Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(13)

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.