“I like to say she’s misguided.”
I shrug. “Same difference.”
He glances at his phone again. “I can’t convince you to go to the police? You honestly think they’re going to turn a blind eye?”
“No, I think they’d hold me, call Mike, and release me into his custody.”
He shakes head. “If you’d just —”
I slam my hand onto the couch arm. “How many times do I have to say it? He buys the police. I’m such an idiot. I worried the entire way over that I was putting you in danger by being here, but I get it. Mike could show up with his entire entourage and you’d think he was coming for dinner.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. No more Mike.”
“Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind a question, though, why did you stay so long?”
“I had nowhere to go. Still don’t really. I can’t live here forever. What am I going to do?”
He hesitates before reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t know, but we’ll think of something.”
“There’s one thing I’m good at. One thing I know how to do.”
“No.” His voice carries more force than I’ve heard before. “You’re not going back to that.”
“I’d say I’m not your problem, but I think we’ve had that conversation before.”
“You’re a fast learner.”
“So I’ve been told.”
His lips look soft, and I wonder how they’d taste. I’ve never wondered that in all the years and with all the men I’ve been with. Most of the time when I kiss a man, I taste alcohol. I bet Isaiah would taste like nothing I’ve ever had. Nothing I can even imagine.
He clears his throat.
I sit back. “Sorry.”
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair.
“You need to get that mess cut,” I say.
“I know. I need to find someone here to do it.” He shakes his head. “Haven’t had it cut since I moved here.”
“I can do it.” The words come out before I have time to think about them.
“Really?” His eyes widen in surprise.
I wave absentmindedly. “Sure, I did some of the girls’ hair. Some of them said I did really good.” I squint my eyes and force my gaze on his hair. “I think I could trim yours without doing much damage.”
His lips uplift into a smile and I can’t decide if he’s trying to figure out how to let me down easy or trying to convince himself it’s okay for a hooker — ex-hooker, I correct myself — to cut his hair.
I study his hair. It’s so thick, I can only imagine how it would feel sliding between my fingers.
“Just a trim above your eyebrows.” I tilt my head. “A bit off around your ears. The neck though.” I reach without thinking and lightly brush where curls touch the nape of his neck. He jumps at the feel of my fingers. “Sorry.” I scoot away.
“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s just. . .”
“I know.” I feel bad. I didn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. “I forgot. I wasn’t thinking.” I want to keep the mood light so I add, “I think my own hair is in need of a cut.”
You can’t run from your past. I know that. Can’t escape it, either. Have to face it. Very well, I can accept that. But that doesn’t mean when I look at it, I have to recognize it.
“I see it as rearranging the future a bit.” I pull my fingers through my hair. “Besides, this way I’ll be less recognizable.”
He doesn’t appear sold on the idea, and I can’t imagine why not. By changing my hair, I’ll be taking a step in a new direction. A new me starts with a new look, right?
“Do you really think it’d be that easy?” he asks.
“What? Coloring my hair? Of course it’s that easy. You can buy hair color anywhere. The hard part’s deciding what color.” I dig my fingers into my messy waves and fluff them. “I’m thinking red or brunette. How about you?”
He gaze is fixed on the wall behind me.
“Isaiah?”
He slowly looks at me. “I wasn’t talking about the color.”
“Okay, fine. What were you talking about?”
“Do you honestly think anyone who knows you would be fooled by a change in hair color? Especially someone with a more intimate knowledge of you?”
“I highly doubt I’m that memorable,” I reply. “To most of them I was just a warm and willing body.”
His phone rings then, and he glances down at the display and frowns. “I have to take this. Make yourself at home.”
He walks into what I guess is the bedroom and closes the door, leaving me alone in the living room. I try to wait for him to get back, but my eyelids are so heavy, like all at once my body realizes how long it’s been awake, and it’s protesting staying that way. Was it only last night I had dinner with Theo? It seems as if it were days and days ago, not mere hours.
I yawn really wide. There’s no sound from the room Isaiah went into. I don't know if he's still on the phone, but I don’t want to bother him if he is. I’d like a blanket, but his condo is truly a bachelor pad, and there’s not one to be found. I draw the line at looking through his closets.
My eyes struggle to stay open as I toe off my shoes and curl into a ball on the couch. I’m asleep within seconds.
***
Isaiah wakes me gently sometime later.
“Athena?” He rubs my shoulder. “I hate to wake you, but I’m afraid if I don’t, you won’t sleep tonight.”
I groan, not ready to face whatever the rest of the day holds, but I sit up anyway. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
Wow, I slept longer than I thought I would. He’s standing in front of me, and I smile at him. “I don’t know if I said it already, but thank you. I know you didn’t have to take me in.”
“You’re welcome. Now you’ve said it, so you’re not allowed to thank me again.”
I stretch. It feels so good to wake up and not dread the coming hours. My entire body feels light and the more I think about, the more it seeps into my brain that I’ve really left. I don’t have the money to fly to Indiana and I may never work in a bookstore, but Mike doesn’t own me anymore. He no longer gets to dictate what I do. The realization stuns me.
For the first time in ten years, my life is mine.
“That’s an awfully big smile,” Isaiah says.
“I’m free.”
“You are.”
I sigh and lift my arms above my head in an even bigger stretch. “I’m free.” I like saying the word: free, free, free. My stomach growls.
He actually laughs this time.
“I’m also hungry,” I admit.
“I can help with that, too. It just so happens I went to the grocery store yesterday. What are you in the mood for?”
I think back to the last meal I ate. I only picked at my food during that fateful meal with Theo. Lunch before that maybe? “I don’t care,” I tell Isaiah. “Anything sounds good at this point.”
He crooks a finger at me and I follow him to the small kitchen. He opens the refrigerator and pulls out ham and cheese. Nodding to a cabinet he asks, “Can you get the bread? It’s on the bottom shelf.”
We pull out the necessary things to make sandwiches and it feels oddly domestic, but not in a weird way.
This is what my life would have been like if I’d made different choices.
Preparing a meal. Hanging out the kitchen. Making small talk about nothing at all.
You may not know what you’re missing if you’ve never experienced it, and now that I’m having a taste of normal, I want it more than anything.
I don’t talk much during lunch, my mind is still coming to terms with my new freedom. Trying to comprehend exactly what it means and I grow more and more excited with new realization.
People live like this. Everyday.
I wonder if they know how fortunate they are? Probably not, but I vow to never take it for granted. Not for an hour, a minute, or even a second. I promise to embrace every moment I have. To live.
“You’re quiet,” Isaiah says at one point.
“Just thinking.” But the old me wonders if there’s a hidden message in his statement. Does he want me to talk more? He’s been kind enough to take me into his house. I should probably try to carry on a conversation.