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“Dammit,” I curse under my breath. Maybe a mask or heavy makeup? My lengthy hair clings to my skin as I realize a haircut could mask my appearance. My fingers twist the shower knob and search through the mess of products under my sink until I find the skinny scissors.
“Okay, okay,” I mutter to myself. Sharp blades pinch locks of hair with their teeth ready to slice. "Clamping down on the silver handles, attempting to cut through my hair, the crunching sound makes my hand shake.“Oh my goodness,” the quivering statement fell from my lips as I sliced off the rest of my hair. This makes me sick. Myra had made my hair look so great, and now this. All because of thestalker asshole.
“Not so bad,” I muse. Chopping off the other half now, I proceed to style what remains. Relief washes over me. Since I'm that far already, I add wolfy layers and bangs that cover my eyes. Perfect. With this haircut, makeup, and scarf, I shouldn’t be recognizable.
Buzz! Buzz!
Evan wasn’t lying when he said his realtor would contact me soon. A ‘Sarah Cawthorne’ sent me a brief explanation and a long list of personal information she needs from me that I'm not too keen on sharing with strangers over text.
Forcing myself to retrieve my documents from beneath the mattress, I send her photos of each one, capturing both the front and back. "This job is too important to lose," I pause.
"It's becoming clear that this situation amounts to blackmail."
Either way, this Sarah had already milked me of my identity. So, I wait by my window, observing the floating, blood-orange clouds that hide the sun, though it is already hiding its blinding face behind the earth.
My eyes are fixed on Blackburn's likeness. He’ll come to pick it up in three days. That should be enough time, but time always felt like it was slipping. Painting should be my focus right now. Instead,
I sit curled on my bed, watching the sky lighten one last time to a baby blue and darken into night. The twinkling stars keep my attention, swinging their hypnotizing watch between my eyes. The least I can do now is go to sleep and have an early start tomorrow.
Chapter three
Discovered Identity
Seveninthemorning.Seated in my chair in pajamas, I contemplate his portrait, having witnessed the sunrise. Studying his reference pictures consumed more of my time than the actual act of painting him. Why must I infatuate myself with assholes?
Buzz! Buzz!
Speak of the devil. Upon seeing the notification, the skip in my heartbeat elicits a curse from my lips. Evan Blackburn, demanding my time to fit his schedule whenever he pleases. As I continue to stare at the screen, my loathing slips further from my grasp.
“Don’t. Stop,” I instruct myself. Resisting the faint, improbable stirrings of expectations I had vowed not to entertain. My state is one of discontent. My mood lacks enthusiasm. The casualness of the textdoesn'tlead me to overthink it.
It’s Evan. Please be in my office by eight. There is something we need to discuss.
Something to do with his portrait or theinterview,I’m sure. There is only enough time to throw on something semi-stylish and celebrate my shower the night before. It is a close call, but I reach the towering building and enter his wide office door in the nick of time, and now, I sit in front of the busy man as he shuffles through my information.
From the uneasy anticipation that plagues me when I see my old I.D. in his hand to the massive size of his carved sycamore desk, I feel like a delinquent called into the principal’s office. His expression mortifies me when he glances up.
“Did you butcher your hair on purpose?” he queries, sounding offended.
“Yes, I thought it looked lovely,” I reply. If he wants to call in his personal hair stylist and pay for that, too, then I won’t be complaining. Instead, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Explain,” he interrogates, holding up my old identification card. The one I had before I changed my name.Carmen Ruiz.
“I changed my name,” I confess. He appears to want to strangle me. It's time to exercise greater caution with my choice of words, but everything I say infuriates him either way.
“That observation is apparent," he asserts through clenched teeth. ”Why?”
“I didn’t like my old name,” from his scowling face, I can tell he doesn’t like my answer.
“You have a terrible history with your previous landlords, breaking leases and leaving without warning,” his eyes scan me, and it's then I sense the accusatory tone in his words.
“They’ve been paid. There hasn't been an issue in years,” I plea, trying to de-escalate his suspicions.
"Your debt status doesn't concern me. Your frequent departures pique my curiosity about their underlying causes."
“Not all of us have the money to stay in one place,” Heat rises in my face as my eyebrows furrow.
“So, you start jumping from state to state?”
