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“I mean, after you fucking embarrassed me with your meathead bouncer friends at –”
She falls silent when she sees my face, and I hide half my body through the doorway. I want to vanish right now, but I know she’s going to ask questions. She always does.
“Jesus, what happened to you?” she asks, standing up from the couch.
“I had a bad night. I don’t want to talk about it,” I reply, feeling myself preparing to gush more tears the longer I think of it.
Regan frowns. “I knew something was up at that club. You shouldn’t have taken that job.”
I tell myself she’s still speaking from a place of jealousy, but she might also be correct. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken this job. It brought me money, but it’s also brought me more emotional pain than I think I can handle.
Before Regan can say anything else, I run to my bedroom, slamming the door shut and diving into my bed. I sob into my pillow, once again tipped over the edge and unable to control myself.
Ten minutes pass before I can get up again.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I’m shocked. My makeup has run down my cheeks into places I never thought it could reach. My eyes are puffy and red, and I don’t look pretty anymore. The façade is gone, and I’m left to stare at the face of a broken woman.
I slip out of my clothes and into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, flopping onto my bed and falling asleep within minutes. At least while I’m unconscious, I don’t have to deal with my feelings.
I’m awoken by a knock on my door.
“Fuck off!” I shout, annoyed that my sleep has been interrupted.
“There’s someone here to see you,” Regan replies bitterly.
“Tell them to leave. I’m already asleep,” I reply harshly, pulling my blanket back over my head to block out the hallway light as it streams in from under my door.
“I really think you need to talk to this guy. He isn’t leaving,” she replies, still agitated but slightly hesitant. She’s always so direct and intentional in the way she speaks and behaves, so hearing her voice falter is alarming.
I get up out of my bed, not even bothering to turn on the light or put on a bra. I wonder to myself if it could be the cops questioning me for my involvement in Akim’s worldwide drug empire.
When I open the door, Regan is standing to the side, and Akim is in the hallway with her.
“I remembered him from the bar. I figured you’d arranged something,” Regan says sheepishly. She slips away, cautiously entering her bedroom adjacent to mine.
I roll my eyes. “What the fuck do you want, Akim?” I ask, feeling all of my fear and hesitation dissipating as I replay the night’s events in my head,
“I know you were listening in on my meeting earlier,” he says as soon as the door is closed. His expression is neutral and unreadable.
“Okay? Yeah, I was. I don’t like how secretive you are. I feel like I deserve to know if my life could be put into danger, which it clearly could be with the way you talk to those guys,” I reply.
“I know that’s not why you’re really mad. You can drop the righteous fury,” he says, remaining composed and emotionally uninvolved as I’m set to implode.
“Okay, then explain to me why I’m upset since you seem to know fucking everything,” I respond angrily, struggling to control the volume of my voice.
“You heard me say some really awful shit, and I’m sorry about that. I just can’t let Luka know that you’re important to me. If he knows that, then he has a vantage point that he can use against me. Anything that I value in life is leverage for my enemies, which is why I’ve never kept anyone around for very long,” Akim explains, his tone colored by warmth and sincerity that I’ve never seen in him before.
I pause before responding, which seems like the most logical choice given my history of emotional outbursts.
“Why did you have to say it like that, though? You could have just said I work for you,” I reply, dropping my own angry tone and feeling myself returning to sadness like I was in the car. I feel stupid being so vulnerable in front of him, especially after what he said, but I figure that, at the very least, it’ll make him feel worse about it.
“You have to understand that ‘working for’ me means something a lot different to me than it does to you. You’re the only person in that club who isn’t affiliated with the mafia. I made an exception for youbecauseI like you so much,” he says.
“Wait, so everyone works for the mafia? Even Josiah? He doesn’t seem smart enough to pull that off,” I reply, genuinely curious.
“He isn’t, and I’ve been having problems with him, but that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is that you would be in just as much danger if he thought you worked for me. Playing you off as someone who is worthless to me was the only way,” he explains.
I sigh heavily. “Okay, fine. I guess that makes sense. But why did you have to let me get involved at all? How do you know he won’t come after me anyway? I still feel like you should have been more upfront with me about the way you conduct business,” I reply, whispering harshly.
