to leave.”
“You heard the lady,” I say.
Louise’s lips tighten when she looks at me. It’s an expression I can’t read in the moment.
“But I purchased a ticket!” Trent puffs up his chest.
“And we’d be happy to reimburse you for that, sir,” Louise’s coworker Brendan says with a customer service smile. Seems he’d be watching the escalating tension from a few feet away. “I’m sorry to hear you’re not feeling well tonight, sir.”
“I feel just fine!” Trent argues.
Brendan continues as if Trent didn’t say a word, “Dominic here is working security for us tonight, and he’ll gladly escort you to the exit where I’ll process your refund.”
Dominic—who is apparently six-foot-five and looks like he could bench press a small country—steps out from a golf cart with the word SECURITY emblazoned on the front.
He doesn’t have to say a thing.
“Fine,” Trent huffs and dutifully climbs into the golf cart with Dominic and Brendan. As the vehicle pulls away, he shouts, “Your shadow work is still atrocious!”
“So is your ascot, asshole!” I shout back.
