He's not the type of person that just lets people get away with doing something if he doesn't like it. I'm pretty sure he's resorted to some questionable conduct to get what he wants and have his way in his business dealings. I wouldn't be surprised if he did the same thing in other areas of his life. A lot of people are quite afraid of him.
I'm not afraid of him exactly. I just don't want him to come here and try to force me to leave with him because Ireallydon't want to.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. There's a couple of guys that want to take us out for a drink.” She laughs again when she sees the skeptical look on my face. “Okay, okay, so one of the guys I kind of really like, and he said he'd bring a friend if I want to bring one. And I want to bring you. What do you say?”
“Uh, I don't know, Tahnee.”
“Come on. It's just for a drink. There's absolutely no pressure for you to do anything other than that. I know you're not looking for a guy right now, but you do want friends. Do it for me, please?” She clasps her hands together under her chin and pouts her lips, bringing a smile to my own lips.
I sigh. “Okay, whatever. For you.”
“Yay!” She picks up the braid she just did and waves it at me. “I'll set something up for when we're all free.”
“Where did you meet this guy anyway?”
“He had work in town and stopped by The Big Fiveafterward when I was working. He lives twenty or thirty minutes away.”
I nod my head. I should have known she met him at the bar.
Tahnee and I head inside after a few minutes, and I end up cooking us a stir-fry for dinner. Our friendship has moved fast, and I feel rather comfortable around her, crazy and all. She's the type of friend I always wished that I had.
Tahnee keeps me entertained with more of her insane stories as we eat, but I can't help my thoughts drifting back to the man down the beach every now and then throughout the rest of the evening and wondering whether or not he's eaten anything from the bag I brought him.
CHAPTER 8
Remi
This is probably not a good idea. Those words are so familiar to me now. I know I've been saying them a lot lately, and yet they don't seem to stop me at all.
The moon reflects onto the ocean like a giant beacon of light, illuminating the darkness below. Tiny flickers of light are scattered across the horizon as ships and fishing boats move along in the distance.
I didn't bother putting any shoes on. I've gotten used to and even enjoy the feeling of sand between my toes. It feels cool on my feet after the warm day we had.
The flames burning ahead of me cast a warm orange glow on the surrounding area, including on his face.
As soon as I had stepped out onto my back deck a minute ago and saw the fire down the beach, I knew I'd be coming here even before I registered that my feet were moving in this direction.
The closer I get, the more I can see the fire reflected in his eyes. It causes them to glow like a predator in the night. I feel like that moth being drawn to the flame, even though I know it's dangerous.
He hasn't seen me yet, completely lost in thought, staring at the burning wood like it holds the answers to life.
The moment I arrive, I take a seat on the sand, not quite opposite him, without saying a word.
I purposely don't look at him right away, needing a moment to collect my thoughts, and instead, focus on the crackling fire. When I do finally bring my eyes to look at him, I almost regret my decision to come here, and I begin to wonder why I did in the first place.
It's clear that I've disturbed his peace. The calm look I'd seen on his face just moments ago is now replaced with an angry glower and a clenched jaw. And then there's his foot that taps restlessly on the ground.
Well, I'm already here, so I might as well make the most of it.
“Hey,” I finally say and then immediately feel like an idiot.
He literally had his hand around my neck a few days ago and told me to stay away from him. And here I am saying 'hey.'
He doesn't reply, of course; he doesn't even look at me. But he does start rubbing his palms on his sweatpants like he's contemplating saying something.
Finally, he turns to me and says, “Ten years.” At first I'm confused as to what he's talking about, but then I remember that I had asked him how long he had been in prison when we were on the boat. He confirms that that is what he's talking about with his next words. “You wanted to know how long I was in prison. Ten years.”
His focus returns to the fire when I don't say anything in reply. That is quite a long time. It's not just that he went to prison for ten years, but that he actually missed that long of life on the outside. It's kind of crazy to think about being out of the world for that long. He was in his late teens when it happened, which would put him in his late twenties now.
