He seems undecided, but I know he likes me enough that he’ll more than likely believe me. People tend to believe what they want to. Like the person and you believe the good things. Hate them and you love to believe the bad.
He starts to relax, sitting up in his chair. “Alright, sorry I made accusations,” he apologizes for something he technically didn’t do. “I just worry about you and when I read this well… The Dusky Inn has a reputation… a really bad one.”
Obviously. It’s basically a whorehouse. “I know it does. Trust me. And I hate working there,” Lie. I don’t hate it as much as I should because it helps me with my self-induced numbness, “But I really want a house. The apartments in this town are all small, rundown, and overpriced.” I hate lying to him, but do what I got to do to survive. If we starting going into the real reason, then we’ll have to start going into the real Lola and that’d be opening Pandora’s Box.
He contemplates what I said with wariness. “Would extra hours here help at all? I know you’ve been asking for them and if it would help get you out of there, I’m sure I could scrounge up some extra stuff for you to do.”
“That would be very helpful,” I tell him, loathing myself more than I already do. Not only because I’m lying about quitting at The Dusky Inn, but also because I know that one day I’m just going to have to take off without saying good-bye and leave Danni and Mary Lou wondering a lot of things about me. It makes me feel like such a bad person, but then again, that’s who I am anymore. A person who ruins and destroys things.
Destroys people.
We chat for a little bit longer then I leave Danni’s office, stopping by the vending machine to buy two Cokes. Then I stroll toward Marla’s desk, ready to interrogate and get to the bottom of the note. Marla seems like she’ll be easy to break too, if she did it.
She’s reading through some papers when I approach her so I catch her off guard and her frown slips through. “Oh, hey Lola.” Her smile is stiff. “How’d the meeting with Danni go?”
“Super.” I take a seat in the chair in front of her desk and then set one of the Coke’s down in front of her while I open the other. “He gave me extra hours and I thought I’d stop by and celebrate with you.”
She gives the can of soda I just gave her a dirty look. “Why?” She picks up the drink. “I mean, thanks I guess.”
“No problem.” I pop the tab on my drink and sit back in the chair, totally in my element at the moment. If it’s one thing I learned from my old life, it’s how to break people down, crack them open, get the truth out of them. “So, how are things going with Chase?”
“Good, I guess.” She takes a sip of her soda. “We’ve been talking about moving in together.”
“That’s great,” I say without taking my eyes off her. Break her down. Break her down. “That he loves you that much.”
“Yeah, sure. I guess.” She pauses, getting uneasy. “How do you know about Chase? I mean, that I was dating him? You and I don’t talk that much.”
I shrug as I open the soda and take a sip. “Lana was telling me out your relationship and how super cute you two are. Way cuter than when the two of them dated.” Lana is probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Long brown hair, skin like honey, perfect lips, perfect body. Plus, she’s super nice and sweet. I serious have a girl crush on her, which makes me feel bad for using her my play, but she’s also nice enough to forgive me when this is all said and done.
“Wait. Lana dated Chase?” Marla looks horrified at the thought of sweet, perfect Lana dating her Chase. “Neither of them mentioned this to me.”
“Oh.” I place my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”
Her eyes flare with anger. “Will you excuse me for a moment.” She rises from her chair and storms off toward the break room.
Once she’s out of sight, I grab a few papers from her desk and compare her handwriting to the note Danni gave me. It’s not even close and I immediately get this sense of uneasiness. I know the handwriting but why? Who’s could it possibly be? I was really hoping it was Marla. I can handle Marla, even if she knew everything, because she’s be easy to break down. But now that I know it’s not her opens a whole lot of doors and a whole lot of worry. Anyone could be the person that wrote it, including someone from my old life. What if my secrets have fallen into the wrong hands?
What if I’ve finally been caught?
Chapter 3
Lola
For the last two years, I’ve had nightmares about the night I shot and killed a man with a tattoo of 99 and the name Denny. I never did find out who the guy was or who Denny was, but in my mind Denny was the guy’s son, which means I killed a father. I sometimes think maybe I should be dead myself. That I deserve to be caught and tortured for what I’ve done. But it’s more naturally to survive so instead of facing what I’ve caused, I run and let the pain silently eat away at me. I’m a pro anymore with dealing with the nightmares anymore. When I wake up, drenched in sweat, my hands warm with the memory of blood painted on them, I barely so much as gasp, barely feel a thing. The same goes for whenever I think about Layton. I won’t let myself feel anything for him—feel anything at all—because I know the moment I let the guilt, remorse, and vast sense of losing the love of my life spill through, I’ll drowned in the emotion. So I’ve learned over the last couple of years that there are certain things that help me remain cold and detached inside, like working myself to the bone. If I’m having a bad day, I work the crap out of myself, until I’m so tired that it’s too exhausting to be worried. Unfortunately, that’s not the case today because the note is getting to me.
I’m really off my game, unable to get past it and the fear of who wrote it. I can barely concentrate—barely get anything done, almost as bad as the few months after I found out Layton was dead. Even when Marla comes back and chews me out for lying to her about her boyfriend, I can barely conjure up a good lie. My thoughts are elsewhere.
It’s time to run again. Move again. Disappear. The notes said secrets. What if they know more about me than just my nighttime job? What if it’s one of the Dellefontes? What if I’m found? Even if I try to run now, they’ll find me or catch me before I can even escape.
Fortunately through the chaos in my head, I do manage to keep it together on the outside, even when I go straight to my second job at The Dusky Inn. I’m as cool and collected as I chat with my boss Nyjah while he gives me a rundown of my client tonight and then he starts onto tomorrow’s client, listing off what he asked for. Nyjah is a pretty decent guy, considering what he does. He’s young, twenty-seven, and runs the business mainly because his dad, Reagan makes him. Honestly, he seems like he hates the job most of the time and I wonder why he doesn’t leave. His dad’s an ass, always yelling at everything that moves, and bailing out is possible—I should know.