That fucking bitch came back, he thought as he saw her walking through the museum doors. She was alone this time though. He thought her name was Ashley. She was taller for a female, skinny, and blonde. She had been here yesterday with a big dude. Well over six feet, thicker than a pile of bricks. Looked like an illiterate, uncultured swine. He wasn’t though. Based on the conversations that he overhead the big doof and Ashley having, he actually had a somewhat formed and functional brain.

Brian hated that. He wanted her to be with someone smart, intelligent, and cultured. That someone was Brian, not this doofus. He thought she would maybe want to be with him. After all she had laughed at his jokes and made her own in return. They had laughed over Monet, van Gogh, and O’Keefe. He had given her witty, charming, funny, and intellect. She had reciprocated. As he began setting up the conversation to ask for her number she giggled, politely changing the topic and rushing over to the caveman Brian had mistook for a sculpture. He stood up, extending his arm toward her. As Brian watched, she left arm in arm with her boyfriend to explore the rest of the museum.

When Ashley left the museum pouting and on the verge of tears an hour or so later, Brian triumphantly laughed out loud. What compassion did such a tease deserve? She had lead him into a conversation onto a path that was supposed to end in a date, not humiliation and directions to an overrated exhibit. Less than twenty-four hours she was back. For a second Brian thought of approaching her. After all, this time she was alone.

What did he care if she walked around for hours by herself, pondering how she ended up here? He didn’t. He shouldn’t. He kind of did. She was an unbelievable fucking bitch, but she was smart and witty. She was cultured. Most of all, she was alone this time.

Brian made his way over to the ticket counter. He made sure to avoid Anita’s booth, and quietly asked Andrew to make sure that girl, that tall, blonde biddy, that she got in the museum for free. And to make sure she knew her ticket had come from a friend of van Gogh’s. Brian was sure her boyfriend couldn’t remember the painter’s name, let alone pronounce it correctly. He waited toward the end of the entrance. Close enough that Ashley would see him, but far enough that she would have to go to him if she wanted to say a proper thank you.

Like clickbait and clock work she did. They continued their conversation from the other day. She asked if he worked every day. He told her he was just about to be done for the day. They decided to walk around the museum together. The conversation skirted around the doof, but also around any opportunity he had to make real moves. Brian led Ashley through the museum toward next month’s exhibit. Of course he would be able to get them in – he worked here. He was connected.

He waited until she was caught up in the rapture of the exhibit. The movement of the art. The section where the security cameras couldn’t see. He had already timed around the other ones ensuring that no one knew they were there. A noise, his foot kicking an exposed wire, her startled jump, his hand on her waist. He finally had his chance to lean in for a kiss. His lips connected with her fist. Words ran from her mouth, iwascominghertocomplainaboutoneofyourguards – gasp – theywerepickingonmichaelforbeingajock – gasp – theysaidhewasadangertotheartandhewasntreallyevennearthepiece – gasp – ididntcomehereforyounorwouldiever! Brian was dumbfounded. So many words, useless flailing words accosting his ears. The only thing worse than Mark or Michael, the big fucking doof was her. She was the worst. A museum whore taking anything she could get with no interest or intention in reciprocating. That’s what it was called mutual respect and reciprocation.

Brian took a deep breath in and closed his eyes for a moment. She was still reprimanding him. Her finger wagging in his face. As he opened his eye, he wrapped his sweatshirt around his fist and picked up a piece of the statue they had previously been enjoying. Exhaling as he swung the heavy metal pole downward connecting with her skull and following through, Brian was sure he could still hear whispers of her voice insulting the museum, the art, him. And all for what? For a large, doof who wouldn’t know what to do with himself without cable shows about high school jocks and football Sundays?

Brian looked down. Blood was beginning to pour off her scalp and onto the floor. He couldn’t leave with blood on his shoes. That would be something Michael or Mark would have done. Brian had a brain. He was much smarter than either of these two. He might have made a calculation error with Ashley, but he wouldn’t do the same with her murder. Getting a small chuckle out of himself he backed away from the body and made his way out of the exhibit. Standing maybe 50 feet from the hallway was a young woman, most likely in college. She was examining a van Gogh. Brian looked at his watch. There was a few hours before dinner time. Stretching his head from his left shoulder to his right, he took a deep breath in and made his way toward the girl and the van Gogh.

One Reply to “Girl and the van Gogh”

  1. Wow – I got lost in this; thanks 😀. I don’t know why, but I especially liked the last sentence, “Stretching his head from his left shoulder to his right…” Maybe because as soon as I saw “stretching” I anticipated the precise motion you went on to depict.

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