Chapter 19
Ifeel stupid.
Standing in front of the mirror hanging on the back of my apartment door, I feel like I’m a teenager again.
Just without the mental hospital stay.
After not running my errands the day before. I know they really can’t wait another day. But I also know that I lost and accepted the consequences of the game Amir made me play.
Tugging on the plaid flannel skirt, I stare at myself and wonder why I’m doing this. I could go out wearing a hoodie and jeans, and there’s nothing he could say about it.
I shouldn’t want to look good for the man tormenting me.
My fingers run along the flannel, picking through the purple and black lines of the skirt with thoughtful slowness.
The shirt I’m wearing isn’t nearly as ornate or nice as the sweater Amir bought me, but it’s still one of my favorites.
And shows off what little assets I’ve got going for me up top.
The black fabric clings to my frame, and the V of the neckline dips between my breasts to show my pale skin.
And better yet, it frames the fox jawbone necklace he gave me as if it were made to do so, and not like it’s a complete coincidence that it worked out so well.
My hand moves to slide along the black smoothness of the bone, then, like I’ve been doing more and more lately, I run my thumb over the moonstone.
With my hair up in a bun and the same boots I wore last night, I look…
not as great as I did in the clothes he bought me.
But that’s just something I’ll have to get over.
Picking up my phone from the nearby table, I point it at the mirror, trying not to look like I’m attempting to put more effort into this than required.
If Amir thinks for one moment that I like this, or that I care what he thinks, then my life is officially over.
As it is right now, it’s only slightly over.
Before I can make this harder than I should, I take the picture and send it with nothing attached to it. I refuse to save his name in my phone, so all I have is the number he’s texted and called me from before. Unlabeled. Unwanted.
Un-asked for.
Almost instantly, my phone shows a reply is being typed out, and my stomach does a little flutter when I get the message.
Gorgeous. Have a good day, my pretty mortician.
“You do not care,” I whisper to myself. My phone goes into the pocket of my skirt, and I snatch my keys up from the bowl on the side table by the door.
“You don’t care because he’s a murderer.
And we should not want the murderer to like us.
” It feels like I’m explaining ethics to a child when I have to say it out loud, but if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes.
Hestia is downstairs, as usual around this time, but when she offers me coffee, I shake my head with a soft smile.
“No, I really can’t. I don’t get paid for another week and I had to spend extra on my meds this month.
I really appreciate you running a tab for me and giving me discounts, but seriously, Hestia, it’s starting to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. ”
The way Hestia looks at me makes me wonder if I’ve grown a second head. She gives me an expression of befuddlement and snorts softly before going on and making my coffee. “Look. I’m not supposed to tell you this. Because I don’t know, a man’s ego is as fragile as his balls or whatever.”
That has me snorting, and I nearly choke on my spit.
“But everything you order is covered for life. I’m not allowed to make you pay for it.”
“What? Why in the world would you—” my words break off at the obvious answer. Especially with Hestia bringing up a man’s ego. “Is someone paying for my coffee?” I ask finally, not having the confidence to actually say the name I’m thinking.
The owner of Coffee Crest, and one of my few friends in Still Pines, hands me my coffee and gives me a look that tells me she knows what I was going to say.
“He can afford it, you know,” she promises kindly, hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter.
“If he wants to do this for you, why not let him?”
Because he’s a murderer.
“Because he makes me a little nervous,” I reply, and honestly, it isn’t even a lie. Amir makes me incredibly nervous, for all the wrong reasons.
And a few of the right ones, but I can’t let that distract me.
“Valid,” Hestia agrees instantly. “He tell you he’s a risk manager?
Doesn’t look like it, does he? But yeah, he travels around the country whenever he wants.
Being hired by these big companies to do whatever risk assessment entails.
” She makes herself a cup of espresso as I watch, her hands practiced and quick as she presses down the grounds before putting it in the machine.
“I never thought he’d end up doing something like that. ”
“Why?” I shouldn’t be as curious as I am, unless I’m going to try to resurrect my mental defense of ‘research.’ “Was he not like that as a kid?” But I’m dying to know, and Hestia seems like the only way I’ll get those answers.
She sips the small cup of espresso and watches me from behind the rim, her gaze somehow reminding me of Amir’s in more than a family resemblance sort of way.
“Because he never cared that much about anyone other than his family. And I find it hard to believe he cares about so many people now,” she explains at last. “Strange, isn’t it?
How someone can change so much before you realize it? ”
The statement throws a series of memories up in my skull, all fighting for my attention.
My mother, holding my and Elaina’s hands as she walked us up to see the tigers in the zoo. Laughing, telling us it’ll be okay. She’ll protect us from anything.
My mother, staring at me dispassionately, while I beg and plead for her to stay home with me. Just one more time. Just this once. Because without Elaina, I’m so lonely.
My mother hitting me hard across the face, her wedding set scoring a line into my cheek that bleeds and scabs and takes a week to heal.
My mother’s body on the ground outside our apartment, looking so small from the balcony where I’m still standing, frozen and horrified. How could she do this? Even after the many years of abuse, all I wanted was for her to love me again, for her to—
My hand comes up and I brush the spot on my cheek where my mother’s ring cut me so long ago. The skin throbs under my touch, though I know it’s just something my brain is making up, and not something that’s really happening.
“Yeah,” I murmur finally when I realize Hestia is studying me like I might be unwell.
I am, though I don’t need her to know just how much.
“Strange.” The word is a whisper on my lips and I sigh. “So he changed?” I really can’t let this one go, though I don’t know why. “Nothing happened?”
When I glance up, I find Hestia is still watching me, and I wonder if maybe I went too far. If my questions are becoming less playfully curious and more like an interrogation.
God, I don’t need her getting suspicious. I don’t want to pull her farther into this. I don’t want her or anyone else to get hurt because Amir decided I wasn’t playing by his stupid rules.
“His dad changed first. Alcohol.” The words make me look up, and the apologetic dismissal I’d been piecing together dies on my lips.
“It wasn’t a mystery like Amir is. We all saw it happening when Amir was a teenager.
Don’t know why.” She shrugs. “Not like anything happened or someone died. He just started drinking.”
“He was a mean drunk.” The words are out of my mouth before I consider I might be off base, but judging by Hestia’s expression, I’m not far from it.
“Sorry. It’s none of my business, but I get it.
” Guilt churns in my chest, though I remind myself I have nothing to feel bad about.
I’m not judging him. But I do understand.
While alcohol was never the root of all evil in my family, that doesn’t make it any better.
When Hestia’s face falls into sympathy, my insides jolt as I realize I’ve accidentally exposed a little more than I’d like. “A-anyway.” The stutter is embarrassing as I stumble over my response in trying to create distance. “I’m just curious about him. I’m just—”
“You have a crush on him.” Hestia grins the moment I look over at her, and her eyes dance. “It’s pretty obvious. You don’t have to hide your relationship from me because he’s my cousin.” She takes another sip of her espresso, which reminds me I have coffee too.
“But if you hurt his feelings, I’ll have to dramatically kill you.
Death by poisoned coffee or something.” The words have me choking on my iced latte, and I cough until my eyes water and Hestia is staring at me like she thinks she might need to call an ambulance.
“Okay, but I didn’t poison that coffee,” she reminds me finally.
“Let’s not choke to death.” She takes it from my hand before I can drop it, and I finally double over to hack up my poor lungs.
“Yeah, you’re right.” But I still have to clear my throat a few times before I feel comfortable taking another drink. “I promise, Hestia, it is not my intention to hurt Amir’s feelings. Or anything else that would require you to poison me.”
“Great. Then we can still be friends.” The door opens and she looks up to see two customers walking in, talking to each other without paying us any attention. “I’ll see you later? You work tonight, right?”
“Yeah. I’m just going out to run some errands—” I glance down at my phone when it buzzes, and sigh at the number. Yet another call from somewhere out west. But with the likelihood of it being spam, I don’t intend on answering. “But I’ll be back later if you want help with anything before work.”
“Well, if you’re offering”—she glances at the cold case—“you could help me figure out something new for that. I’m over what’s in the case now.”
Suddenly, I regret opening my mouth. But I won’t go back on my offer. I smile at her and nod. “I don’t mind. Like I said, let me just run these errands, and I’m yours until I have to get ready for work.”