And that’s what made things that much more confusing and hard to figure out, like puzzle pieces that never belonged together. The Javier of six years ago would have never killed my dear uncle, no matter how badly he hurt me. That Javier wouldn’t have kidnapped a mother and her child and smacked her around (or even hired his thugs to do it). That Javier, for all his smooth intensity and seemingly blind devotion (seemingly, being the key word), wouldn’t bribe me to help him kill someone. That Javier was the one I knew and the only one I could try and figure out. This Javier was a stranger and a dangerous one at that. I had no sense of affection in his eyes, no hint of remorse or respect in his movements. As much as I pretended I wasn’t, I was afraid of this Javier in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I’d fallen asleep with my clothes on, Javier, Camden and Uncle Jim on my mind, so when I finally woke up with my buggered ankle, I decided I’d had enough of submitting to my thoughts. I carefully got out of bed and decided a shower would be a good idea after being dusty and dirty for the last three days. Soap and water had a way of clearing my head unlike anything else (except maybe some well-done sex). When I was finished, I searched under the sink for an Ace bandage and found one, making sure my ankle was wrapped well. It probably wasn’t even as bad as a sprain, but I had to make sure that I wasn’t going to make it worse.
After the shower I contemplated putting back on my jeans and stained t-shirt when a morbid thought crossed my mind. I wrapped the towel around tightly lest Javier suddenly burst inside the bedroom and went to the closet I used to use. When I left Javier that one morning, I barely took anything of mine.
I opened up the door and sucked in my breath. All my clothes were still there. Jeans, palazzo pants, tissue thin tank tops, maxi dresses and skirts that reached the floor. A year’s worth of wardrobe belonging to a scar-shy twenty year old. I couldn’t believe they were still there, that he’d saved my clothes all this time. I thought he would have burned them in a beach bonfire the moment he discovered I’d left him without a trace (and stolen his favorite car and a bunch of his money). Maybe he was more sentimental than I gave him credit for.
Or maybe, dangerously obsessed. I couldn’t rule out that one either, considering where I was and how I got there.
I took in a deep breath through my nose and shook out the edginess. It didn’t matter what the answer was because there was no use in figuring him out. For whatever reason, my old clothes were here and they were clean and that’s exactly what I needed to feel even remotely human.
I quickly pulled out a pair of jeans, super soft from years of wear, and tried to shimmy them on. Well, as clean and comfortable as they were, they barely fit over my thighs. I was a thin girl but my legs and ass were always on the gratuitous side and I guess my twenty-year-old body had been a lot more waif-like than I had thought. I was sure it would have bothered any other girl to know she’d gained weight, but since meeting Camden, I’d refused to feel bad about my body anymore. He had loved it, my curves, my scars, the way I was now and that wasn’t something to toss away, especially when his safety wasn’t as concrete as I had originally thought.
I mulled that over, wondering how it was that Javier could get to Camden at any moment – was he being bugged, monitored? Did he have a person on the inside? Was it Sophia? I remembered the way she eyed the briefcase like it held every wish she ever had. Then I pushed those thoughts out of the way, deciding I’d soon get it out of Javier instead, and selected a pair of wide-legged pants, a tight spaghetti strap top and a cropped cardigan with three-quarter-length sleeves. Just long enough to hide the tattoo on my arm, the tattoo that Javier had kept staring at like it still meant something.
I smoothed back my hair, black as ink when it was still wet, and didn’t bother with the makeup I had in my purse. I had no one to impress, not this time. I opened the door and was immediately met with the rich smells of frying bacon and brewing coffee. My stomach growled on impact, turning over on itself, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten a thing so far.
“Good morning,” Javier said from the table, looking like a carbon copy of yesterday. Once again, he was dressed in a suit, albeit this one was sand-colored and had a plain white tee instead of a dress shirt. He was also reading the Los Angeles Times again and shaking his head in amusement at whatever was on the page. “Green mustang? Oh, that hurts my soul.”
My eyes flew over to the stove where the bacon was done frying, only a few pops and sizzles accompanying the smell.
He waved his hand in that direction, eyes still glued to the paper. “I wasn’t sure if you were still on a hunger strike, but I made enough. There’s toast as well, one hundred percent whole-grain. It’s supposed to be good for you.” He said this all absently, like he wasn’t secretly hoping I’d eat it. Fuck my own spite this time, hunger was winning out.
I picked up a plate he had left out and started scooping up all the rest of the bacon and eggs, deciding to commit to it. I pressed the pieces of bread into the toaster and attacked the pot of coffee next.
“There’s milk and cream in the fridge,” he said and I could feel him watching me now.
I shrugged and filled my cup, turning around and leaning against the counter. “I take it black now.”
He eyed my pants. “You found your old clothes.”