Chapter 4

• I tried to explain to myself how they got such a fancy house, why they were always together and knew so much about each other. And for some reason, all I could come up with were criminal theories, which I blamed on my imagination and twenty seasons of Law & Order. I should stop thinking about them and focus on myself. If you were to compare my life to a TV show, it would be like Sex and the City, except I'm not Carrie Bradshaw; I'm one of those passable characters who appears in a few episodes and doesn't affect the plot.
• Breakfast ended quickly; Aaron put the plates and cups in the sink and asked Owen to do the dishes. It took me three minutes to get dressed and find my purse.
• "He's not going to do the dishes," Aaron sighed as the door closed behind us, the car parked in the front yard of the house.
• "How can you be so sure?"
• "Because we know each other too well."
• "How long have you known each other?"
• "A long time," he grinned.
• An answer that made no sense at all. Three years, ten years, a lifetime—it all fit the definition of a long time. But we had something— they were definitely not brothers. I shook my head and chased the thoughts away. We were back in the silver limousine. The street gate doors opened and let us out onto the street; Aaron put on his sunglasses, turned on the air conditioning, and drove out onto the street. The automatic gates went back into place.
• Now I felt the awkwardness between us because I wanted to know more about them, even if we never saw each other again. And he just wanted to drop me off at my house and forget this night ever happened. Aaron turned the music up a little louder, and I decided it was best to keep quiet and then smile sweetly and say goodbye. But then I noticed he was driving without a navigator.
• "Do you know the address by heart?"
• "I have a good memory, and there's a bar nearby..."
• "Jerez."
• "Yes!" Aaron said happily, a smile spreading across his face. "We often go there."
• I nodded silently; I'd never been there. I thought it was a dead place. I preferred to spend my time in the bars on the coast. Yes, the prices were higher, but that didn't matter because, along with the drinks, we got a beautiful view of the ocean. At Aaron and Owen's house, the ocean was only an arm's length away. Besides, I loved walking barefoot on the beach at the end of the evening; there was nothing like wet sand that held the warmth of the sun for a long time.
• I didn't notice that we were pulling up to a two-story apartment building. Aaron parked and turned off the engine.
• "Want me to walk you out?" he asked.
• "No, you've done enough for me, thanks."
• Aaron nodded, accepting the answer. I said thank you again and quickly jumped out into the street. The sun's hot disk was already working at one hundred percent, heating the asphalt, the cars, the rooftops, scorching my skin. I took two steps and fell into the shadows, didn't turn around, and went inside.
• Our apartment was on the second floor, overlooking the building next door. Until last night, I hadn't thought about why rich people pay for a view. Now that I'd seen the ocean for myself, like an artist's canvas in a window opening, I was willing to give all my money for that view. The only thing left to do was to earn it, to watch the sun sink below the horizon every day, to watch the vast ocean swallow the globe and color the sky differently every day.
• I put the key in the keyhole, turned it, and pushed the door open. No one? I threw my purse and keys on the table by the door and went straight into the bedroom. The bed was stretched out, the pillows on the floor, the corner of the blanket hanging down, the sheet crumpled. But the place was empty and quiet. Wanting to get out of here as soon as possible, I took out my suitcase and threw things into it indiscriminately. Clothes, cosmetics, some souvenirs, books, notebooks, and other little things I had collected so lovingly two weeks ago, and now I threw them into the suitcase, and if it didn't zip, I was ready to part with them forever. It was life from scratch again, but I was used to it. Veronica was right about me; I always picked assholes.
• Knock on the door! Richard? Didn't he have the keys?
• My heart was beating so fast, and my palms were sweating because I didn't want to meet him. He deserved a text breakup. In a month, it would have been a year since we'd been together. I suggested we go on a little trip, anywhere he wanted to go, as long as he didn't stay here in the scorching sun again. But he was cool to the idea, and then he said he'd probably go on a business trip. Only one thing bothered me: why did he agree to live together if he didn't need our relationship?
• Why did he come now, when everything was ready, and I was almost out of the apartment? What if it wasn't him, but his new girlfriend? I walked to the door before my head exploded with thoughts, peeking through the keyhole. - Aaron?! - I swung the door open. He smiled, holding out his cell phone, his glasses hanging from his t-shirt, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead.
• "You forgot your phone", he replied quickly, my face obviously expressing confusion. I picked up my phone, wondering why I had left it behind. No, it wasn't a stupid ploy to keep in touch; I really had forgotten it.
• "Thanks, I'm sorry you had to come up here. I really appreciate it".
• "It's okay, it was harder to find a place."
• "By the way, how did you find me?"
• "Well, at least now I know your name is definitely Olivia."
• I smiled, a thought running through my head. I'm not sure about your names, though. Then I added, "But it doesn't make any difference now."
• "Thanks again, I can't invite you because I want to leave soon."
• "That's okay, do you need help with your suitcase?"
• I thought for a moment and then agreed, "I could use some help up on the stairs." Not that I minded. A man offering to help. What's wrong with that? He came in, looked around the room slowly, and for some reason, I felt uncomfortable. It was as if he was scanning, finding something hidden in the details, creating a psychological portrait of the interior. But it didn't take long; he grabbed the suitcase by the handle and rolled it towards the door. Just then, Richard entered.
• "Well, well, well. You've already packed your bags and found a replacement for me, so why the tantrum yesterday?"
• "Richard, it's not what you thought..." For some reason, I started making excuses.
• "Honey, is this the asshole you've been living with?" Aaron suddenly walked over to me and put his hand on my hip. Goosebumps ran down my spine from his words, his touch, and what was to come. Richard was an athlete, formerly a professional boxer, but he retired and now participated in underground fights where the pay was higher. That's where we met. A mountain of muscle, a sexy beard, and a cocky look. I was happy when he noticed me the first night and started going there regularly when he was in the fights. Aaron shouldn't have said that, and I shouldn't have agreed to help; I could have carried the suitcase myself.
• Richard came closer, demanding, "What did you say?"
• "I wasn't talking to you; I was talking to my friend," he said, stepping forward. "And you, I'm asking you to step back because you're blocking the whole aisle."
• It only took a few words to set Richard off, and he swung around. All I could do was put my hands over my eyes and crouch down. I heard a thud and a crash and opened my eyes to see Richard backing away. Aaron swung his leg around and kicked him in the head. I'd only seen moves like that in movies, and it seemed like special effects; a man couldn't be that light, fast, and strong at the same time. Richard rolled onto his side and hit the table where his keys and wallet were. I couldn't recover for a few seconds. Aaron grabbed my things and pulled me toward the exit. I followed him, stunned.
• I didn't even realize I was in the car. The silver sedan had become a safe haven again. Aaron started the car, and we wound between houses and into the flow of the wide highway. And I could finally talk. I wanted to ask where he studied martial arts and where he was taking me, but it was like a red-light bulb was flashing in my head that said Danger. Richard knows where the girls and I live; he'll come; he'll retaliate. He's not the kind of gentleman who cares about a girl's honor and preserving his manhood. Especially with his connections, he's capable of anything. All these months he didn't talk much about his job; all I knew was that he worked as a security guard at the club. But sometimes he missed shifts; the first time I'd noticed it was when I went to visit him at work and had some fun with my girlfriends, but I was told that today he was guarding the owner of the club for a business meeting. What kind of important meetings are there at night, unless they involve crime? Richard didn't want to explain, and I didn't want to start a fight. Pretending everything was fine was a mistake I'd made on every level.
• Aaron and I had been driving in an unknown direction for several minutes. I wanted to ask him to take me to my friends, or my brother, or the South Pole, but what I really wanted was to stay in this car as long as possible. I bit my lip and stared into space. Everything was going to hell again, and I couldn't even end things properly. Aaron said something, but I couldn't hear him and asked him to repeat himself.
• "Worried?"
• I nodded and sank deeper into my thoughts. I ran my hands through my long hair. Yesterday I wanted to cut it off, and I thought it didn't matter. In the morning, the worst thing was talking to my friends; now my whole life was a nightmare I couldn't get out of.
• "What if he's dead?"
• Aaron laughed, and his hand touched my shoulder, squeezing it lightly.
• "That can't be; I checked before I left. Don't you remember?" he asked, and my mind went blank. "Did he hit you before?"
• I answered too glibly, as if with resentment, as if I were trying to smooth things over.
• "Richard is no picnic, of course, but he's never laid a hand on me."
• "But you're still worried? You think he might do something to you?"
• Anything, my mind flashed, but instead, I asked:
• "Why are you worried about me? Didn't you tell me about last night?"
• "I would have left if it hadn't been for the phone, and then everything happened on its own. In the end, I just did what I usually do."
• "Defending the women you've had one-night stands with?"
• "No, saving the world from assholes."
• "You're a cop?" "Do I look like a cop?" Not at all; on the contrary, you look like the very criminal you are hunting. "Are you a killer?" I ask carefully. "So that's what you think of us," Aaron laughs.
• Even if I guessed, they wouldn't admit it. I could only tell that they shared the same profession. There's no point in continuing the conversation, so I give him the address and drive off, turning away from the window. As soon as Aaron parks, I jump out and go to the trunk to get my suitcase.
• "I'll help you."
• "I can do it myself," I say, so much bile in two words. Aaron ignores it, picks up the suitcase, sets it down next to me, and straightens the handle.
• "It's Richard; I'll help you sort him out."
• "You've already helped; you don't need any more," I grab the handle of my suitcase and take a step.
• "I can make sure he doesn't bother you anymore," he takes off his glasses and hangs them on the collar of his T-shirt.
• "And he'll live?" I squint at him. He rolls his eyes slightly, as if tired of suspicion, but there's a smile in his brown, almost black eyes. "And in return for what?"
• "Nothing. Just a gesture of goodwill."
• "Thanks, I'd appreciate it," I bite my lip and walk away, turning to see him already getting into the car.
• "Take care," he shouts after me, and I don't look back, waving my hand. I don't see him again, and there is absolutely no guarantee that he will help me with Richard. It's just my business, just my problem.