The Jock's Secret [3] |Ongoing|

❂ Chapter 8 ❂

❂ Chapter 8 ❂

"Another cup of coffee?"

I glared at him.

"Is that a no?" Henry smiled. Courteous. It was a closed-lip smile that made his unnatural-looking dimple deepen and made me frown.

"No."

"No as in you do want another cup of coffee?"

"No," I repeated sharply. "I do not want another cup of coffee."

I looked at the untouched cup of coffee in front of me. I wrapped my hands around it. It was still hot. I had no plans of drinking it. I glanced at Henry, annoyed at his obvious satisfaction. He was reading through the files I gave him. He licked his thumb and dragged it to the corner of the paper, pulling it forward. A disgusting habit.

"Are we done?" I asked.

He placed the files down on the table. He stared out the window for a moment. I followed his gaze. People were going on about their day. Some rushed. Some peaceful. I noticed a couple with linked arms. Smiling. Together. Flushed. It was like the world existed for them and they existed for each other. To be happy about existing. I couldn't imagine that. To exist for someone else. I couldn't even think about that.

"You're not so smart," Henry said. He said that a lot, I realized. I didn't need the reminder. I turned to look at him. He watched me. His eyes knew something that I didn't know. I didn't know a lot. "But you're very competent, aren't you?"

I clenched my jaw. I got up. I grabbed my jacket that hung over my chair. "I'm leaving."

"I'll text you from now on."

I stayed put. Confused. "You don't have my number."

He took out his phone. He started tapping on the screen. I felt a buzz in my pocket. I looked up at the ceiling and groaned. Of course, he has my number. Damn. I hate everything.

"Make sure to answer immediately."

"Okay."

Henry kept his word. He began texting me and I made sure to answer immediately. Everything he asked me to do was similar to the next. Steal something from somewhere. Meet him at the coffee shop. Give it to him. Repeat. The more I did it, the more apathetic I was becoming. If this was it, I could keep going. As long as everyone was safe, I could remain indifferent. If that meant I was a bad person then nothing has really changed. I thought I would care more about that. I didn't. Not anymore.

Sometimes he made me do things that didn't make sense. Or things I couldn't try and make sense of. I didn't understand how all these papers would get his wife out of jail. And I didn't care. There were other things to care about.

"You've been going out a lot," mom mentioned in what I think she thought sounded like a casual comment.

I stopped filling up my water bottle. I put the cap back on. I stepped away from the sink.

Mom leaned against the counter. She opened the mail. I watched her not so discreetly sneak glances at me, peaking above the letter she was reading as if I wouldn't notice. Her tone wasn't accusing. She sounded excited. I don't like when mom or dad are excited around me. I don't get excited. It's hard.

"I guess." I shrugged. She was right. I was going out a lot.

The other day I had to go all the way to city hall and steal another file. I didn't bother taking the car. I took the bus and journaled. I can't journal at the coffee shop anymore. It makes me think of Henry.