Page 46 of Tarek

“Can we cover that shit up?”

“We could have, but with this leak.” Wes pauses.

I can feel my temper building, but I remain calm.

“Pen, can you find out where the leak is? Also locate this amateur Ewpeople,” I ask watching her brows furrow. After knowing a bit about her, I know she is having an internal battle with her ethics. But fuck ethics I need to fix this now.

“I can find the person’s IP, and I can stop it. Wes, can you get me a laptop, a notepad and a pen. Oh, and a bottle of water please,” she asks.

The sound of the door shuts leaving us alone. I continue flipping through the pages of the file, part of me regrets that I bought her here. It shows her parts of myself that I choose to hide. I can feel Penny’s eyes on me.

“What?”

“Tarek someone died from suicide. How could you just shrug it off?” she asks.

The black fonts on the paper blur and twist into irregular shapes making it hard to focus. The room fades around me and my connection to my surroundings begins to slip away. Dissociation at its best.

Remaining silent was my best option. Why did this shit have to happen now? Now, when I’m getting to know her. Now when I’m feeling…happy. The hum of the air condition fills the room, it’s a contrast to the turmoil that I feel simmering inside.

“Which parent fucked you up?” she asks.

Lifting her gaze to mine I’m comforted by the concern that resonates. Her fingers are laced together, her face is soft but serious.

“We both should die together to see who he loves most,”I hear a small whisper from my past.

“What?” That’s all I could come up with as I try to drag my brain back to this reality.

“You heard me the first time,”

I feel a surge of relief that she didn’t ask me the question again.

God, all I want to do is walk out of here and not dredge up my past. It leaves me feeling vulnerable, exposed and blows open a door for future pain. Yet despite all I find myself saying “My mother, she committed suicide.”

All I can think is please don’t extend your hand to me. Nothing makes my skin crawl more than someone trying to comfort me over my mother’s death.

“I’m sorry that happened,” she replies. Now we wait for her to fawn over me and ask questions. But she didn’t.

Was that it? Was that all she was going to say? She didn’t ask the reason. Nothing?

“You don’t want to know why? Or how?” I find myself asking.

She rubs her arms, and I can see the goose pimples on them. Shit, she’s cold.

Taking my jacket off the chair, I stand, ignoring her No’s, I settle the jacket on her shoulder.

“Thanks.”

Pulling my chair out, I sit quietly with questions buzzing in my head.

“Losing a parent is traumatic. But I believe everyone has the right to share their personal life when they are ready.” She shoves her arms into my jacket sleeves. “If you didn’t tell me the reason ‘why’ right away, it means you don’t want to and you’re not ready. I can respect that.”

She’s amazing. I feel like the walls that I built around talking about my mom’s death have crumbled a little.

“Hey, Penelope, maybe after this?—”

“I’m back. Sorry for taking this long. Here is the laptop and your notebook,” Wes interjects.

Wes begins to layout all of Penelope requests in front of her.

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