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Had broken her open.
Who? Why? Had they done anything worse?
There were so many gaps.
The space between years left room for so many stories.
And I didn't know a single one of them.
I needed to know.
Even if all it did was make me hate myself even more.
Even if it didn't help.
Even if knowing it just reminded her why she loathed me so entirely.
Not knowing was always, always worse.
I finished my drink, dragged myself back downstairs, showered, went to bed.
I got up with the sun, dressing, making my way out, finding both Cam and West in the common area.
Cam inclined his chin at me.
West leaned back against the bar, head tipping to the side.
West was a shit-starter.
And everything about him was saying he was about to say something it would be smarter to keep his mouth shut about.
"Go clean my room," I demanded before he could even open his mouth.
There were some perks to being higher up on the food chain sometimes. Getting someone else to do your grunt work - while taking them down a peg whether they knew it or not - was one of them.
I was just throwing open the door when Janie and Alex were walking up the path.
"Hey, did you know that your girl was..." Janie started.
"I am going to get her to tell me about it," I cut her off. "But thanks anyway," I added, making my way to my bike, wondering how long I had before she would be up, collecting her weapons, cleaning out the place, getting ready to move on.
She'd never been much of a morning person before, but who knew if that had changed along with so many other things.
I made my way down the hall on her floor, her door wedged open, something that had me stiffening.
But even more so, the fact that her deadbeat neighbor was standing in the opening.
Doing what?
Inspecting her empty apartment?
But even as I thought that, I could hear shuffling inside, the click of boots on the floor.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out a gun, having it to his neck before he even knew I was there.
"Fuck off," I told him, voice seething as Mack's head whipped in our direction, body tensing. Though if it was because of being creeped on, or because of me, I had no idea.
I'd been right, though.
She was packing.
She was going to hit the road.
This time, I was sure, for good.
"Easy, man," the man's voice said, wobbling a bit. You could always tell who had - and who hadn't ever - had a gun aimed at them before. "I was just..."
"Being a creep," I finished for him.
"No! No. I was going to ask if she needed any help with her things..."
"Yeah that one duffle bag looks like way too much for her to handle," I agreed.
"Let him go," Mack demanded, but if I wasn't mistaken, she was trying to hold back a grin, likely because her neighbor so clearly in the grips of a mid-life crisis had literally just pissed himself. "He needs to go change his underwear," she added, making a snort escape me.
"Really. Just let me go, man. I won't ever talk to her again."
"Good," I agreed, tucking the gun away. "And for the record, women don't like strange men creeping on them," I called to him as he fumbled around at his knob before throwing himself inside his room, sliding the locks.
"That is kind of funny coming from you."
She was controlled today.
I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.
But her movements were clipped, efficient, as she shoved books into her duffle bag, reaching inside to grab one of her guns, leaning down to tuck it into a holster she had on around her ankle.
"Don't be a chickenshit, Mack," I demanded, leaning against the door jamb, not forcing my way in. I figured maybe she had gotten enough of that from me. In both the past and present.
"There's nothing to be a chickenshit about," she countered, zipping her bag before turning to me, jerking her chin up. "It is time to move on. I have been out of work for too long."
"Where are you going?"
"It's none of your business."
"Somewhere else where someone might whip your back raw?" I asked, making her stop mid-stride, body going stiff.
Surprise, insecurity, and pain crossed her eyes for a short moment before she tucked it away. That was not a skill she had been familiar with when I had last known her.
"Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, it's not your concern."
"It is, though," I told her, voice low, as she got closer, head ducking down, catching her eyes as her gaze lifted, her jaw so tight that a muscle ticked there.
She was barely holding it together.
Maybe it wasn't too late.
"No, it's not. You're not part of my life."
"That's why I'm here."
"To be a part of my life?" she asked, snorting, shaking her head. "You had that chance."
