Page 9 of Promise and Punishment

“Thank you,” I unintentionally croaked; my throat dry from the lack of sleep. The sun was already rising, reminding me how long I’d truly been waiting. “Do you have any idea when he’ll be released?” I asked, possibly for the fortieth time.

“His lawyer arrived while you were asleep. I’m certain it won’t be long now. Meanwhile, are you sure you don’t want to make a call?” She asked again, even though she talked to Parker earlier on the phone to confirm I was safe. That was more information than he even deserved.

The nerve he had on reporting me as a missing person, of the absolute trouble he caused, drove me insane. I wanted to scream in his face, to actually push him. I felt humiliated, but also completely conflicted with the meaning of his intentions.

“I don’t have anyone I want to call. Thank you for the tea, though.” I politely refused, burning my tongue as I took a sip.

The taste was overwhelmingly bland, missing the honey Parker always remembered to add; four equal drops stirred in. And while a part of me did miss Parker, the other part felt less than thrilled to see him—actually more like completely and totally upset.

There was no doubt in my mind that he hated Alejandro, but how he felt about me was the most devastating mystery that circled my entire life.

I still didn't understand why he reported me missing and figured this could have been solved with a simple call, or so I thought. It wasn’t till I arrived at the precinct that I realized I hadn’t even brought my phone. It was most likely back at home, still on the couch from when Parker sat dangerously close, brushing his arm against mine. I wondered if he knew Alejandro broke into his house by now and hid in my closet. Or was that still my dirty secret?

I stretched my legs and made my way to a vending machine, my stomach aching as I looked over the small candy bars and prepackaged pastries that sat in coiled metal claws, unprepared for my own shocking reflection. My mascara was totally smeared at the edges from yawning, and my skirt was much shorter than I cared for it to be anymore. I certainly looked the part, as if I were a party girl, or more so, Alejandro’sgirl.

“Do you mind?” A bald and flustered man brushed me aside, grimacing as he made his way towards the vending machine. Every bit of him was pink but his knuckles, their blood drained as he dug his hand into his pocket, cupping a ball of loose change.

“It’s all yours…” I stepped aside, watching as he fed the machine.

“That fucking prick…” he darted his eyes between a bag of M&M’s and a Honey Bun, pouring his aggression into each punch of the keypad. “Why are you dressed like that?” He turned in my direction, side-eyeing his Honey Bun as it dispensed.

“Like what?” I tugged at my skirt, already feeling self-conscious.

“It’s… just a lot.”

“It was for a night out. Not that I need to explain that to you, but I’m sure you can imagine I wasn’t expecting to be here.”

“No one ever is. Still, the way you dress says a lot about you.” He bent over for his breakfast, splitting open the pastry, taking a quick bite. “But the two don’t match.”

“Match?” I crossed my arms, tugging my leather jacket close to my chest.

“Your face and that skirt.” He shook his head, “It’s wrong, all wrong.”

“It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”

“Of course there is. I’m not trying to be an asshole, I’m just making an observation. It’s your face… it’s too innocent, but that outfit… it’s…” he shrugged, deciding a delicate choice of words. “I don’t know, a little hectic. You don’t seem like the wild type is what I’m saying.”

“And what type do I seem like exactly?” I grew more irritated, exhausted, hungry, and mad at his declaration of myinnocentface. Innocence felt like an agitating word, ever since Claire used it as a way to describe its absence in Parker’s character, as if he couldn’t be trusted around me. I hated acknowledging anything she said.

The man chewed through his mustache, eyeing my growling stomach. “Are you hungry?” he asked, not answering my question.

I didn’t answer his.

He sighed, scooping out another handful of quarters, sticking them into the machine. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. I’m a father. I just worry about girls like you around guys like him.”

“Like who?” I snipped, watching as he pressed the buttons to free a package of white, powered donuts.

“Guys like Alex Rivers,” he struggled, bending over once again, handing it to me, “he’s just no good.”

“You don’t know him,” I glanced down at the donuts, quietly opening them up.

“Honey, I’ve been on the force for over thirty years. I know the type.”

“Maybe, but not from my perspective,” I said rather confidently, drained from having my experiences belittled by others.

“And how long have you had to form that perspective?” he asked, causing me to go quiet. It had been almost two months since I’d met Alejandro, and was that enough time to be so sure?

“Long enough,” I settled.

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