Monday evening rolled around and found me frantically cleaning up all evidence that I'd had a weekend guest before Emma arrived. Dastan had spent the rest of the weekend here, living out of his gym bag which made facing Haider at lunch today significantly more awkward. I was on edge the entire time but if Haider noticed anything different, he didn't let on. Honestly, I could feel the guilt eating me the entire time I sat across from him and it wasn't helped by the fact that I had to wear a pound of makeup to cover up all of the marks his son had left on me. I'm pretty sure I only got away with it because he seemed distracted, probably by the case Dastan mentioned he'd been working on. Well, whatever it was I knew for sure that Emma wouldn't be distracted which meant that I had to make sure bit a single trace if Dastan remained in this apartment.
Crouching down near my desk, I scoop up a bunch of work folders that had been pushed to the floor in our haste to clear the desk at some point in Sunday afternoon. Beneath the papers lay a waded up ball of grey material and as my fingers close around it I readjust what it is. Heat curls up my spine and settles deep in my gut as images of strong hands ripping the fabric from my body float through my mind.
I haven't spoken to Dastan since he left my apartment on Sunday night, after thoroughly defiling me on the kitchen counter. That was one of my new rules, no unnecessary contact, we kept our friendship the way it was and only engaged in out… other activities so Ling as it was mutually beneficial. It sounded detached and emotionless but that's exactly what I need to get through this with my heart unscathed. It was too late for me to back out of it, if already fallen in head first but all of these rules would be my safety net for when I landed.
Although, I wish my mind would get on board with the new rules. Somehow I'd managed to convince myself that staying completely neutral on what was happening with Dastan and I would make it easier but that didn't stop my mind from wandering to him in every free moment I had. I'd spent all day with images of my pale fingers splayed over the dark ink of his chest as I sank onto him, his fingers fisted in my hair as he wrenched my head back to have better access to my throat, and onyx eyes watching me as he buried his face between my thighs. Even now, the sensation of his fingers and the burn of his stumble against my skin left me panting for more.
If I'm going to keep this up I need to figure out a way to make it all balance out so that these flames that seem to smolder every time he so much as looks at me doesn't completely devour me. Easier said than done. For right now, I just have to focus on making sure nobody else finds out, so depositing all of the incriminating evidence from my weekend tryst into one of my dresser drawers, I make a mental note to keep Emma out of my bedroom at all costs. Specifically because there's no hiding the evidence of what happened in here from her, not with the way his smell lingers in the room even after I changed the sheets.
When I head back into the living room, I do a quick scan to make sure I didn't miss anything. The last thing I needed was Emma finding Dastan's underwear hanging off my TV when I was supposed to be wallowing in self pity over being dumped for Theo. At least, that was the excuse I'd come up with for me, Dastan had told his parents he'd spent the weekend apartment hunting with Theo which was partially true. Theo was apartment hunting since he'd decided to stick around in the city for a little longer and he was sick of living in a hotel; Dastan didn't seem to pleased with the reasons why Theo was planning on staying, that being Connor, but he was supporting his best friend anyway.
Everything seems to be in order, casting one last look my eyes snag on a piece of paper just off to the side of my desk. I hurry over, and grab it off the floor just as the door swings open behind me. Emma waltzes in shrugging off her coat and sneakers. "Hey, stranger you done moping?" she asks.
I make a non-committal sound in the back of my throat and head into the kitchen the slip of paper grasped between my fingers. "So, no then?" comes Emma's voice from behind me. She's made her way over to the kitchen island where she leans against the counter.
"Not moping," I say, shuffling around in the refrigerator. "Wallowing." I remind her, pulling ingredients from my fridge to make dinner. I try to keep my eyes focused on my task knowing Emma would take one look at me and be able to tell something was up.
"My mistake," she says with a soft chuckle as she makes her way around the island and grabs the bag of carrots and knife and takes up a position next to me to chop them. She almost immediately launches into a story about her day, and all of the things that happened at work. I'm only half listening, my mind churning with thoughts of that little slip of paper burning a hole in my pocket with one word scrawled onto it. A name.
I look over at Emma as she smiles animatedly, her hands gesturing chaotic ally while she tells me all about the guy who download a virus to the company server while watching his "adult movie" and for the first time I see something in her eyes that I hadn't noticed before. Darkness.
The blue of her eyes glitter with the familiarity of my childhood and the comforts of family. Without a doubt, she's probably the person that knows me best in the world but how well do I actually know Emma. My first instinct is to say better than anyone else but then there's an odd churning in my gut that makes me hesitate. I used to know Emma better than anyone else but now I barely know myself. Could I honestly say I knew everything about her, or was that just what she wanted me to believe. How she wanted me to feel. No, I'm being ridiculous. This is Emma, my Emma, and as much as I sometimes doubt her motives and feel like she's hiding things from me I doubt it could really be that bad.
But then my kind wanders to the note in my pocket and the name scrawled across it in my own handwriting. Joe Rollins. Ordinarily, that name wouldn't mean anything to me but today in an attempt to avoid thinking of Dastan I'd offered to help Dec organize her notes on the Hell's Kitchen Hacker article. The case has always fascinated me and when I saw her struggling I took the opportunity to work on an actually meaningful article, even if it was just organizing her notes. That's where I'd come across the name of the most recent victim in the case, Joe Rollins.
Why I had his name written on a slip of paper in that looked to be months old if the creases that had been folded and refolded are anything to go by is beyond me. But I do know that the cops only released his identity this week, so whatever my connection to Joe Rollins it was definitely pre-death and the only person that knows the answer to the question of what exactly that connection is stands next to me chopping carrots.
A part of me just wants to ask her about it and the other part cautions that it would open up a can of worms I'm not ready to deal with. The irony of me wondering what Emma's keeping from me, of anything at all, isn't lost on me seeing as how I'm the one actively lying and hiding a relationship with my ex from her. That's the deciding factor in my not asking her, I guess we all have our secrets.