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When Gabriel got home, I talked to him about what happened with Jean-Felix. He said he never understood our friendship anyway. He said Jean-Felix is creepy and doesn’t like the way he looks at me.
“And how is that?”
“Like he owns you or something. I think you should leave the gallery now—before the show.” “I can’t do that—it’s too late. I don’t want him to hate me. You don’t how vindictive he can be.” “It sounds like you’re afraid of him.”
“I’m not. It’s just easier this way—to pull away gradually.”
“The sooner the better. He’s in love with you. You know that, don’t you?”
I didn’t argue—but Gabriel is wrong. Jean-Felix isn’t in love with me. He’s more attached to my paintings than he is to me. Which is another reason to get away from him. Jean-Felix doesn’t care about me at all. Gabriel was right about one thing, though.
I am afraid of him.