Page 71 of Make Me Scream

I’m going to have to go back and get this thing taken off. He better not give me shit. He better just do it.

Tomorrow. I don’t want to see Lane again tonight.

I take my time getting home, savoring being out in open spaces. After being locked in that box, the streets and sidewalks between city buildings feel like yawning canyons. I loved Manhattan the moment I arrived, even though it felt intimidatingly huge compared to my home. Now it feels practically spacious. Lane, admittedly, has given me a new perspective. It’s easy for an outsider to see New York and be struck by how many people are everywhere. There aren’t many places one can go to truly feel alone. Apartment buildings mean roommates, neighbors and street traffic. Late at night, there’s a chance to have a subway car all to oneself, but not for very long. For a few hours, I was truly alone — in a good way.

Too bad it ended how it did.

I stay out of the way when I get home, leaving Joel and Martin to enjoy themselves. Joel shows his appreciation the following morning by making us all breakfast, waking me with the smell of frying bacon.

When I get to the kitchen table, I plunk down into my seat without thinking. The metal belt taps very audibly against the wood seat, and I grimace as the hard contact jerks the inserted rod.

“What was that?” Joel asks, looking all around us.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Seriously?”

I shrug.

“Huh. Weird.”

“So, you two have a nice night?” I ask.

Joel sighs and bites off a piece of bacon.

“Yes and no. For the most part, it was great. He took me to this amazing bistro, then we hit up a couple galleries. We talked all night long. It was wonderful. But, at one point he brought up the question of what I’ll do if it doesn’t work out to paint full-time. Like, Professor Mundell is going to open so many doors, but what if it’s not enough?”

Uh oh.

Mundell is the last fucking person I want to talk about.

“Even the greatest artists in history did commissions,” I say.

“I know. Martin said that too. You’re right. It wouldn’t be the worst thing. I just wish I didn’t have to, you know? Like, Professor Mundell doesn’t have to worry about money, so he can just focus on art.”

I almost blurt out that he cares about his reputation most of all, but swallow it back down.

“We can’t all be that lucky,” I say instead.

“Yeah, I know.”

A grin blossoms on my face.

“You could learn to tattoo. You’d be the best tattoo artist in the city, hands down. Money wouldn’t be an issue, ever.”

Joel laughs.

“I’d probably see a lot of hot guys with their shirts off.”

I slap my hand on the table.

“That’s it. We’re opening a tattoo parlor.”

“I’m in!”

Joel laughs, digging into his breakfast.

“What about you? You were gone a while yesterday. What did you do?”

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