A Scarlett Ruin

Chapter Eight

Julian had a tendency to let himself drift off into the water lilies. He'd always thought Monet was one to promote a day dream, so he never bothered to stop himself when his eyes got caught on the print.

It was an ugly print if said so himself. But it might have been a bit of pretentiousness seeping in, considering just what artwork that his grandparents had in their private collections. It might as well have been money papering the walls for how much they actually enjoyed the art they hoarded to themselves. Only a more dignified pissing match for people that might be invited over to their house in Kensington – they were always ever so polite with the way they flaunted themselves. It wasn't something that Julian had picked up on yet.

For him there was a certain joy in obviousness, just as there was in indulgence and sheer extravagance.

The thought brought in the memory of the worn in paperback of The Great Gatsby, and though his face remained composed, his thoughts turned almost fond. That was alarming on its own. The frayed corners and blunted edges didn't exactly measure up with a book obsessed with superficiality and excess. It spoke of something far more intimate.

"So the holidays are coming up soon."

The voice broke the silence, covered in enough patience to keep from ruffling any feathers but not enough for him to bother to look away from the painting. Absently he thought she'd be better off with a Kandinsky – he tended to look better when it was a print. Maybe he'd get her a parting gift when he graduated. Although it would be more of a present for the poor bastards that would be stuck in the office with her for the years to come.

It turned out he wasn't going to be allowed to let his mind float away at the moment, though. The sound of a throat clearing rather obnoxiously was sign enough for that.

Heaving a giant sigh, Julian still didn't look away from the print, and only said, "Yay."

The sound that mimicked his own finally had him tearing his away from the print to peer expectantly at Mrs Stanley.

He'd gotten quite used to the woman over the past few years. It was a given, he supposed, considering the visits had become mandatory when he didn't accept the polite invitations to her office. There was a definitely lack in sneering from him these days. She believed that it was him on the road to recovery, overcoming his issues with authority figures and learning how to share – though very little of that happened, honestly. In reality he'd just gotten accustomed to middle-aged hipster appearance – she grew wheat grass on the window-sill.

"Let's be serious for once," she requested, finding that she finally had gotten his attention. Julian had learnt that it was better to not scoff in her face – it tended to make the meetings longer – so he just raised his eyebrows. "How are you feeling with Christmas coming up? I know it's a hard time for your family."

At her words, Julian was careful to keep from any change in expression. That was always a dead giveaway. His only response was to lean back in the hard wooden chair, letting it dig in underneath his shoulder blades. His voice was far too easy to be honest when he said, "I'm brilliant."

"Julian," she sighed. There might have been an attempt at sternness there, but it was ruined by the sigh.

So he only replied evenly, "Stanley."

"Mrs," she countered in reprimand. It did nothing to infuse him with fear. And the counsellor could only roll her eyes, though she tried for that seriousness she'd requested before when she continued. "Your brother –"

Julian didn't let her get any further than that, interrupting to say, "I think talking about him now is kind of pointless, don't you?"

The only difference in his demeanor was the fingers that suddenly started drumming away on the knee of his trousers. Mrs. Stanley's eyes flicked there immediately, and it was with great force that he managed to freeze them, pushing his fingertips into his kneecaps almost painfully. However the moment she looked back up to meet his eyes, the drumming started up again – without rhythm and jerky.