Page 29 of Borden 3

“Just take care of it,” I said, gently. I forced a smile. “I get it.”

He didn’t budge for some seconds. “It was a shooting, Doll. I can’t avoid this.”

“I know.”

He came around to me. His fingers skimmed the back of my shoulders. He dropped his head down and kissed me sensuously on my neck. I shut my eyes, surviving on his touch, and I was a hopeless fool for it, but here we were, two souls foolishly in love.

“My alleycat,” he murmured. “Straight home after, yes?”

I nodded. “Please be careful.”

“Always.”

Always until it’s not.

I forced the thought into a box inside my soul. Yet another one to bury away. I watched him stride out of the office. I loved that he stopped at the door to look back at me. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but he never did. He hated goodbyes. He thought they were reserved for two occasions: when you never see someone again, or when you were dead.

I always wanted to ask him how someone who’s dead could say goodbye, until I realised very painfully that death was always a goodbye, only wordless.

The room was empty without him. Unless you wanted to include Gerry and Paolo, but they were just suits that existed in the corners of my periphery that were now breezing in and out of the office, shooting the mess on the floor questionable looks. Whatever. I’d learned to tolerate them like you tolerate gum on your shoe; they were there and they were a bitch to get away from.

But I buried myself in payroll, even went the system went to shit and I lost half my data. That was a welcome setback, though, as I didn’t want to get close to being done. I wanted to be here, to not have to think—

“...Wake up where the clouds are far behind me…”

My body tensed. My head moved away from the screen and to the office door. In an instant, my entire body went from warm to ice cold.

I stood up on wobbly legs as I walked to the door and opened it. Gerry was standing in the corridor. He looked down at me. “You okay?” he asked.

I must have looked white as a sheet. I didn’t respond because the song was louder now as I stepped out slowly. I followed the song across the corridor and then down the steps to the main floor.

The song was so loud, it was deafening.

My eyes spotted as I approached Linda. She was laughing with some coworkers who were getting set up for opening.

“Turn it off,” I said numbly.

They didn’t hear me.

The speakers vibrated as the lyrics flooded out, the ukulele making my stomach churn.

“Turn it off,” I repeated, loudly.

If there was a trauma button, mine was being pushed repeatedly. My face burned. This time Linda turned her head. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of me. Confused, she mouthed, “What?”

“Turn it the fuck off!” I shouted, pointing at the speakers.

Someone in the back quickly moved around us. Within seconds, the song was off.

Linda was in my face now, looking annoyed. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t play that fucking song in the club again,” I seethed. “Ever.”

“Relax. I didn’t put that specific song on. It just played.”

“Who the hell has a song like that on inside a club?” I asked, accusingly. I knew how crazy I looked. I needed to calm down, but I was burning up.

“What is your problem? I just told you I didn’t put the song on.”

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