I also forgot; Juliette has a thing about shoes in her apartment. Plus, she hates cleaning. "Yes, Ms. Vishwakumar." She tells me to shut up. In the middle of her room, by her bed, is a large painting easel with a large canvas on it. My brows furrow, trying to figure out what the hell it is. "I didn't know that painting was a prerequisite for law school."
"It isn't. I had to take an elective this semester and ended up accidentally signing up for art. When I tried to go change it, it was too late. My advisor said if I dropped the class, I'd get a W."
I plop down on her bed, "What did you originally want to take?"
"Sculpture." She answers. "I was looking forward to making a clay penis. You were going to be my muse." She says this, her eyes never leaving the canvas as she adds the color white to the animal. Maybe even a polar bear, I'm not so sure. I walk over behind her.
"I have to ask this, if I don't, it'll eat me up inside. What in the actual fuck is that?" I turn my head in every direction, but still can't figure it out. "It looks like a bunny sucking on a lollipop."
Her head shakes, losing up her bun even more. "It's a bunny smoking a cigarette." I look at her like she's deranged. "WHAT! You know I love to smoke, and I hate bunnies. My teacher told us to combine something we hate and love. This is what I came up with."
"I hate to say it, but you're probably going to fail art." She tells me to shut the hell up and go sit back on her bed. I groan as I lay back. Her head peeks from behind the huge canvas.
"You alright?"
I shrug her off, "It's fine Jules. I had a hard practice today and yesterday. With us on a winning streak, the coach wants to make sure we're in tip-top shape."
She hums, "I never understood football. So boring and bland."
"Like your painting." I rebuttal. She flicks white paint onto my black shirt. "You ass!"
She laughs while adding a bit of black to her palette of other colors. As she keeps working on her horrible painting, I absorb her room. Besides Juliette being good company, her room is also. She has posters all over the place, of different places in the world, people, and quotes. Her most notorious ones are Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Toni Morrison. She said they speak to her and give off good energy.
I sink even more into her soft, plush pillows. After 20 minutes of sitting in silence, she's finally done with her project. Sitting down her paintbrush, she wipes her hair back and heads to the bathroom. "Wait, wait hold up. I thought we were- you know- about to get things started once you were done." I point towards my pants.
Juliette scoffs, "You thought I was going to fuck you with smelly armpits, and coated paint on my cheek?" I nod. "Gosh, you are a dumb jock. I'll be out in 12 minutes tops, keep your dick in your pants." The door shuts behind her and I'm left, alone, in her room.
Might as well lay here and get some rest. Once Juliette gets started, she's hard to stop. She's like a train, once it's going it can't stop. Tomorrow I have two classes in the morning, study group, then a late practice, also I've got to work out in the gym, coach is all about us meeting weight.
I don't have to work at the library for the rest of the week, that's the time I'll take to sleep. My professor is on mine and the class's ass to start our research paper. Like, the semester just started, chill the fuck out. I should have told him to stick it up his a-
My thoughts are cut off once I hear a ding coming from Juliette's computer. I snuggle into her pillows more, ignoring the ding. Then, five minutes later, two more dings follow. My foot taps, tongue flicks against the base of my teeth. Would it be so bad if I read the email? Of course, it would. But what if it's some ransom note or a killer sending an email. I could be saving a life. Biting back the guilt burrowing in my stomach, I rise off the bed, checking her emails.
All three of the messages are from one person, Dean Carmichael. My fist tightens, fucking Dean!
Dean Carmichael is Juliette's ex-boyfriend, the one I punched at the Zeta Psi party. Something she told me later on was that he cheated on her with her old roommate, Celeste.
So fucking sleazy, and the fucked-up thing is that she remained her roommate for the rest of the semester since it was too late to switch.
Some nights, she would stay in my room with me. Once it got to the end of the semester, she was living with me fully, taking showers and brushing her teeth. I didn't mind, she was good company and kept the room clean.
I quickly read the first message. I guess she blocked his number, and also from Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, and even Facebook. The email was his last resort. He says for months he's been trying to get into contact with her, has even talked to Celeste, her old roommate, seeing if she heard from Juliette. I skip past all the sappy bullshit about him missing her smell and how good she is at making spaghetti. At the end of the message, he tells her he'll be at Lucky Barn, the campus restaurant on Tuesday waiting for her.
The next two messages repeat the same thing, adding in more sappy moments they had together.
From the bathroom, I hear the water shut off. Quickly, before she comes out, I delete the messages. She's been hurt by this guy too many times, and I can't take any late phone calls of her crying with a cig in her mouth.
She'll thank me later. After deleting the first two emails, I'm down to the last one. Before my finger lands on the delete button, the door opens up. Juliette stands in the doorway, her eyes staring angrily at me. Black hair drips water onto the hardwood floor, and a towel hugs her naked body. Oh god, you don't want to be me right now, I don't even want to be me right now.
"May I ask what you're doing on my computer!" Her small feet stomp on the ground as she charges to her computer like a bull. Fake steam puffs out of her ears and nose.
I dig in my brain, trying to find some excuse for snooping on her computer, "I was just, uh you know, looking for tennis shoes." Her eyes squint, searching over my face. Then, she looks towards the screen.
"Oh really? Then what are you doing on my email then?" She snatches the computer, turning it to my face. "Tell me the truth, Andreas Chen."