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“Sure, man,” I say, grabbing the pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I hand him the whole thing, and he fishes one cigarette out from the carton carefully, using his free hand to take his lighter out from his jacket. As he removes the lighter, I realize that he has brought out a small folded envelope as well.
“Thanks,” he grunts, handing me back the pack of cigarettes and passing me the envelope too.
“No problem,” I nod, stuffing everything into my pockets. As soon as I feel the envelope secured, I turn on my heels and get the hell out of there, suddenly realizing that my heart is racing.
I stop halfway down the block and take a deep break, my heart kicking and pushing against my ribcage. What the hell’s wrong with me? All I had to do was pick up the package - I didn’t even need to go through with all that counter surveillance tactics - and now I feel like I’ve just stepped on a landmine. Yeah, like I said, paranoia can be a friend sometimes, but there’s something more to all this.
I take the envelope out from my pocket and just stare at it, turning it in my hand as if it was packed with explosives. Opening it, I’m about to take out what’s inside when I stop. What the fuck am I even doing?
I’m losing my grip.
I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.
Truth is, I came back from the war broken. Except, of course, I wouldn’t admit it to anyone. That because, in my head, I wasn’t broken - I was just changed. Stronger. I walled off every normal emotion, forbid myself from love and compassion, and just tried to focus on work. That’s all I’ve known ever since I left the Middle East.
That, of course, until I met Stacy. Something in her woke up a part of me that I thought was long gone. More than that, she made me remember how it feels to be alive - truly alive.
And now here I am with this fucking envelope in my hands, feeling as fucking confused as I’ve ever felt.
“Sanders!” I hear a voice cry out my name, and I feel my blood freezing inside my veins. Not because someone found me out, but because that someone is Stacy. I got careless… I got careless and she followed me here.
Fighting off against the urge to simply blend in with the crowd and vanish from sight, pretend that I was never there in the first place, I turn on my heels to face her.
She’s walking toward me in a hurried step, one of her friends right by her side, the click of their high heels sounding like the rattle of a machine gun.
Here we go.
44
Stacy
I cry out Sanders’ name and start rushing toward him, dragging Erica behind me.
“Oh, crap, this isn’t gonna be good,” she mutters under her breath, but following after me all the same. Sanders just stands there in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at me with a confused expression on his face. He wasn’t expecting to see me here, not in a million years, and I recognize guilt when I see it. Whatever it is inside that envelope, he doesn’t want me to see it.
“Stacy? What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be at the studio,” he asks me, his voice just like always: flat and emotionless… Or, let me just say it, completely unreadable.
“The envelope, what’s in there?” I ignore his questions and make my own, my hands darting to the envelope in his hands - except, by now, there’s no envelope. “Where is it?”
“What are you talking about?” He starts, lying to my face. I notice a beige paper corner peeking from the pocket of his jeans, and I realize that he tucked the envelope in there the moment he saw me coming. He really doesn’t want me to see what’s in there, that much is for sure.
“Give it to me,” I tell him as calmly as I can, although I already feel anger bubbling up to the surface. I point at his pocket, but he just takes one step back, a sorrowful expression on his face.
“I can’t do that, Stacy.” This time, there’s some emotion on his voice. Sorrow, guilt, shame - heck, I have no idea what it is, but I’m glad he’s feeling something. At least I know he isn’t a robot from outer space or something.
Gritting my teeth, I take one deep breath - I’m not going to go anywhere using just words. Moving as fast as I can, I somehow manage to reach for the envelope and grab it between two fingers, pulling it out from his pocket. The moment I feel it in my hands, I take two steps back, holding it to my chest in case he tries to take it away from me.
“Stacy, don’t --”
“Don’t what? What exactly are you hiding from me, Sanders? Everyone has secrets, but I think yours are just a little over the limit, don’t you think?”
“Please, don’t open it,” he insists, a resignated tone to his voice. He’s asking me, not telling me what to do, and I know he won’t stop me now. Which, in a way, should be enough for me to trust him and hand him back the envelope; but I’ve came too far to let this go now. I’m getting to the bottom of this.
“Stacy, are you sure you want to--?” Erika nudges me with her elbow, lowering her voice as if she’s afraid to step between Sanders and I.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” I say without thinking, opening the envelope and turning it sideways so that its contents slide out and into my hand. I pass the empty envelope to Erica and look down at the stack of folded papers in my hands. “What’s this?” I look up at Sanders, and he just looks at me with an expression that tells me see for yourself, I won’t try to stop you.
And that’s exactly what I do.
