take care of it.
Me.
What a strange twist of fate that someone like me ended up like this. That I rose to such heights when life was so cruelly stacked against me.
Kyra, Simona and Fredrich, the ‘supposed’ management team, aren’t the type of people I would count as my friends. The people working there, the broken people with sad stories about their broken pasts, they would normally be invisible to me. Their world and mine shouldn’t intersect.
And yet in a weird way, it does. During my few days there, I am forced to face things I would rather pretend weren’t there. It’s changing me and making me feel bad about my intentions. Its churning out the very things I’ve tried so hard to hide and push away.
It’s Yvette I need to stay away from the most. That skinny slip of a woman, with the years’ old face, she reminds me of too much. Walking around the factory floor, I get talking to these people and against my better judgment, I find myself being reeled into their lives.
I’ve tried to put my feelings and emotions away. Hell, I didn’t have any going in. I didn’t care. But now I have started to, and it’s messing with my head.
Those goddamn food nights were the first line of my defense to break down. Week upon week of seeing those people—poor and hungry, with defeated looks in their eyes—people grateful to receive a hot meal.
Over time, it’s hard to see that and not be affected.
Chapter Twenty
KYRA
As we get closer to the day of Elias’s fight and our big night, I start to have some doubts as I head towards the storage room to do another check of the inventory.
“What’s up, Lewis?” Brad catches me frowning at my clipboard.
We’ve reverted back to using our surnames like we used to in our early hate-filled days where we barely tolerated one another. It’s not because we’re at odds again, but because it feels safer. Something has changed ever since he saved me from that falling chunk of plaster.
I look up and try to remain calm. “This is turning out to be bigger than I thought.”
He shrugs and throws his hands in the air. “This was your crazy idea.” I ignore his comment, knowing that he always has something negative to say. What we do isn’t for everyone. It takes a certain type of person to want to help those less fortunate than ourselves and Brad clearly is missing that part.
I turn my back to him. “What are you doing here?” I ask. It’s a Friday, and he doesn’t usually come here on Fridays.
“I figured you would need help setting up for tomorrow. Fredrich said you could have double the capacity tomorrow.”
“Did your ‘other’ employer let you have the day off, Hartley?” I clasp the clipboard to my chest and wait for his answer. He’s always so coy about his other interests.
He gives me a smile as an answer. “I have permission to be here.”
“Are you really not going to tell me what you do on your days off?” His concerted refusal to answer my questions makes me even more determined to get to the bottom of it.
“They’re hardly days off.”
“Then what are they?” I ask, digging and prying. He walks towards me until there’s not much distance between us, and I catch a whiff of his aftershave. Only, I wonder if it is aftershave or too strong shower gel. The sharp and refreshing smell of pine takes me to the outdoors and reminds me of woodland hikes. I step back, until my back hits the wall. He angles his head. “You’re very nosy about what I do on my days off.”
My insides twist with discomfort. In that life of his I know nothing about, he could have a girlfriend. Or be married. Curiosity swirls around me, an uneasy dance of things I want to know, but also don’t want to know.
“Nosy? No,” I manage to say, miraculously keeping my voice level.
“No?” He steps closer, his breath is warm and sweet, he’s that close to me. His eyes trail a slow, lazy curve over my face, from my lips to my eyes and back down to my lips again and I rub my bare arms, unsure of where these pesky goosebumps have sprung up from. “You’re not?” he asks, when I say nothing.
I press my lips together, self-consciously. Nervous. Jittery. Excited. “No,” I manage.
“There is nothing to tell.” His voice is low, like a hoarse, sexy whisper.
Sexy? What in