And I’m not talking about the kind that washes off.
Yes, I have a conscience. I have the ability to differentiate right from wrong. Sometimes, nightmares find me when I least expect them, and they haunt me, reminding me of the things I’d done under the veil of my job. It wasn’t easy, but that was clear going in. Although, I never expected to be tasked with the things I had, and that had been a bitter pill to swallow in the beginning—I still found it difficult from time to time.
So I certainly wasn’t immune to the weaker emotions, the ones that had the ability to cripple some and drown others—things like regret, remorse, nerves, and compassion. I felt all those emotions, but not often. Not after seeing some of the things I had. There was no way a person could witness the purest form of evil that ever walked the earth and not grow cold inside. I once had a friend who applied to the police academy. He’d finished and had started his training, but one day, he walked onto the scene of a double homicide, and the second he realized he felt nothing, he quit. Some people can handle it, others can’t. I just so happened to be one of the few who could close off parts of myself without falling into the category of a sociopath.
Needless to say, other than a year ago when I’d caught Colleen in that parking lot, the only times I’d felt anything other than loneliness was in regard to Jade. The only times I’d laughed had been with Jade. And I couldn’t recall when the ache of anxiety had last settled in my chest until I tried to go to sleep the night before meeting her.
And it followed me from the Gulf Coast to the Atlantic, the entire three-hour drive. We’d agreed to meet at a local restaurant for lunch, but I managed to arrive a full half hour early, so I wandered around, wondering if I could get a feel for her life here. Even though Fort Pierce and Geneva Key were both typical Floridian beach towns, they couldn’t have been more different—even if a continent separated them rather than just the interior of the state. On this coast, everything moved at a much faster pace, with more congestion on the roads and around the actual buildings; whereas, on the other side, life passed at a more leisurely pace.
Before I knew it, I was five minutes late meeting her. I checked my phone, but I didn’t have any missed calls or texts. I hoped that didn’t signify her canceling. I raced down the sidewalk to the small restaurant and rushed inside, surprised to see just how compact it was. The center of the room was crammed with tables, booths lining the right and back walls. To my left, a fresh case resembled the likes of fish markets along the beach back home, and a hostess stand waited for me in the front. I tried to glance around, in search of a short brunette with blue eyes, but before I finished scanning the fourth table, the blonde behind the podium grabbed my attention.
“Just one today? Or are you waiting on someone?” She smiled with more enthusiasm than I’d expected from a hostess, but it wasn’t foreign to me. Female gazes followed me, no matter what I looked like that day.
I could’ve gone a week without shaving, been a solid month overdue for a haircut, and donned wrinkled clothes like I’d just crawled off a park bench in New York City, and they’d still giggle while whispering to their friends, giving me the side-eye. I was well aware of what I looked like. I trained religiously, had to for the sake of the job, and even in the loosest-fitting shirts, the sleeves still hugged my biceps like a baby cub clinging to her mom.
I offered an easy grin and continued scanning the tables behind her. “I’m actually meeting someone here, but I’m a little late.”
“Oh, then your friend must be late, too. I haven’t seated any partial parties today.”
I nodded and allowed her to guide me through the room to the last booth on the right. The hostess set the menus down, but other than noticing her hospitable gesture, my radar left her and shifted to the active area of the restaurant. I took the side of the booth facing the front door, and kept my sights glued on the entrance, grateful the entire front wall was made of glass so I could be ready for her and see when she approached.
The tightness in my chest never eased.
Every time I noticed someone open the door, my body grew rigid. Normally, this happened on the job when I had extreme levels of adrenaline pumping through my veins. But this wasn’t the same. This was just lunch—I hadn’t expected an ambush; I didn’t have to pin my timing down to the hair of a second. It should be easy. Plain and simple. Yet it didn’t at all feel that way.
Glancing at my phone, I realized she was fifteen minutes late. Still no word from her. But when I pressed on her name to call her, a shadow approaching the table caught my attention. I picked my head up just in time to hear a ringing phone growing closer with each step the blonde took. And as soon as she made it to my side, she stepped out of the way, leaving me with an up-close view of the friend I’d made over the last month.
The hostess forced a smile and retreated. After Jade slipped into the booth in front of me, there was nothing but silence. No greeting, not idle chitchat. Just the murmurs of the crowd seated around us. Despite the nervous energy that hovered over us like a dense rain cloud, the tightness in my chest had vanished, leaving behind a dull ache meant to remind me of its existence.
She was everything I’d expected, yet nothing at all like I’d pictured. Her brown hair—much darker than I’d imagined—was long, probably enough to conceal her breasts if she draped it in front of her shoulders across her chest. And it was curly. Not tiny ringlets, but big spirals even I knew weren’t created with a tool. They were natural, and from the looks of it, slightly wet. The rich color that had to have come from a bottle made her blue eyes pop. They were bright, appearing to have some sort of light source behind them.
I’d imagined she’d come wearing makeup and clothes that were typical for a girl her age. But she didn’t. Not a drop of color graced her face—other than the wheat tone of her skin and thick, kohl lashes that couldn’t have possibly been real. Rather than a skirt or dress that promised passersby the possibility of seeing her goods, she had on a pair of khaki shorts. And even those were longer than what I assumed most her age wore. She paired it with a tank top—in this heat I didn’t blame her—yet it still left her relatively covered.
A wave of ease washed over me when I realized there was no sexual attraction. She was beautiful, absolutely stunning, but on a physical level, I didn’t feel anything. And that’s exactly what I’d hoped for. I’d already convinced myself I was done looking for a roommate, and would’ve been crushed if she changed her mind, so had there been anything else below the surface, I would’ve been back at square one.