“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to fear me.”
A surge of raw emotion rises to the surface and I feel my eyes beginning to water. I’ve never been touched like this.
Suddenly, my mind draws back to a cold, rainy day eight years ago. Eleven years old and running a fever so high I could hardly see straight. I couldn’t move my body as my muscles were beginning to seize up. I begged my mother to take me to the doctor.
She looked down at me from where she sat on the edge of my bed and shook her head. “It’s just a fever, Alex. Do you want all those doctors and nurses to make fun of your face over a silly fever?” I grabbed her hand, desperately trying to force her to feel my forehead and she recoiled, yanking her hand away and standing up quickly. “Stop it! You don’t touch me. You don’t touch anyone!”
“Alex?”
Daimon’s voice draws me out of this painful memory. My hand is still on his face and his hand is still on mine, wiping the tears as they slide down my cheeks. I pull my hand away from his face and let it fall onto the bed between his leg and my side.
“Alex, are you all right?”
I look up at the dark place where his face is beneath the hood. As if he can sense what I’m thinking, he reaches up and pushes his hood back. I still can’t see the details of his features, but the ghostly outlines of his cheeks and nose are clearer. He has short hair. Almost short enough to be a military cut.
“Sit up, so you can feel my face,” he whispers. “I want you to see me.”
I sit up on my knees next to him, then he bows his head slightly as I begin exploring his face with both hands. I trace both thumbs over the straight bridge of his nose and up over each eyebrow. And a picture of his face begins to form in my mind.
His brow bone is prominent and his cheekbones and jaw are sharply angled. He keeps his eyes open as I lightly trace my fingertips over his eyelids and under his eyes. I can’t see if his eyes are dark or light, but I can feel that they’re round and turn down ever so slightly at the outer corners.
I pause for a moment so he reaches up and brings my fingertips down onto his mouth. Then he lets go and allows me to trace the outline of his lips. As I thought, his top lip has beautiful peaks and his bottom lip is slightly fuller. I trace my thumb over his bottom lip, marveling at the softness, when suddenly his lips pucker and he plants a delicate kiss on the soft pad of my thumb.
That pulsing between my legs is becoming almost painful. I pull my hand away and sit further back until my bottom is on top of my feet.
I place my hands in my lap and nod my head. “Your turn.”
He scoots a bit closer to me and I lower my head a bit because I know what he’s going to do. He slowly reaches up and I close my eyes as he pushes my hood back. Immediately, I feel his hand on the left side of my head. He can see the streak of white hair through the darkness. I shiver as his fingers run through my hair and it falls softly over my shoulder.
“Open your eyes.”
I open my eyes and he leans forward to lay a soft kiss on my forehead, letting his lips linger on my skin for a moment. “That’s enough for tonight.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow evening.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip then pinches my chin softly. “I was right. You are beautiful.”
Chapter Five
My first night back to work after two weeks recuperating was tense, but I expected nothing less. Aasif threatened to replace me on the third day I called in sick. On the fourth day I called in, his tone had changed. He was understanding, though I sensed reluctance. As if his hand were being forced.
“Take as much time as you need,” he said, his voice gritty with tension. “Your job will be here when you get back.”
I don’t care if Aasif doesn’t really want me there. I don’t even care if someone forced him not to fire me. What I do care about is this feeling that it may have been Daimon who got to Aasif.
It’s ridiculous. Why would Daimon care if I get to keep my job? I’m flattering myself with thoughts that he worries about me. I’ve allowed myself to feel comfortable in his presence. I let him touch me and I allowed myself to touch him. But that doesn’t mean that he cares about my well-being.
The truth is that it was probably my father who threatened Aasif not to fire me. My father can be just as persuasive as Daimon. And my father may not be the most honest man or the best father in the world, but I know he at least does not want me to starve.
I know this from the monthly deposits made into my bank account. My father always deposits five hundred dollars into my account on the twenty-seventh day of each month. He knows I don’t make much working at the gas station. And living in L.A. is expensive. Five hundred dollars is just enough to ensure that I don’t starve, but not enough for me to live comfortably, by any means.
My father didn’t think I would last in the real world, but he underestimated how well he’d trained me. Because my father didn’t just teach me how to fight my enemies. He also taught me how to outsmart them.
And I’ve been outsmarting my mother and father for eight months now.
I grab the bar that hangs from the doorframe leading into the bathroom and I do the usual fifty pull-ups. Afterward, I tape my hands under the stove light and head into the dark living room. Feeling my way around, I shove the coffee table out of the way. Then I take out my aggression on the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room for a good hour.
I live extremely modestly. I don’t have a gym membership. I don’t get my hair and nails done. I don’t buy unnecessary clothing and home furnishings. I eat just enough to maintain my weight while keeping myself trained. This is how I’ve been able to pay all my rent and expenses and still save every penny my father deposits into my bank account, plus a bit more of my own money.
I have to be ready to leave if anyone starts sniffing around here looking for answers about how I got this knife wound. Or if Daimon turns on me.
He said he’d come back the next day, but he never came before I left for work at eleven p.m. I got back from work at 5:12 a.m. this morning. I’ve been working out for more than an hour. The sun will be coming up soon. He lied. Everybody lies.
I peel away the tape from my hands and toss it into the trash bin in the kitchen. Then I head to the bathroom to shower. I’ve removed the light bulbs from every fixture in the apartment. Even I am susceptible to temptation every so often. Removing the bulbs removes the danger of me falling victim to my own morbid curiosity.
I undress in the dark. The bathroom has the most natural light of any room in the apartment. The only thing covering the sixteen-inch square window opposite the mirror is a set of plastic blinds. A small amount of light seeps through the cracks on both the left and right side of the blinds, but I’m okay with that. I need a little light to apply my makeup.
The moment I turn on the shower, I hear his voice. It’s so clear in my head, as if he were standing right next to me.
“I was right. You are beautiful.”
I resist the urge to look in the mirror as I reach for the handle to turn on the water in the shower. I’m not beautiful. No matter how many times Daimon says it, it doesn’t make it true. I have to keep reminding myself of that or I’ll lose my footing.
I step over the side of the tub and into the shower, then I slide the shower curtain closed. Shutting my eyes, I step forward and tilt my chin down so the water runs over the back of my head. The water slides down the sides of my face, collecting at my nose, lips, and chin. Streaming from me like a warm, cleansing waterfall.
After I wash my hair and face, I lather up my body in mounds of suds. Then I lean my head back and allow the water to rinse away my filth. Closing my eyes, I savor the warmth as it streams over the curves of my shoulders. Between the valley of my breasts. As I have so many times since Daimon was last here, I imagine his touch trailing delicately over every inch of my body.