by Rebecca Shea
When blinding light fills the room, I fling my hand up to cover my eyes. The white walls, the white tile, the white porcelain fixtures do nothing to ward off the brightness. I turn the knob on the bathtub faucet and begin filling the deep tub with warm water. I hope a bath will calm me. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I slide my arms out from my bra and pull off my panties. My long hair hangs long in loose waves, and my skin looks ashen and gray. I look like death.
Ugh…
Climbing into the gigantic tub, I’m surprised my five-foot-nine frame can almost fully extend. My muscles begin to relax around the warm water, and I rest my head back on the edge of the tub. Soaking a washcloth in the warm water, I roll it and lay it over my eyes, inhaling deep breaths as my body begins to finally relax. I must’ve dozed because when I finally come to, the bath water is cool and goose bumps prick at my wrinkled skin. I was that tired. Pulling the plug on the drain, I turn on the water and start the shower.
Using the small bottle of body wash and shampoo that sit on the side of the tub, I quickly shampoo my hair and wash my body, stepping out onto the plush rug that sits outside the shower. Twisting my long hair into a towel on the top of my head, I find another to dry my body before wrapping it around me, securing it in place. I tug the towel from my head and run a comb through the tangles, letting my long hair hang loose to air dry over my shoulders.
Thirst has set in, and I glance between the alarm clock flashing three in the morning and the closed bedroom door. My bra and panties are in a pile on the bathroom floor, and I don’t have any pajamas or a robe to throw on. I’ll be quick.
Ensuring the towel is securely wrapped around me, I slowly pull the door open just a few inches. Peeking down the hall, I see no sign of Alex. The condo is dark. I’ll be really quick. Slipping out the door and into the hall, I tiptoe to the kitchen, careful not to trip over any barstools.
Reaching into the fridge, I pull out a bottle of water and twist off the top, sipping the cool liquid. Heaven. As I head back to the bedroom, I stop in front of the pantry, debating. I should go back to my room, but I’m curious.
Quietly twisting the handle, I step inside and flip on the light, studying everything inside and making note of all the ingredients I’d need to make homemade chocolate chip cookie dough for Alex.
“Find what you’re looking for?” His voice is soft, but it startles me.
“Shit!” I yelp, whipping around as the bottle of water tumbles from my hands.
A low chuckle slips from Alex’s lips, and he reaches down to pick it up. “Are you always jumpy, Emilia?”
“Only when you keep surprising me,” I breathe, pressing a hand to my heaving chest. “Why’re you up?”
He quirks an inquiring eyebrow. “Better question is, why’re you up?”
I blink momentarily, just now noticing that he’s in the same pair of basketball shorts he had on earlier, but now he’s shirtless. Jesus, his sculpted chest is perfect. I inhale sharply as I study every ridge, every curve. A few small tattoos mark his tanned skin, but the large crucifix over his heart is what catches my attention. The detail is incredible and the name “Emma” is etched below it. My breath hitches as my eyes travel from his chest down his firm stomach, to the fine sprinkling of dark hair just under his belly button.
“I couldn’t sleep so I took a bath…” I realize now that I’m standing in his kitchen pantry in nothing but a bath towel. Embarrassed, I tuck in the top of the towel just a little tighter to make sure it’s secure. “And then I came out here to get something to drink.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his perfect lips. My heart races—and heat floods my body. He hands the water bottle back to me but doesn’t immediately let go. “In my pantry?”
“No, I took the water from your fridge,” I mumble, anxiety coursing through me. I move quickly, trying to get past him, but he grabs hold of my upper arms; his thumb’s slowly swiping at my collarbone.
He’s silent for a moment, then, “Are you hungry? I’ll make you something to eat.”
“No, I’m not hungry.” I shake my head frantically.
“Then what’re you doing in the pantry?” He cracks a devious smile at me.
I glance back at the stocked shelves. “I was just looking to see what you had. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”
We stand, silently taking in each other’s presence. Goosebumps form against my damp skin as the air conditioner blows cold air above us. Alex steps forward, pressing his warm hands onto my shoulders.
“You’re still wet.” He continues running the pads of his thumbs across my collarbone, swiping at the beads of water, and I swallow hard at the tender touch. “And you smell like me.” He leans in closer, our noses nearly brushing as he deeply inhales the scent of his shampoo.
“I used what you had in the bathroom. I hope that’s okay.” That’s why it was there, right? Maybe he expected me to have my own? My thoughts fluster me.
His touch sends tremors through my body as I stand cemented in place. His hand travels upward, and he finally rests his thumb in the hollow of my neck, my heart thrumming wildly in my chest. I can feel my pulse against his thumb, throbbing in time to my heartbeat. Alex can feel it too. A cocky grin stretches across his face. He knows what his touch is doing to me.
“Feel that,” he whispers, his large hand tightening gently around my throat. It’s a firm, controlling, yet subtle grip.
I nod, inhaling sharply. Squeezing the bottle in my hand, I pull away from him and he lets go. Because whatever this is—if it’s anything—I’m not ready for it. I won’t be here long. In a few days’ time, or less, I’ll be gone, and I’ll never see this guy again. Never.
As I’m rushing back to the guest room, I hear a soft “Goodnight, Emilia,” and then a small laugh.
I WAKE UP tired, not sure if I really ever fell asleep. I was restless the remainder of the night with thoughts of Alex’s hands on my neck and shoulders, his lips so close to mine—yet just out of reach. My feet kick at the white silk sheet that my legs are tangled in, and I pull the hair tie from the end of my long braid. Running my fingers through my hair from root to end, I loosen the braid so my hair falls into long waves.
With only three outfits to my name, I opt for the pair of cut-off jean shorts and a tank top. After a quick splash of water on my face, I brush my teeth and slide into my sandals before heading quietly into the kitchen. The condo is still, not a noise to be heard, and I hope to sneak out quickly in hopes of finding a store to pick up a few items with the fifty dollars I have left in my purse. Sunlight illuminates the space through the large skylights in the ceiling, and a lone envelope sits on the counter with my name scribbled across the front.
Glancing down the hallway, I notice the office is dark; no lights or signs of life anywhere. I pull the thick envelope from the counter and stare at my name. My finger slides under the flap and tears the envelope open. Inside is a handwritten note and cash.
Emilia,
I had some business to tend to this morning. Saul will take you anywhere you need to go and get you anything you need to make you more comfortable while you’re here.
Alex.
P.S. Buy yourself some pajamas.
I remember Alex referring to the man I saw in the parking garage yesterday as Saul. He watched me tentatively and something inside me didn’t settle well with his pensive look. Call it a sixth sense, but I don’t trust him. I count out the cash inside and almost faint.
A thousand dollars?
I have to count it three times. Sure enough, there are ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Why would he do this for me? I’ve never had a thousand dollars to my name, ever, let alone cash in my hand to spend any way I like. Except it’s not my money. Anything I use, I will have to pay back. I was raised to never accept a handout. This is borrowed money. I take three one-hundred-dollar bills and put them in my purse, leaving the note and remaining cash on the counter.
Just outside the door, I find two sets of elev
ators. The far set I remember as the ones that we took from the parking garage yesterday, and I assume that’s where Saul is. I notice cameras aimed at each elevator, as well as the door to Alex’s condo. Hesitating, I push the call button on the set closest to me and make the quick decision that I don’t need Saul to chauffeur me around. I’ll take the city bus and find a store. My plans also include finding a public library to use the internet and searching for a job.
The elevator brings me to a small yet sophisticated lobby. A man seated at a small desk looks up at me as I approach him to ask for directions to the nearest store and a bus that’ll get me there. The sign that sits on the desk in front of him reads concierge. Fred is his name, he tells me. His expression is hesitant, but he gives me the information that I need. And with a sticky note in hand, I leave.
A short light rail ride later, I’m standing inside the Phoenix public library. Armed with a new library card, I’m directed to a small room with rows of computers for public use. I spend the next two hours searching “help wanted” ads online and find few prospects. My one and only job with the town grocer doesn’t qualify me for much. Shoving down my disappointment, I decide I’ll come back tomorrow to look again and type up a resume.
Checking my Google email, I find nothing. Not a single message. As pathetic as that is, it’s not too surprising. My few friends at home were my coworkers, and we only saw each other at work. We exchanged emails before I left, but I’ve only been gone a couple days. Not enough time for them to miss me yet—if ever.
The rest of my afternoon is spent wandering the aisles of a local Target. I’ve never been inside a Target before, and I’m enamored. This is the holy grail of shopping experiences. Anything a person could ever need or want is in this store. I carry a small shopping basket and pick up some shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, a bottle of body wash, and a small pack of razors. I pick out clothes, pajamas, and a couple pairs of shoes. I also am sure to grab some new bras and panties. I’ve never had the luxury of purchasing anything I wanted. It was necessities only. I should feel guilty spending Alex’s money, but I promise myself I’ll pay him back every penny. Besides, I need clothes if I’m going to land a decent job.
Happy with my purchases, I ride the light rail back toward downtown. The city zips by as the train winds through the busy downtown streets. A sea of people surround me, sitting and standing—professionals, students, and even a handful of homeless people—I assume by their appearance. But I love that all walks of life are together here, in this small space. It makes me smile.
As I walk back toward Alex’s condo, I find a small coffee shop tucked into the side of one of the tower office buildings. From the sidewalk, I peer through the large glass window. It’s small and quaint with plush leather couches and small two-person bistro tables. Even though it’s boiling outside, I suddenly find myself craving a coffee, so I push through the glass door and weave around the tables to the counter. I splurge and order an iced coffee, inhaling the bittersweet aroma of coffee beans and fresh baked pastries while taking in the college students on laptops and businessmen and women laughing and talking. As I wait for the barista to make my drink, I notice the small “help wanted” sign taped to the counter.
Whipping back to the rugged, yet extremely good-looking man, I ask, “Are you hiring?” I nod toward the help wanted sign.
“We are!” he says delightedly. “Are you looking for work?”
I peel the paper wrapper off the straw and shove it in the plastic coffee cup while I juggle the Target bags on my left arm. “I am. I just got into town a couple of days ago,” I say excitedly. A momentary sense of hope flashes through me that maybe, just maybe, I could get a job here.
“Ah, back to school. Tis’ the season.” He chuckles and bends down behind the counter, handing me a paper application. “Here. Fill this out and bring it back tomorrow. Ask for Megan; she’s the owner. We’re short-handed, so I know she’s looking to fill the position as soon as possible. I’m Jax,” he adds with a polite smile.
“Emilia.” I offer my own smile. This is the most hope I’ve felt since I arrived here. “Nice to meet you, Jax.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
Juggling the plastic shopping bags and the cold cup of coffee, I push open the door to the lobby of Alex’s brown brick building. The concierge jumps up from his stool and shoots me a concerned look as he rushes toward me.
“Hi,” I offer as I move past him toward the elevator.
“Miss?” He reaches for the phone on his desk. “Mr. Estrada has been looking for you, and he’s not happy. You didn’t tell me you were staying with him.” He emphasizes the word, his eyes oddly sympathetic, but his expression changes quickly when he presses the receiver of his desk phone to his ear. “She’s arrived and is on her way up.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you,” I respond innocently as he calls the elevator and waits with me, nervously tapping his hand against the side of his thigh.
“Mr. Estrada is very careful with his business,” he responds hesitantly.
“I’m not his business,” I reply, confused… and curious. His business. What does that mean?
The old man takes a deep breath, then shoves me gently into the elevator, sending me on my way. The ride up to the tenth floor seems to take an eternity. I glance at the bags, wondering why he’d be so upset. After a moment, I start to feel guilty. I used his money today. I shouldn’t have. Now I owe him. This could be bad. My stomach flips as the elevator halts and the doors open.
Saul from the parking garage is waiting for me as I step out. His eyebrows are furrowed and his thick arms are folded across his chest. I’m immediately intimidated by Saul. Even though he’s not as tall as Alex, standing only a few inches taller than me, he looks as though he could be a bodybuilder. With bulging muscles poking out from underneath his black polo shirt, he steps aside to let me move past him. His dark eyes narrow in annoyance as he takes me in from head to toe.
“Excuse me,” I say as I try to step around him.
“Where the fuck were you?” he growls at me.
I freeze in place. This is the first time he’s ever spoken to me and his tone is bitter—angry. In shock, I try to piece together what I could’ve done. I’ve taken care of myself all of my life, so I don’t understand how an outing to the library and store is causing this much anger.
“I went to the library and…”
“Emilia.” My heart stops at the sound Alex’s voice. It’s commanding, yet concerned.
I turn to find him with one hand on the door, holding it open, and the other against the frame. His tanned fingers flex and grip the frame, and I can see the veins bulging in his forearm.
What the hell is going on?
“You went to the fucking library,” Saul sneers. “How cute. Did you check out a book?”
I swallow hard against my dry throat and feel the tears prick at the back of my eyes.
“That’ll be enough,” Alex barks at Saul. “Do not talk to her like that ever again. Do you understand?” The air is fraught with tension as the two men stare at each other. “I said, do you understand?”
Both men are aggressive in their posture, an entire unspoken showdown until they eventually nod, and Saul concedes, retreating into a stairwell next to the elevator.
I stand frozen, looking at Alex. Finally, his arms fall from their locked position on the door, and he steps back into the condo. But as I walk slowly toward him, he steps in front of me. “Don’t ever leave here again without Saul. Do you understand?” I’m a grown woman. Twenty-one years old. I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t need protection—but I listen to Alex’s concern and reasoning.
Yet something stirs inside me as I try to decipher what I did wrong. “No, I don’t understand.” My entire body trembles as I speak. “And if Saul is a condition, I can’t stay here. I won’t stay here.” I drop the bags at his feet and turn around, heading back toward the elevator. As I reach forward to press the call button, a hand w
raps around my wrist, tugging me away from the elevator.
“Let me go.” I’m embarrassed at how fragile my voice sounds.
Slowly, he shakes his head before his full lips part and a vulnerable plea escapes. “I can’t.”
I GLANCE AT the Rolex on my wrist and then back to the closed bedroom door where Emilia is hiding. The Target bags still sit in a pile just inside the front door, and her iced coffee is on the counter, becoming room temperature as the minutes pass. I watch the ice slowly dissolve and the condensation roll down the side of the plastic cup, pooling on the granite counter that it sits on. I decide to wait another thirty minutes or so before I force her out here to eat dinner. Rosa, my housekeeper, made lasagna and it’s almost done. I lean against the island as I sip on a beer, my eyes never leaving her door. I’m not a patient man, but I could tell she needed time to herself to calm down, and quite frankly, I needed to figure out what to say to her. What to tell her—or rather, what I can tell her—about me. Finally, I spot the nickel door handle begin to slowly turn, and Emilia peeks her head out.
“You’ve been crying.” My fingers grip the edge of the counter, rooting me in place. I want so badly to pull her into my arms and comfort her. Her sad, puffy eyes find mine, and I feel guilty.
She nods slowly. “I don’t understand—”
“You wouldn’t,” I cut her off.
She exhales loudly in frustration. “Then explain it to me.”
“I can’t.” I run my fingers through my short hair in frustration.
“You won’t,” she argues.
I laugh, setting the beer bottle on the kitchen counter in frustration. It clanks against the granite, echoing in the open space. She’s pushing me, and while it angers me, it’s that spark in her eye that excites me.
