Secrets and Skin

Chapter 36

I scour the apartment for cleaning supplies but all of the cupboards are bare. Exploring every room takes only minutes; there is a tiny bathroom with a shower stall but no tub, a bedroom with a single bed, a narrow living room, and galley kitchen. A window encompasses the majority of the living room wall. I open it despite the chill outside, hoping it will help alleviate the mustiness pervading the air. Hunter's jacket is still on the couch so I pick it up and wrap it around me.

I lie on the scuffed hardwood floors and stare at the yellowed stucco ceiling. I think about everything I've lost: my singing, my family, my job, Mr. Harris, Jagher, my home. My chest tightens and I feel a familiar tension between my shoulder blades. I begin mentally listing all of the things I've done wrong – everything possible reason that I deserve this. The tension builds until I can't even think straight anymore, my thoughts and memories obscured by a sleepy haze.

I sleep for some indeterminate amount of time until I am awoken by a knock at the door. Once I struggle through the post-nap fog, slowly recalling where I am and why, I shuffle to the door and peer out of the peep hole. Grant stands outside, a couple of grocery bags in each hand. I rush to unlock the deadbolt, fumbling with it for a moment before finally letting him inside.

"Brought you some groceries and some clothes," he says, setting the bags down on the ground. He struggles with his prosthetic arm for a moment before releasing the handles. I notice his skin is darkly tanned.

"When did you get back?" I ask, moving the bags to the kitchen counter and rifling through them.

"This morning." He yawns and rubs his eyes. "I got a message from Hunter when we were leaving the airport."

"I'm sorry," I say as I sort through food, cleaning supplies, and toiletries.

He shrugs, looking over the apartment and examining the empty cupboards.

"So, Brie knows? About your friendship with Hunter? About how Yagher used you to watch me?"

"We talked everything over in Barbados. She was a bit freaked out that I was hiding things from her, but she came around," he says distractedly, wiping a finger over the grimy countertop, "You're gonna need some plates, glasses, and stuff. And a vacuum cleaner. Your friend is moving out anyway, right? Maybe we can sneak some of your stuff out then."

I pretend to be focused on the bag of clothes and not completely overwhelmed with loneliness and terror.

"Oh here," Grant thrusts a cell phone in front of me, clearly used but still a newer model, "Brie had her old phone lying around so we set it up for you. She's going to stop by later, once she has a nap. Believe me, you would not have wanted her to come before that."

I fail to resist the urge to smile. I know from countless sleepovers how cranky she can get when she's tired. "Thank you," I say, "For everything."

He pulls me into a tight embrace. "You saved our lives, remember? Everything is going to be okay. Let us know if you need anything."

I nod into his shoulder, the tightness in my throat preventing me from speaking.

He pulls away and heads to the door, preparing to leave. He grins suddenly and says, "By the way, I've never seen Hunter touch anyone before. He was really worried about you."

"Oh yeah?" I aim for nonchalance, faking ignorance at his insinuation. At the nervous pounding of my own heart.

"I've never seen anyone throw him off balance before either. I wonder what that's about?"

"Brie's starting to rub off on you," I tell him, "Go home and tell that grouchy bitch to hurry up and keep me company."

He throws his hands up in mock surrender and leaves. Reluctantly, I begin the arduous task of cleaning my new home.