Slow Agony (5 page)

“Fuck you,” I muttered, swallowing my tears. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Crying about it doesn’t fix it, you know,” he said.

I took a shuddering breath. “Griffin, that Marcel guy wants you for some reason. He killed my friend, and he threatened me, but it’s because he wants
you
. So maybe it wouldn’t kill you to be a tiny bit nice to me. I’ve had a hell of a day.”

He turned back to me, fury in his eyes. But then it seemed to drain out of him, and he turned back to looking at the road, defeated. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick. Hearing his name though... It’s not exactly making it easy for me to be in a good mood.”

“What does he want with you?”

“I have no idea,” said Griffin. “He’s probably the sickest person I’ve ever met. When we were locked up, he liked to control things. People. I was one of the things he controlled. The things he
owned
. But if he’s out of jail, then I don’t get it. I don’t see why I’d be important to him anymore.”

I tangled my hands together in my lap, still unsure of how to respond to something like that. The things that Griffin had been through in his life were horrible. When I tried to think about them, to really comprehend them, I always had to stop. Horror reared up inside me, and I couldn’t think about it any longer.

Griffin reached over and turned on the radio. Music poured into the car, too loud for either of us to talk.

We drove without talking for quite some time. The radio station we were listening to was classic rock, and eventually, it started to fade out as we got too far away to get reception. Right in the middle of Janis Joplin, it dissolved into static.

Griffin hit the seek button on the radio.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

Country music blared as the radio switched to the next station. It drowned me out.

“What?” said Griffin, hitting the seek button again.

“Where are you taking me?”

But this time I was interrupted by an easy-listening station. I turned the radio off.

Griffin glared at me, then turned back to the road.

“Where are you taking me?” I said. “We’re still on I-68. We’re going west. What’s out here?”

“I’m taking you to my place,” he said. “In Morgantown.”

My jaw dropped. “Morgantown? This whole time, you’ve been an hour and a half away from me?”

“I’m trying to go to school,” he said. “Or had you forgotten that?”

I had gotten Griffin to take classes in Thomas. He was older than most of the freshmen, but he’d seemed to enjoy collegiate life. Last fall, we’d had a lot of fun. We’d been normal. No one had been after us. And back then, all the shit that tore us apart hadn’t happened yet.

Still, I hadn’t expected him to continue with his schooling for some reason. I’d expected him to be somewhere far away from me, spending his days shooting guns at targets or something.

“I’m going to be living in Morgantown in the fall,” I said. “I’m going to grad school there.”

“Grad school?”

“There’s not much else I can do with an English degree,” I said. “I thought I told you this. I told you I was applying, didn’t I?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“Right,” I said. “Marcel could kill us both, anyway, before fall.” I slumped in my seat. “Dammit, I’m going to miss graduation, aren’t I?”

He made a face. “I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to your life.”

I stiffened. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Whatever.”

So, three and a half months, and he was still as angry with me as the day he walked out of my life. He was never going to forgive me. But I didn’t need to think about that, did I? I needed to focus. “You don’t think it’s a bad idea to take me to your home? What if he’s following us?”

“I’m pretty sure we lost him,” said Griffin. “Besides, he wants to meet me in Atlantic City in two weeks, right? That was the message he wanted you to give me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t there already. He probably didn’t follow you at all. He figured you’d get word to me. We’ll lie low for two weeks, but I don’t think we’ll see him. No, the real shit’s going to go down when I don’t show up at the meeting place. We’ll see what he does then.”

“Meeting place?”

“Yeah, I know exactly where he’s talking about in Atlantic City. He knows I’d know.”

“So, that’s your plan? Hide and do nothing?”

“He obviously doesn’t know where I am,” said Griffin. “You were his only link to me. I’ve taken you out of the equation. He’ll have to give up.”

I thought about the man who I’d seen that morning. He didn’t seem like the kind to give up. But maybe Griffin was right. “So, we’re spending two weeks together? You going to be able to handle that?”

He squared his shoulders. “We just do our best to be civil, okay? Be polite.”

“I
have
been polite,” I said. “You’re the one who—”

“And don’t do that. No blaming,” he said.

I closed my mouth.

“In fact,” he said, “it’s probably better if we don’t talk.”

He switched on the radio again.

I sighed and lay my head against my headrest.

Griffin’s apartment was one of four carved out of an old house high on the top of a hilly street in Morgantown. Everything in Morgantown was on a hill, so Griffin’s apartment was fairly typical. It was a one-bedroom. The door opened into a spacious living room which had unfortunate carpet the color of pea soup. It was sparsely decorated and immaculately clean. Griffin was a stickler for stuff like that. It was one of the many things we’d argued about.

There was a bedroom to the left of the living room. It was tiny, containing only a bed and Griffin’s dresser.

To the right were the kitchen and bathroom. Both were spotless.

The apartment was nice, but it was small. If I was going to be here for two weeks, I had a feeling that Griffin and I were going to have a hard time not talking to each other. We were going to be practically on top of each other.

I headed into the bathroom to change out of the clothes that Sloane had given me, because they were too small, and they were uncomfortable. I was relatively tall, five feet nine inches, and I had trouble finding clothes that fit properly anyway. It was tough to find pants that were the right length and weren’t also enormous at the waist. These clothes were at least a size too small. I peeled out of them and put on something I had in my backpack.

The shower curtain was open, and I could see inside. Griffin’s shampoo snuggled up to a can of Lady Bic shaving gel. I picked it up. It was lavender scented. That didn’t belong to Griffin.

I explored the shower a little further. Not only was there girly shaving gel, but there was a woman’s shaver, fruity scented shampoo and conditioner, and a tube of Bikini Zone.

I stared at all of it for a few moments. Then I jammed the clothes I’d been wearing back into my backpack and left the bathroom. “So, um, that Sloane girl that helped us out?”

Griffin was crouching in front of the television, sorting through a stack of video games. That had been his plan, I supposed. Race fake cars instead of paying attention to me. Wonderful. He looked up. “Oh, yeah, she’s great. Her and her brother Silas. I met them on the ex-Op Wraith Facebook group.

I raised my eyebrows. “There’s a Facebook group for assassins?”

“Yeah,” said Griffin. “Helps us all keep in touch. By chance, Sloane, Silas, and me were all in Morgantown. We hang out sometimes.”

“Hang out,” I said. “Right. You shave her pubic hair for her, or does she do it while you watch?”

He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“I looked in your shower. Clearly a girl showers there.”

“Sometimes,” said Griffin. “But not Sloane.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “So, you have a girlfriend.”

He got to his feet, sighing. “Yes. I do.”

“Already?”

“Already,” he repeated, laughing in disbelief. “It’s been months.”

“Three months,” I said. “Three and a half months. That’s not long enough to be in a serious enough relationship that she
shaves
at your place.”

He rubbed his head. “Look, doll—”

“Don’t call me that.”

His nostrils flared. “Like you haven’t spread your legs for half of Thomas by now.”

It was such an ugly thing to say. I took a step backwards. “Fuck you.” I was going to start crying. Man, I was running the waterworks today. But it was warranted. Things had been pretty rough all day long. I wanted someplace to run to, to lock myself in.

The only place I could go was the bathroom, and I didn’t want to be locked in there with her shampoo and shaving gel.

So I took long, steadying breaths, and I didn’t move. “I haven’t been with anyone. No one.”

“You expect me to believe that? I left you alone for a week in Boston, and you started stripping—”

“Because I didn’t have money,” I said. “I hate how you always bring that up.”

“You slept around a lot before me,” he said. “Do you deny that?”

I
was
going to cry. I could feel the tears forming. “
Before
you.”

“And during for all the hell I know.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“I only have your word for that,” he said. “And I think you’re probably lying.”

“I’m not. I swear to God, Griffin. I would never—”

“I saw you.”

Tears spilled out over my cheeks. “You didn’t. You didn’t see anything. You’re making it into something it isn’t and overreacting, and you
always
do that.”

He clenched his hands into fists. His voice was hoarse. “Don’t cry.”

I brushed at the tears, irritated. “I’m sorry.”

“You cry about it like you’re sorry, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’ve had a really bad day, Griffin.” And the sobs overtook me.

His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, well, mine hasn’t been peaches and cream either.” He pushed past me and went into the bathroom. A second later, he emerged with a roll of toilet paper, which he handed to me. “Sorry. I don’t have any tissues.”

I took the toilet paper. I wiped my eyes.

He gestured to the couch. “You want to sit down?”

Gratefully, I sank into it. I blew my nose.

“You hungry?” he said.

“No,” I said.

“Come on, what have you eaten today?”

I thought about it. “I guess nothing. But I don’t want to eat. I... don’t eat all that often anyway. I just got out of the habit I guess.” Or I was so depressed over our breakup that food didn’t seem that important. But maybe I shouldn’t tell him that. He seemed to be handling everything so well. He’d even moved on. Another girlfriend. It made more tears squeeze out of my eyes.

“You should have food,” he said. “I can make quesadillas. You okay with that?”

Griffin was actually a pretty good cook. I sniffled. “Don’t go to the trouble.”

“Hey, I’m starving,” he said. “And it’s easy. It’s not trouble.”

I looked at the balled up pieces of toilet paper in my hands. “Okay,” I said in a small voice.

He hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen. “Look, doll.” He stopped. “Leigh, I mean.” He rubbed his head again. “I, um, I’m really sorry about your friend. And I don’t want you to be miserable here with me. No matter what happened in the past, I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll always do whatever I can to keep you safe, no matter what.”

I raised my gaze to meet his.

He looked away. “It’s just that what happened... What you did...”

I shut my eyes. “You said no blaming.”

“I wish it didn’t bother me so much,” he said. “I really do.”

Chapter Four

Griffin put on a movie while we ate. We sat awkwardly on opposite sides of his couch. He didn’t have any other furniture in the living room. Maybe that was why it looked so spacious. There was very little in it.

I couldn’t really concentrate on the movie. I could only think about how screwed up my life had become in a matter of hours. Yesterday, I was a normal college student, eagerly awaiting graduation. Today, everything was different. My best friend had been shot in front of me. I was here in this apartment with my ex-boyfriend, who I’d never really gotten over. Not even a little bit.

And he hated me.

Oh, and there was the fact that some crazy guy was out there trying to kill me.

Maybe I was simply going to have to get used to people chasing me. Maybe there was no way around it.

The movie was one of those superhero ones—the ones with all the sequels. Griffin had all of them. When one finished, he put the next one in.

We perched on the couch together, stiff and nervous, for hours and hours. And we didn’t talk.

It had worked for one day, anyhow, but I didn’t think we could watch movies for two weeks.

Eventually, it was dark outside, and I started yawning.

Griffin noticed. “You tired?”

“A little,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess you’ve been through a lot today,” he said. “He, um, he shot her right in front of you?”

I nodded.

“That’s hard,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’ve seen things like that before,” I said. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah. You’re tough.” He paused. “Um, you can sleep in the bedroom if you’re ready to go to bed.”

His bed? The bed where he slept with the girl who shaved herself in his shower? I didn’t think so. I shook my head. “Don’t be silly. I’m not going to take your bed. I can sleep on the couch.”

“No, you’re my guest. I insist.”

“I don’t want to sleep in your bed. It would be too...” I looked away.

He sighed. “I don’t have extra sheets. If you sleep out here, all I can give you is a blanket.”

“That’s fine,” I said. I really didn’t care.

He drew a hand over his face. “God. This is so awkward.”

“Maybe there’s someplace else I could stay.”

“No,” he said. “There isn’t.”

“What about Sloane and... whatever the guy’s name is? You said they live in Morgantown, right?”

“I can’t ask them to do that.”

“Fine,” I said. I started to dig through my clothes, looking for something to sleep in. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I hadn’t brought any pajamas. I guess that hadn’t been high on my priority list when I was running from Marcel. I set the back pack down.